Invisible Disabilities (Otherwise known as … “She seems fine to me”)

Some kids with special needs have obvious challenges. They may be in a wheel chair, or have a naso-gastric feeding tube, or facial deformities, or missing limbs. Something that people can see, that people may make allowances for, and (hopefully) have compassion for.

Then there are the millions of kids around the world who have “invisible disabilities”. Kids who scream and hit and bite their parents in the supermarket. Who then get judged for being “brats” and whose parents get judged for being “bad parents”. Or the kids who get bullied at school because they have two left feet, can’t throw or catch a ball and run with their hands flapping wildly in the air. They always get picked last for sports teams. They sit there, humiliated, knowing no one wants them on their team, not knowing what they can do to make it better. Or the kids who continually interrupt, droning on and on about topics of interest only to themselves, blurting out tactless comments and then getting worked up when something seemingly insignificant goes wrong. They have trouble maintaining friendships and look on miserably from the sidelines at the other kids playing and chatting together, wondering what is wrong with them and why “nobody likes them”.
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Spare a thought for those kids. And their parents. The first child may have sensory processing disorder. They find the sensory input at the supermarket impossible to deal with, and don’t have typical emotional regulation due to neurological differences in their brains. So they panic and lash out. Their systems are in overload and their behaviour is NOT a sign of bad parenting.

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The second child may have low tone (hypotonia). This is a neurological disorder that means the messages from the brain to the body don’t work as quickly as they do for other kids. In reality their body will never be as strong or agile as every other kid in the class, and they will always have to work harder just to do simple things like use a knife and fork and stay upright in their chair at school.

The third child may have high functioning autism (Asperger’s syndrome). Their neurological differences mean that the subtleties of body language and social graces are lost on them. Unlike typically developing children, children with autism need to be specifically taught about emotions, and body language, and a myriad of other things that most of us never have to think about. On top of that, the part of the brain that is designed to detect potential threats (the amygdala) can be overactive in autistic children. So something that seems harmless to us can cause a huge release of cortisol and adrenalin in these kids, which then activates the fight/flight response. This overrides the “thinking” part of the brain in the pre-frontal cortex, and means that autistic kids (and adults) can flip into a state of panic about seemingly mundane things. They aren’t being precious, they aren’t deliberately being rude, they aren’t “chucking a tantrum” to get their own way. Their brain has flipped into survival panic mode. It can take lots of training and immense self-discipline for these kids to learn to “self-calm’. Some may never learn, despite their best efforts and the best efforts of everyone around them.

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The differences these kids live with don’t magically get cured, or disappear, or get better simply with the passing of time. Neuroplasticity is an amazing thing however, and improvements can and sometimes do happen. But not without significant intervention and hard work by the child and all of the people in that child’s support network. Intervention that takes time, and effort, and costs money, and often requires the child (and sometimes the parents) to push themselves continually beyond their comfort zones. Sometimes those kids can make great improvements. To the point where the casual observer can’t quite pick the problems, and wonders what all the fuss is about. And then tells the parents that the child “seems just fine” to them. And the child may indeed seem “just fine”. But things may look a little different behind the scenes.

Children with “invisible disabilities”, including my own daughter,  are often working extremely hard to function as well as they do. Unlike other children of their age, they don’t always learn things just by observing. They often need to be explicitly taught things that other children learn easily and naturally as part of “normal development”. Many kids who seem “just fine” are attending therapy sessions five or more times per week so that they can make some attempt at keeping up with their peers. Sessions which require them to concentrate, to work hard, to sometimes push themselves past their limits. They are often overwhelmed by loud noises, or too much visual stimulation. Their bodies may tire more easily than other children, their attention spans may be shorter. So everything requires that extra effort. The kids who seem “just fine” are often working very hard to achieve that. And very often their parents are working hard along with them.

I know from my own experience, and from talking to other special needs parents,  that many of us can struggle with finding the time and energy required to deal with the system. We worry about the time we have to take off work to attend medical appointments and therapies, and the subsequent effect that has on our career progression. Many of us have costs we never imagined having, and earn less each year because we can’t manage our child’s needs and a full time job (at least not without losing our sanity). We are climbing down the career ladder, not up it.

