While some parents go into adoption with a specific mind set or desires for how they’d wish to start or expand their family while others fall into adoption rather casually and sometimes by pure chance.

In some cases, prospective parents are already open to the idea of accepting a child into their family no matter what the race, gender or even health condition of the child is.

And sometimes the love and bonding of a child inspires adoption in foster to adopt situations.

Regardless, of how special needs adoption comes to be, the universal theme is love.

I had the opportunity to interview two families on their special needs adoption. Their candid responses to my question left me feeling in such awe.

As a special needs parent myself by way of a biological child, I was extremely interested in what led a set of parents to adopt a child with special needs, and in some cases with severe disabilities and challenges or even a shortened life expectancy.

Essentially, why would you say yes to raising a child that you knew would change the dynamic of your life so drastically?

Their responses were everything you’d hope for and more.

I asked Autumn Hernandez, Mom to a primarily typical daughter who is sixteen and a younger adopted daughter, what she perceived as her greatest joys and rewards from becoming and adopted parent to a child with special needs.

She replied, “Some of my greatest joys are seeing the improvements she makes and the milestones she hits.

Above all the greatest joy is the smile on her face when she hears momma.

To her I’m just mom there is no adoption or other mom it’s just mom.”

Likewise I asked the same question to Kelly Price, a mom that describes her “biological daughter as twice exceptional and her youngest having sensory issues.”

Kelly, didn’t seem to bat an eye at the idea of incorporating an additional child into the already existing challenges of special needs parenting.

I also asked Kelly the same question about what her greatest joys and rewards from special needs parenting were and she expressed; ” “Meh, I would say they are the same joys and rewards you get from raising any child.

She has grown and achieved so much beyond what the ‘experts’ thought possible.

Relationship dynamics after a child with special needs has been introduced into your circle of friends, close family and extended family have always been of particular interest to me.

I’ve found special needs parents of biological children often have a difficult time with family and friends after the birth or diagnosis of their child with special needs.

In many cases they express abandonment of their closest friends, withdrawal of support of family, and relationships that cease to exist over time.

However, the opposite seems to be true in cases where a family has adopted a child with special needs into the family.

Kelly stated that she found that her “family and friends accepted her very quickly and have been there for us throughout.”

Likewise, Autumn replied that while it perhaps changed some of her extended family dynamic, “but beyond that I don’t believe it has changed any other relationships or support/assistance.”

I asked both Kelly and Autumn if they felt that they were treated differently than those who have biological children with special needs.

And both wholeheartedly agreed that they do feel that they are treated differently.

Kelly states that people continually tell her that she is, “special to take that on” – she hates that.

Autumn told me much the same, that people tell and, “act as if my husband and I are saints for adopting her which I find extremely annoying because the fact is no matter her needs she’s just my baby girl and I don’t do anything any other parent wouldn’t do.”

Special needs adoption might not be for everyone, but for the families that decide that is where their life’s journey has led them to do, everything I felt and experienced with these two mother’s sharing their hearts with me, made me feel nothing but a whole world full of love.

To them it’s no different than a biological child that they gave birth to, perhaps just with some extra care and needs.

You know inevitably your news feed is going to be filled with countless mothers posting pictures of sweet handmade gifts from each of their able bodied children, a doting husband who prepared breakfast in bed and showered her with a dozen roses.

And a follow up post about her excitement over afternoon reservations for Mother’s Day Tea at an exquisite restaurant followed by her family treating her to a trip to the spa at her leisure.

You’re much too tired to be jealous or have any tingling of envy.

You learned long ago that your life will in no way even come close to mirroring that of a typical mother – even on Mother’s Day.

Your Mother’s Day didn’t start with a cup of coffee from the local cafe, or even with your child being able to run up to you with their arms wrapped around you – because your child physically is unable to.

You ache just to hear the words from your non-verbal child say “I love you mama,” even more so on Mother’s Day than any other day of the year.

Your husband glances at you, as he’s no stranger to your all night parental care of a medically fragile child.

His admiration no less than any other day; but he aches to make you feel so incredibly loved even though he knows that motherhood has been much harder than any mother would ever wish it to be.

He wants to pamper you in all the ways you wish to be – and that you need to be… that you deserve to be.

But both of you know that special needs parenting has catapulted your family into financial distress and there is little to no room for store bought flowers, fancy reservations, or the bench you’d love to place out in the garden so you’d have moment to just breathe in between the hard spots.

On Mother’s Day, all other mothers are celebrating with such a display of public perfection that you wish you could look away.

Yet like a moth to a flame, you read on, post after post after post.

You remain incredibly happy for all of your friends, families, contacts and acquaintances that you know.

A part of you wonders if they think about what your Mother’s Day is like.

You don’t dare advertise the truth of it, as that would simply confirm the imperfection of your life to others.

The illusion remains that everything is ‘fine’ and ‘wonderful,’ even on Mother’s Day.

You feel forgotten, alone, and a bit sad.  You ache just for a sense of, “normal”, especially on Mother’s Day.

There is no better day of the year than to feel so incredibly cheated out what was supposed to be, how you thought it would be, how you dreamed it to be.

You don’t want the world to know you’re struggling so you pick silence.  There are no posts on social media from you.

You quietly withdraw hoping that no one will notice how incredibly different your Mother’s Day is from most mothers.

But even though you don’t post, or write, or advertise in anyway how your Mother’s Day is going, you don’t have to because I already know.  I know because I’m just like you.

And while my heart is tremendously full from the love and gifts that having a special needs child has brought into my life, I still wonder even years later the mother I may have been had I been dealt a different hand, and how differently I’d be celebrating Mother’s Day.

I know on each Mother’s Day isn’t what you’d imagined or dreamed it to be.

I honor your sadness and your simultaneous smile.  I know how special you are.

