The Sacrifice

I took a job recently. More on that shortly, but first - let me explain events leading up to The Job.

MB wasn't talking. She'd just started walking at 17 months. Steve and I had said multiple times that she needed day care; her peer model, well...he's just not really up to snuff in the developmental milestone department. Though in the splinter skills department, he'll blow you away. Hence, MB will know her alphabet and numbers far before her peers, I expect.

It became more and more apparent that O needed ABA therapy. His tantrums were getting longer and more frequent, and I didn't have the answers. His PLAY therapist saw my face over Skype one day and said, "This is hard for you. Really hard." Or something to that effect.

I wept at the truth of it. I love him with all of my heart, but my arms are only so strong, and I can only take the screaming for so long.

ABA isn't cheap, and neither is day care. I'd been mulling over how to find a job that would meet my requirements and still provide the financial element of the equation. And one fell into my lap: help to run (and teach at) a small private school for kids with "learning differences." MB could be in daycare down the hall, and O could get ABA therapy at the same facility after his school day.

It sounds like the perfect scenario, no? And it's a great thing - I adore what I do. I adore the students that I teach, even though can sometimes be challenging. Several are on the spectrum, and as a group, they are the epitome of the word spectrum. Some are chatterboxes, and some are quite quiet. But they are all amazing, talented, funny, and my life is better by knowing them.

Ollie starts ABA therapy next week. MB is walking and trying to talk every day. She's eating lots of new foods, using lots more gestures, screaming with laughter.

I know, you're waiting for the "sacrifice" part of this, right? Well, the sacrifice is mine.

I looked at those little faces and saw what I'd miss, particularly with MB, who I've been home with since birth. What I'd miss. I thought about O transitioning into the center every day after school for therapy, and I cringed in fear, but he's done beautifully. I knew what I wanted as a mother (to have my cake and eat it, too), but I realized what needed to be done for my kids.

Because it's about them. It's not about me.

And so I sat in my office and called my mother, crying, as I heard MB crying the first day through the walls. And I peeled O off of me a few mornings as he didn't like the transition (by the by, there are kids on the spectrum in his afternoon class on non-therapy days, which I love). And I thought about how taking them home would be easier on me, but not necessarily easier on them.

Fast forward a month, and I see all the progress.

Some people probably wonder if I did it for myself, too - the answer is yes. I am a better mother when I am teaching someone other than my kids, even part of the day. God called me to be a teacher, and I teach my own children as well. But I know that the time I spend with them now is truly quality time, because a part of me that needed filling is filled by teaching again. And they are getting things that they needed that I was honest enough to admit that I couldn't provide alone. I couldn't give MB the peer modeling that she needed, and while I thought about becoming a BCBA, I've learned that one shouldn't be their own child's therapist. This is a different world for me, and a harder world than teaching high school ever was. But it's a good world.

Best of all, what I do with my students gives me more of a sense of control when meltdowns happen with O. I don't ruffle much anymore; I simply try to figure out the reason we're melting and go from there. And that makes our relationship even sweeter and more precious, because there is balance that wasn't as present before.

Did I mention that I came into a room where he said, "Hi, Mommy!" today? Yeah. Because I did. Oh, and he has a friend in class that calls him "Owwie." A neurotypical friend. And we have friends on the spectrum as well. His life and experience is as it should be - rich and full.

So the sacrifice is mine. Yes, I lose a little. And I still lament what I am missing...but I know what is best for my kids. And I love them enough to give it.