We scrabble to find the money required to pay for the therapies, and to find the effort and discipline required to implement the therapy into the home environment. We rearrange schedules to fit in trips to the doctor for medical certificates just so our children can be approved to have swimming lessons, or go to ballet. Because we live in a crazy world of litigation, and no one wants to take a kid into their class that might have a higher potential for injury unless they have a doctor’s clearance.

And then there is the paperwork. The crazy mind-numbing paperwork. Dozens of pages to fill in to qualify for a miserly $52 from the government each week for “disability support”. Literally hundreds of pages of paperwork to deal with each year. Seriously. Sophie has just turned six and I have three ring binders that are bursting at the seams, filled to the brim with therapists’ reports, medical reports, funding applications, treatment protocols etc. Stack them together and it equates to more than 10 inches of medical paperwork. Meetings with the school at least twice a year (on top of all the regular parent teacher interviews) to negotiate an Individualised Education Plan for your child. And ad hoc meetings to follow up on that plan, because more often than not the things that are promised to help your child are never implemented. And it falls to you as the parent to fight the good fight with the school to ensure that “inclusive education” policies are actually followed.

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Parents may be struggling with chronic sleep deprivation, because their child has ongoing sleep disturbances. They are possibly exhausted from holding down a job, managing a home, managing their child’s additional needs and then staying up late to home-bake the speciality foods their child requires to stay healthy. And they are almost certainly dealing with the ever present niggling anxiety of the “what ifs” and “what will be”…What if that elevated urea level in her blood keeps creeping up, and we are looking at kidney failure? How long until he will need those knee replacements? Will her hearing test be okay this time? Will he be able to live independently?

Then there is the constant questioning of our roles, our values, our choices.. Where do we draw the line? How much therapy is not enough? How much is too much? How much time should we dedicate to helping our kids with therapies and nutritional interventions and alternative medicine and mainstream interventions? How much of our time and resources do we dedicate towards trying to give them the best chance of getting on in the big bad world, and how much time can we spend just being regular mums or dads, loving our kids, playing with our kids? Should I sell the house to pay for his therapy? Or keep the house in case he can’t support himself later? Is it okay for me to spend that $200 on going away for a family camping weekend when that could cover two therapy sessions? Is it okay for me to have a life, have some fun, buy some flowers for the garden, when I could spend that money on therapy? How can I ask for people to contribute to her fundraiser, when I just bought myself a new shirt ? How do we find a balance, how do we do all of this and not lose ourselves in it all? Sometimes we don’t find a balance. Sometimes things swing wildly out of control. Sometimes we caught up in it, lost in it, buried in it.

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Special needs parents may find themselves withdrawing from friends, cancelling attendance at social events, forgetting to reply to that email or text message you sent to them. At their times of greatest stress, they may become cranky, oversensitive, hard to be around. You see once loving couples sniping at each other, or withdrawing from each other, or running away from it all by resorting to affairs, or one more glass of wine, or just another few hours on that computer game. And it can be hard to understand these changes you see in these people you thought you knew. Because without knowing what goes on behind the scenes, what you see is a kid who “seems alright to you”. Things can’t be that tough can they? What is the big deal? I’m not saying our lives are one big ongoing tragedy, that we limp through each day hating the world and everything in it. Our lives are full of joys as well. But the reality is that our experience of parenting can be quite different to the experiences of parents with neurotypical kids. And that in cases of “invisible disability”, much of the struggle can be hidden. And that’s a lonely place to be.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that kids with “invisible disabilities” have it harder than children with other types of disabilities. Parents of kids with highly visible disabilities get all of the same work and stress and financial distress, sometimes more, much more. This isn’t a competition. We are all in this together. I’m simply focussing on what I call “invisible disabilities” today in the hope of raising awareness around something that isn’t so easy for a casual observer to see.

My own daughter, Sophie, has challenges that may not be readily apparent to someone in the street. Things you may not see unless you live with us.. Things you may not notice if you haven’t had exposure to the secret world of being a therapist, or an educator, or a doctor, or a special needs parent. But challenges that exist nonetheless. Challenges that affect her every single day, and that will continue to affect her for the rest of her life. Challenges that she works damn hard at therapy to overcome. But in many ways she seems “just fine”. So she sometimes doesn’t get cut slack in areas where she needs it. Sometimes I get tired of feeling like I have to explain my daughter’s behaviours, or justify why I might use a particular parenting technique. Sometimes I get tired of feeling unsupported because people think she is “just fine”.

