When Hermione was brought to me, all warm and plump and put on my chest, she looked up at me and I knew I would do anything to protect this new little version of me. She was different and seemed vulnerable and I wondered how I would ever let another soul look after her.
Four years on, Hermione, who was diagnosed with Down Syndrome at birth, is about to begin school. We have met teachers and teaching assistants, made visits and social stories: we've bought the uniform, the bags, the shoes and practically, we're all set to go.
But my heart is not.
My heart remembers the four years of painstaking care and enduring love required to help Hermione reach milestones other children of a similar age may have achieved way before our Hermione.
Beginning school is a huge deal for any parent: there is no doubt about that. But for parents of children with an additional need, it's a whole new dimension of worry and fear and lack of control.
For all I wanted to protect Hermione from the moment I saw her, I know that the time has come where I won't be there for every fall; every yoghurt pot she can't open; every sudden noise that makes her jump, or for every sensory overload that requires some quiet time.
And that's really, really hard.
We know her every nuance: a look or facial expression may tell us exactly what Hermione needs or how she is feeling. Her speech is delayed, so it may be only us who can work out what it is Hermione is trying to say. The thought of her not being understood is a hard one to bear.
When we attended our first visits to reception class, I tried to cram everything you need to know about Hermione into a 45 minute visit with her teacher and TAs. I talked at hyper-speed, hoping I hadn't missed anything out of fear of letting Hermione down.
It's only on reflection that I realise what I was trying to do was impossible. I want to flatten the bumps in the road for Hermione; catch all the falling debris before it reaches her and send her on her way down a smooth and debris free path. Afterall, that's what I've done for the past four years, right?
Well, not exactly.
I realise that I haven't prevented every fall, every upset, every sensory overload and often I haven't understood what Hermione is saying. The point is, I'm still learning. And if I'm four years into my learning journey about Hermione, then her teachers and key staff are only at the beginning of theirs and that's okay.
I've tried to reframe Hermione's school years as an exciting door which will open up other key parts of Hermione's personality and skills she is capable of. After being told of the many things Hermione might not be able to do when we were pregnant with her, it's becoming abundantly clear she can do many of these things; it just takes longer and requires a bucket load of patience. With her teachers and TAs alongside of us, who knows what Hermione might be achieving in three, six or twelve months time. We will see our wondrous Hermione evolve before our eyes.
For now, my heart still aches for that plump little baby girl who was placed into our arms and our care four years ago. My heart will need a while to catch up. However, what I do know is that we are lucky to be learning all about Hermione. And I'm sure her teachers will feel lucky to share with us this next stage, however many bumps or debris we come across.
You've got this Hermione. Bumps and all.
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