I’ve not been quiet about my journey with Sugarplum, my tiny little firecracker whose scream could shatter glass. I’ve shared her fits, our journey and our special bond.
She is the epitome of unconditional love. She can drive me to the brink of insanity with the fits and screaming and then in an instant I am longing to hold her. Because it’s not her fault.
My mommy has always told me “payback is a bitch” and recounts my own screaming toddler tendencies (some of which I remember). But I like to think I was more like Doodle in my meltdowns. Easy to set off but able to get myself under control with a simple “I’m all done screaming now.”
But Sugarplum doesn’t have an off switch, you simply have to wait for the batteries to run out.
I can see when it’s coming, the frustration bubbling up through her tiny little body and taking over. My little girl left unable to do more than succumb to the big feelings. She whines and writhes and screams as she flops around on the floor. And now I try not giggle as I watch my tiny gymnast contort her body and think “I bet no other person on this earth throws fits this way,” desperate to get a picture just once.
I have plenty of pictures of her ridiculous, crying outbursts and an equal amount of guilt to go with having waited so long to get the help her little body needed from the moment she was born. And occasionally, I find myself sucked into the videos of those first months. Now aware of the problem, it sticks out to me like a spotlight shining on her agony. But I didn’t see it back then.
I didn’t recognize how when she started rolling at only 18 days old, that she used her left leg much more than her right. Now I know it was because of the tightness through her right hip that probably caused her pain and discomfort from those very early days.
It wasn’t until she was starting to stand and cruise and crawl that I noticed something not right. It wasn’t until we’d endured months and months of inconsolable screaming and she began dragging her right leg that I knew something was wrong.
And it was another 9 months before I took the plunge to get her help (because the Irish doctors brushed off my concerns about her dragging leg and she was walking normally by the time we saw our US doctor again.) But the guilt was still there. And still is.
Yet somehow, all of that doesn’t matter now. Somehow all that she endured that first year has left us with no reminder other than the fits which take us back to those early days. Because shortly after she turned two, after moving back to the states and after watching the 2012 Olympic games she began showing her true colors and talents.
And a year later, when she was spending her days literally climbing up the walls, we took her natural abilities and personality into account and enrolled her in her first gymnastics class.
And here we are, three more years later and out little girl filled with fire (and unicorns) is six. And a competitive gymnast. As we sit down to watch the US gymnastics team this year, it will be as we prepare for her first gymnastics meet in 6 short weeks.
Six years ago, when she snuggled into my arms for the first time, I never would have guessed this future. My dreams of her and her future didn’t include anything we’ve actually been through. But now I see a future where her talents and drive and passion will take her places. Where all she’s been through has just made her stronger and more resilient. I see a future where all her dreams come true and I’m just happy to be along for the ride (even if it means having to hold her the last night she is 5 while she sobs over her dinner because her brother wouldn’t give her the pen she wanted and she just can’t stop crying…)