Again, don’t get me wrong, I’m eternally grateful that Sophie doesn’t have to deal with some of the really serious issues that other children with special needs have to deal with. She isn’t in a wheelchair, she hasn’t had to have heart surgery, she walks, she talks, she eats, she jumps and laughs and plays and dances and sings. She has an incredible memory and, at just six, a vocabulary that any twelve year old would be proud of. She lights up my life with her joy and enthusiasm. And I never cease to be grateful for these miracles. In many ways, she IS just fine. And hearing that is sure as hell better than hearing the alternative…”Wow..she seems really f8cked up!!!” But hearing it can sometimes feel dismissive of the challenges she has overcome, and the challenges she still faces each day.

Sophie has low muscle tone and hyperflexible joints. Big deal you say. And yes, compared to being in a wheelchair, these things are a breeze. But these issues affect many aspects of her day to day living. They affect her speech articulation and her fine and gross motor skills. She only just became safe to walk up and down stairs without supervision this year, and only learnt to take her own shirt off about six months ago, at the age of five and a half, A skill that most kids have achieved by the age of two. She only became really competent with a spoon this year, and still spills things much more often than you would imagine. Her low muscle tone makes it hard for her to sit in a seat in class for any length of time. She uses a back support, and a tilted desk, and special pencil grips, and a wrist support to help her in the classroom. Yet still she struggles to keep up with the kids in her class. Not because she isn’t smart, but because her hands can’t get the pencil to do what she wants it to do. And then her low tone makes her tire easily, making it difficult to concentrate, and hence difficult to learn Her sensory issues mean that she is under constant low level stress in the classroom, because 25 prep students make noise. A lot of noise. And that noise throws her system into a state of disarray. So then she can start to act out. Or withdraw.

Sophie’s Asperger’s and sensory issues means that she has difficulty in the playground. Observing casually you may not see anything out of place. Looks like she is playing and getting on just fine. But if you take a closer look you will see that at school she is always engaging in parallel play – playing beside the other kids, not with them. Lost in her own little imaginary world of fairies and unicorns. Which is not in itself a bad thing – hell, I love fairies and unicorns. But it is a problem when Sophie wants to be part of the joint play, and just can’t figure out how to make that happen. A child of her age should be well and truly capable of a reciprocal social interaction with peers of up to 15 minutes, and Sophie is still working on a three minute goal. She’s okay as long as she gets to direct the play, or if she is with kids she is very familiar with, or there is an adult involved, but has no idea how be included in group play in the school playground.

Sophie also has issues with histone methylation. So for the rest of her life she has to have a different dietary regime and take supplements to support her functioning. Not a big deal in the grand scheme of things. Not something you can tell by looking at her. But if she misses her supplements, it shows. The reports from her therapists start to mention attention problems, her handwriting suffers, she starts pushing kids around in class. She tells me “I find it hard to play on the playground because normally I can run, but now I can only walk”. Then the teacher pulls me aside and gently tells me that Sophie has been falling out of her seat a bit this week, and has been unable to control her outbursts in class.

There are other challenges, more than a few, but I won’t bore you with the details of all that in this post. Because the exact nature of all of Sophie’s challenges isn’t really the point of this post. The point of this post is really to raise awareness about what might be going on behind the scenes, not just for our family, but for all parents and kids dealing “invisible disabilities”. The point is to raise awareness of the fact that sometimes, hearing the words “she seems fine to me” , however well intended, may not have the desired effect.

It’s kind of a double edged sword – because part of us swells with pride when we hear these words, and we take the time to reflect on how far our child has come. But many of us also secretly (or not so secretly) wish for understanding. We want people to understand that getting our kids to the point where they seem “just fine” often comes at a great financial, emotional and physical cost to all involved. And hearing those words, no matter how well meaning, can feel dismissive of the challenges our children have overcome. Those words can make us feel that our child’s ongoing challenges are of no consequence. And that we have no right to be tired, overwhelmed and disheartened at times. It can make a special needs parent feel unheard, unsupported, misunderstood, overwhelmed and invalidated,. It’s not pity we are after, but understanding and compassion can go a long way. By all means tell us that our little ones are doing fabulously, that we are doing a great job – sometimes that is all we need to hear. But please don’t dismiss our struggles. Because sometimes we really need that shoulder to lean on, that quiet chat over a cup of tea (or a bottle of wine), that chance to cry and share our worries and feel HEARD. So that we can stand up straight and tall again, feel pride in what our children have achieved and what we have done to support them, and move forwards. We don’t want to live in the world of special needs all the time. In many ways we are still the people we were before our children were born, we want to laugh and play and have fun and experience joy and silliness and beauty and love and all the world has to offer. But sometimes we may just need that little bit of understanding to help get us through our dark places.

