No sleep. A huge wave of anxiety looming. A team of six people showed up at our home to "evaluate" you. I had already assumed they were going to question my abilities as a mom. Surprisingly, when the women walked through our door, a peace came over my heart. A physical therapist worked with you while the team asked me hundreds of questions. They were not as scary as I drummed them up to be, but it almost seemed never ending. You became frustrated. The therapist handed you to me. As I felt your little arms wrap around my neck, I heard the director mumble something about "seven months." "Did you just say Mila is on a seven month developmental level?" Her head quickly nodding confirming my assumption. As she began to speak, it was as if her lips were moving without any sound resonating from them. It was as if you were trying to comfort me. How did you know I needed you at that exact moment? God knew I needed you. I squeezed you tight. There was a huge lump in my throat. I fought back the puddles in my eyes.
Is this really true? Were you that far behind? How could I have missed this? How could I have failed you? I'm supposed to protect you. You are my perfect baby who's blue eyes always sparkle. Your never ending smile makes my heart melt. How did I fail you? I'm your mom. I'm a pediatric ICU nurse. How did I fail you?
Suddenly the cloud of anxiety hovered again. I couldn't squeeze you tight enough. One of them said you qualified for physical therapy and your case worker would be in touch with us. They left. I cried. I cried a lot. I was heartbroken for you. How did I fail you?
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