Special Ops

It occurred to me today that I have been doing this parenting gig for 17 years this month.  Not just parenting, but parenting a child with a disability.  "Special needs" parenting.  I'm still not even sure what that means, outside of the concept that basic things are harder than they should be, everything for my kiddo costs more, and we still keep getting up every day to do it again.  We put our pants on the same way as everyone else (albeit some days they're inside out or backward; some days both).

But I remembered an article stating that parents of children with disabilities have stress hormone (cortisol) levels similar to combat soldiers.  Parents of children with autism have discussed the effects of constant vigilance on their psyche, such as one of my favorite blogs, a diary of a mom.  You know that panic feeling you'd get, when your child still had that "new baby smell," you'd see them sleeping and your heart would catch in your throat as you wondered, for that agonizing split-second, if they were still breathing?  My kid has a seizure disorder.  That happens to me. Every. Single. Day. 

As I stared at my sinkful of dirty dishes, I reflected briefly on my 17 years of hardcore-parent training.  We aren't the "enlisted" type of parents.  Hell, we aren't even "drafted."  We aren't quite sure how we got here, but we are the Special Ops parents.  And I'm going to wear that like a badge of honor whether it's an inside-out pants day or not.

We are the parents who you call when something weird happens with your kid.  We are the ones who you call when your child gets a diagnosis.  We know all the medications; we know most of the acronyms.  We are the ones you call when your kid qualifies for services.  We ask how you are doing before we ask what they qualified for.  We know how hard that day is, regardless of how much you wanted the help and validation.

We are the parents who you call when no one else is up to the job.  Whatever it is.  And hopefully, if it's a right-side-out pants day and I've had my caffeine, you'll get the support, love, and excess of information from me that you deserve.  Because we have a code.  No one gets left behind.  We may be terrible at getting out to gatherings, parties, and returning calls.  But when the chips are down, we'll be there for you.  With hugs, caffeine, and an arsenal of anecdotes and resources.  It's almost like we've been trained for this.  

In fact, we call each other.  Those moms in my circles who have had different training have their own specialties.  My BFF is my respiratory system/ADHD/allergy/504 "expert."  I'm the seizures/global developmental delays/nonverbal/genetics/pseudo-autism/IEP"expert."  My other dear friend from way back is the foster care system/preschool/tie-a-knot-in-the-end-of-your-rope and hold on "expert."  And it spreads out from there.  We call each other to ask questions for other people.  We may not know the answer, but "we know a guy."  If we can't find it, we'll find you someone who might know... because we've all been on the search for answers, and we're stronger together.