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P.S. To all you special needs parents out there whose children have visible disabilities..please know that I am in no way trying to diminish your struggles. As I said in my post, you deal with all of this and often more. And to any of you out there suffering other invisible disabilities like chronic pain, hearing loss, chronic fatigue, depression, anxiety, autoimmune conditions and the list goes on and on..I am not diminishing your struggles either. I hope that my post may help people to take a step back and choose not to judge people in ANY situation. Because we really rarely have a clue about what people deal with in their lives. If we all took the time to be just that little bit more compassionate and understanding towards each other, the world would be a much finer place.
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Motor Skills and and Neurological Development

Well it’s been a while between posts.  I lost my first true adult love and dear friend of 20 years just six weeks ago.  An early and completely unexpected death.  RIP Jimmi, I know you are watching over us.  We have also been busy getting our house ready for sale, and I’ve returned to work after a loooong time off.  So I haven’t been up to writing  until now.

And once again I’m going to mix it up…I had intended to write about Sophie’s speech development.  But Sophie attended her first ballet class a few weeks ago, so I’m moved to write about her motor development. My blog, I can change the rules :).

So… here we go…

Right from the beginning, it was evident that Sophie had some differences in her motor development.  She didn’t have a grasp reflex or a rooting reflex. She felt very floppy as a newborn and infant.  It was like she was sliding through our arms when we tried to hold her.  She always needed to be held and supported with two hands…no holding the baby in one arm while getting on with household chores for us!

She never curled up into that cute fetal position that babies tend to love.  Here is our attempt at one of those cute curled up baby photos, when she was just a few weeks old..fail!
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I took her to a baby massage class, and while the other babes relaxed in bliss, she squirmed, struggled, cried and was quite unhappy with the  whole rigmarole.

She made lots of jerky, flailing movements with her arms and legs, which while cute and endearing, I recognised as not being “normal”.

She didn’t hold her head up until around four months of age.  For tummy time, we placed a rolled up towel under her chest, as she had no apparent desire or motivation to lift herself up. She had head lag until she was over a year old (usually resolved by three months).

She retained her Moro (startle) reflex until she was more than 9 months old.
This reflex should usually disappear by 4 to 5 months.  Retained reflexes, like missing reflexes, are an indicator of physical delays.

She was too floppy to sit  in a bumbo chair or high chair unsupported, even at 6 months old, so we used to prop her up with folded towels all around her, so she could “sit up” to eat.

I couldn’t ignore her physical differences, so from very early on I started “googling” to try to find ways to help.  I have no idea where I found the time or strength to research, given the sleep deprivation, feeding issues and other concerns.  But I suppose as mums we do whatever it takes to give our child the best start, even when we are beyond desperate for sleep and respite.

From when Sophie was about two months old, we attempted to get her more comfortable with massage.  As we had heard this was good for training the brain, and assisting with motor integration. It wasn’t something she relaxed into, so we took it slowly.  Just a small belly rub during nappy changes.  Or rubbing her arms or legs when she would allow it.  Some lights stroking, some heavier stroking. We started to do “crossover” exercises with her when she was about three months old.  So each time we changed her nappy, we would take her left arm and touch it to her right foot, then take her right arm and touch it to her left foot.  Rinse and repeat.  We started to do joint compressions at bedtime.  All in an effort to increase her comfort with touch, help build neuro-connections and give her as many sensory experiences as possible.

At least four or five time a day we would take her little arms and gently try to pull her up to sitting, supporting her head as necessary.  Trying to help build her abdominal and neck strength.  Even now, at nearly five years old, she rolls onto her side to get up from lying down, rather than having the strength to use the “sit up” style form of moving from lying to sitting.

While some of her physical milestones were (and still are) quite delayed, in others she managed to “make it” just within the “deadline”.  Sophie sat at 8 months.

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She crawled at one day before nine months (the hospital had advised us to bring her back if she wasn’t crawling at nine months…she must have known..I’msure she was sick of hospitals by then!).  She pulled to stand at 9 months, started cruising at 10 months and walked at 14 months.

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While she achieved a number of milestones (just) within the “normal” timeframe, her physical weakness was obvious.  She was wobblier than other kids, more prone to falling, had much less strength and endurance.  Her gait was unusual, and for several years she would hold her hands up high for balance.  Even now she doesn’t swing her hands in the natural “reciprocal arm swing” (hands opposite to the feet) way that comes to most children by the age of about two or earlier.

In regards to physiotherapy…we had a few “traditional” sessions from when she was about seven months old.  These were helpful in terms of identifying her specific delays, addressing my concerns about her flat feet (since resolved) and her spinal curvature (xrays showed no spinal abnormalities, so we knew it was a core strength issue).  She was officially diagnosed with low tone and hyperflexible joints, so we had a definitive explantion for her physical “weakness”.

The public health system could only offer sessions sporadically, however.  And we noticed the exercises they did with her were largely things we could do ourselves, with a little bit of research, and some dedicated effort.  At that time, Sophie had 19 medical specialists and was attending physio, OT and speech.  Our lives was consumed with doctors appointments, therapy, and driving to and from all of  those appointments.  I wanted her to have time to just enjoy the  world. To be a kid, not a patient.  So we decided to drop physiotherapy, and replace it with family activities that would help to develop her gross motor skills.

We took her to Gymboree.

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We took her to playgrounds.  All the time.

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We went camping. Often.  Camping was especially great for her once she started to be able to walk, as the different textures and gradients of the environment challenged her skills in balance and proprioception.  Hills, grassy places, sandy spots, rocks, pebbles, tree roots and twigs.  Puddles . Creeks and water holes.  We noticed a definite “leap”  in her physical abilities each and every time we took her camping.  So we took her, even when packing the car seemed impossible.  Even when the mere prospect of leaving the house filled me with dread. We had always loved camping, but the exhaustion of sleep deprivation certainly didn’t make it an appealing idea in the first couple of years.  Luckily the rewards always outweighed the effort, and I have no doubt that all of Sophie’s camping experiences have not only improved her motor skills, but also helped her with her sensory issues and socialisation.

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Frank did a lot of work around proprioceptive awareness from when she was only a couple of months old, including rocking her from side to side, lifting her high into the air and and lowering her low to the ground, spinning her, rocking her.  Frank carried her in a backpack before she could hold herself up, tucking her in tightly with towels.

Once she was able to sit, we bought her a “bouncy tiger” and she sat on that for all meals, requiring her to continually shift balance and develop her core strength.  Once she could stand with support we bought her a mini trampoline with a handle, and she was only allowed to watch TV if standing on the trampoline.  Even before she could bounce, the gentle movement of the sprung base required her to continually readjust her balance.

At two years of age Sophie, thanks to the financial support of my parents, we were able to start Sophie with an excellent private Occupational Therapist, Robyn Simms.  Robyn worked (and continues to work) on fine motor skills and play skills with Sophie, but she also worked on her gross motor skills.  Thanks to Robyn our repertoire of “tools” with which to help Sophie grew.

We started to sit her on a Swiss ball, holding her by the hips, and moving the ball from side to side.  As she grew in confidence, we would lie her on her tummy over the swiss ball, tipping it one way until her head nearly touched the floor, then pulling it back until her feet were nearly touching the floor.  As her strength grew, we held her by the feet and put an object just out of reach, then rolled the ball forwards so she could reach out to grab the toy.  When she was strong enough, we progressed on to holding her feet in the air while she supported herself on her arms, and moved forwards  “wheelbarrow” style.  We used a scooterboard to develop her core strength.  We bought mini three wheel scooters of different heights, and without pedals, requiring her to develop the strength in her thighs and core in order to propel them forwards.  We bought three second hand slides of varying heights and angles, to help her with climbing and overcoming her fear of sliding.  We installed a sandpit in the backyard, a swing, a climbing cubby and a rocking toy.

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I made sure that she carried anything she was strong enough to carry, to develop her overall strength.  Sometimes she was reluctant and fearful to try new physical challenges.  “All done now” was a phrase she used often. But despite her trepidation, she would always give it a go in the end.  She showed so much courage and perseverance.  Those are qualities I admire in her so much, and qualities that I’m sure will stand her In good stead throughout her life.

At 33 months, she  was finally able to jump with two feet, after working on this for more than a year with her occupational therapist.  This  is a skill that is usually achieved at about 18 months.  What a day of joy and delight it was for us all!

Developing her physical skills and confidence was (and continues to be) a team effort.  My mother took Sophie to her occupational therapy sessions, which she videoed so we could watch.  Sophie was staying with my parents for two days each week, and they diligently worked with her.  We incorporated “physio exercises” into Sophie’s day, each and every day, but under the guise of “play”.

At the age of just three and a half she started horse riding with Riding for the Disabled…she was the youngest rider the centre had ever had. Thankfully the costs for this were low.  It equated to less than $20 per session due to the wonderful volunteers at Crowson Park RDA, who work for free, and the fact that her small respite allowance extended to covering the costs associated with caring for the horses etc.) Far cheaper than the $90+ per session that her other therapies cost.  She screamed her way through the first few sessions, but thanks to the gentle care of the volunteers she soon lost her fear and began to thoroughly enjoy her sessions.  Hippotherapy (horse riding therapy) has helped tremendously with her poor posture, curved back, low tone and sense of proprioception.  It has also significantly increased her confidence and willingness to try new things.

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Now, at nearly five, Sophie is still more physically frail and clumsy than other kids her age. But she is accomplishing amazing things.   She still requires supervision to walk up stairs…but she can do it…and recently started to do it with alternating feet!   She has overcome her fear of “wobbly bridges” found in most playgrounds.  Recently she overcame her fear of jumping castles, and now delights in the joy of bouncing away.  Her awareness of her body in space is becoming so much better. She can climb up ladders, and enjoys slippery slides.  She loves using the rocking toys in playgrounds.  She doesn’t scream in fear when other kids come near her on the playground equipment (kids can be rough, and when she was younger she was always getting pushed over and walked over..now she has the confidence to move out of the way, and even on occasion to push her way through to the  front! ) And about four months ago she FINALLY started to bounce along and try a few “dance steps” when watching the interactive song and dance parts on playschool!

She has come so far that we have finally been able to enrol her in a ballet class.  Something she has been asking to do for many months.  Just six months ago she found it almost impossible to copy basic movements like a turn or a step to each side.  A few weeks ago we proudly watched while she followed the teachers instructions through an entire thirty minute class. Perhaps not always in time, perhaps not quite as gracefully as the other kids.  But she was delighted, and so were we.

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In terms of Sophie’s challenges, her gross motor development is currently the least of our concerns.  That’s not to say she doesn’t have delays, and that continued intervention is not required.  It’s just that in the grand scheme of things, we know she will be “okay” in this regard.  She may not ever be the fastest swimmer, or the most graceful dancer, but she has great mobility…good enough that it no longer interferes with her capacity to join in on the playground.  She can enjoy the delights of trampolines, and slippery slides, climbing, and playing “can’t catch me”.  And really, that’s what matters.

Her gross motor skills may become a higher priority again in the future. At the very least, I’m guessing there will be a conversation or two as she gets older, and begins to notice that she is not as physically adept as the other kids.  And children with Kabuki syndrome are prone to developing terrible joint problems, particularly with their knees and hips, often requiring surgery. But that may or may not be in store for Sophie, and there is no point worrying about it right now.  In the big picture, her gross motor development is an area that we have allowed ourselves to relax about.  Sure, we need to give her extra input, she needs more practice to master physical skills, we can’t totally “take our eye off the ball”.  But we are blessed that she is as physically able as she is.  And we no longer expend so much energy on this area of her development.

We have been incredibly lucky in this regard, as many children with Kabuki Syndrome take much longer to get where Sophie is.  Many don’t walk until three, four, five or older.  Some require orthotics or other physical aids such as walkers.  Some are in wheelchairs.  We are tremendously grateful that Sophie has had fewer struggles with her gross motor development than many of her Kabuki peers.  And knowing how lucky we have been makes us all the more excited and delighted when we see other “Kabuki Kids” start to sit, crawl, walk, dance and play.

Overall, while some areas of her motor development are still significantly delayed compared to “neurotypical” kids, she is doing fabulously.  She may be clumsier than the other kids.  But now when she falls, rather than tears or hysteria, she just laughs and gets straight back up again.  A wonderful lesson for me to take on board…when you fall..laugh and get back up…keep trying, and never give up!  Thank you baby girl for teaching me…I hope I will take your lessons on board sooner rather than later.