I know how hard you work to keep a small precious child alive.  I know you’re tired, and that your body, soul and mind ache.

I know how devoted you are to tasks and how complex your thoughts are.  I know that you think you need no thanks on Mother’s Day or any other day of the year.

I know you are the champion for your family.

And although your Mother’s Day will likely look different from the rest, you stand out as this amazing beautiful rose for all that you do, and all that you are.

Happy Mother’s Day, I’m thinking of you.

It’s typically the special needs moms that are on the front lines.

We’re the lioness that roars if so much someone thinks about trespassing against our child, we’re making appointments, coordinating medical and adaptive equipment, we are generally the researchers and giving ourselves our own medical degrees specifically related to our child’s wellbeing.

We juggle everything in a day, our child’s needs, household chores, often times taking on additional roles with home-schooling and home therapy homework activities.

We’re nothing short of amazing.

But the dads – although perhaps sometimes taking a quieter role are no less than extraordinary.

We don’t talk about them enough.  They are in the background being the backbone of the family dynamic.

Often the unsung heroes that don’t nearly get the recognition for the distance they go to in order to be the very best dads possible.

They make countless sacrifices for their child with special needs and their families.

You will rarely ever ever hear a special needs dad complain.

They are the bricks that won’t fall, the shoulders moms need to cry on after numerous insurance defeats, the dads that carry the small bodies of their children on their backs, who are their voices when they cannot speak, who aim to show them the world despite physical limitations.

There is so much that special needs dads must give up.  First it’s the dreams for their child, then they slowly abandon their own dreams, goals and hobbies.

You’ll see race cars and hobby cars just sitting in garages that won’t run because there is no money or time any longer to devote to them.

You’ll see projects around the house maybe go unfinished or take longer to repair because they are more focused on building their child’s speech mount or trying to make an accessible ramp.

They are just as tired as the moms yet most bravely go off to work and bring home as much as they  can to continue financially providing for the family all the while their thoughts never waiver from the challenges and struggles that exist at home.

They pack more love in their hearts than one could ever imagine.

Sitting down in front of the television to watch your favorite shows, or off to have a night with out with the guys doesn’t happen.

They instead remain devoted to spoon feeding their child who cannot feed themselves, taking over for mom so she can sit down for twenty-minutes, dive into eight basketfuls of laundry because medical needs create more to wash.

Complaining is never in their cards, nor do they wish it to be.

Their child with special needs has become the center of their universe and they willingly and lovingly will go any distance to make their child’s life the best and brightest that it can be.

They have re-crafted their own dreams and hopes for the future.

And they never look back with regret nor remorse for the dreams they left behind.   And they may think that we moms perhaps never notice.

But we see and recognize it all and know that it’s the dads that help fuel us moms to be able to rise to the occasion every day and keep on keeping on.

Dads also are extremely creative and find loving ways to juggle all the needs that all of their children with different abilities have.

They can easily balance the act of building a puzzle with their typical child while assisting the other with a speech device; teaching one child to hit a baseball, while suiting up with the Upsee to help the other kick a soccer ball.

Special needs dads are a bit unlike special needs moms in that they generally grieve internally.

Special needs moms tend to be more vocal in their pain and in their joy, the struggles and difficulties that come along with special needs parenting.

You will rarely see a special needs dad participate or discuss their feelings openly in any support setting.  They process it all very differently but it still exists for them equally as a parent.

The pain is equal, the joy as profound, and the challenges just as obvious.

Yet how they carry the load is simply stoic.

Special needs dads are incredible people.

And even though they may not demonstrate the need, they are so deserving of a genuine friendship hug or a man to man pat on the back, someone to say that they see them even though they too often feel invisible on the journey.

To tell them that they are proud of the strong men that they are and the tremendous devotion and love that they pour into their families and children with special needs.

To remind them just how extraordinary they truly are.

All the special needs moms perhaps in slight competition with each other.

Measuring their self-worth, accomplishments and mothering up against one another.

The dads gathering to around just waiting on the moms to give them direction and a task to complete.

While the episode was comical and perhaps exaggerated just a touch, it made some very valid points and was true to form on special needs parenting dynamics.

A new mom came into the support group.

She arrived bearing a hostess gift of a homemade cake with a handmade decorated box for the cake.

It immediately put the rest of the moms on high guard.  With lives that are so complicated most special needs moms struggle to accomplish making their lives resemble anything that looks like it’s in order.

So, when a new member comes into the group that seems to be able to do it all… makes the rest of the group feel inadequate.

This inevitably leads to tension when they relocate the special needs mom gathering to the new mother’s home only to find that her home is overly-organized, spotless and beautiful.

The rest of the special needs moms twinged in a big way and their feelings resulted in resentment and conflict towards the mom that appeared to be able to do it all – and do it perfectly.

And as I was sitting there watching it, I felt a tad guilty because I saw myself in that overly-organized mom.

It’s not because I can do it all, because I certainly wish I could, but can’t.

It’s not because I’m trying to be better than the next special needs mom, or that I think I’m in some way perfect.

My confession is that being overly- organized has become my coping mechanism, if you will, for coping with the stress of special needs parenting.

When your child’s diagnosis feels out of your hands, situations feel out of your hands, when you have zero control over things you wish you did – the only thing sometimes that relieves that stress or provides a moment of comfort is finding power over something you can control – and in my case that happens to be cleaning and organizing.

It’s the one thing I can control or fix.

So maybe my house sometimes looks like no one really lives in it or puts their feet in the couch (although I assure you that does happen), or maybe that my cabinets look like a picture on Pinterest, or that my closets are color coordinated and sorted by season.

But that doesn’t mean that I’m trying to display a show that I am in any way better than the next parent.

It’s simply become a comfortable way for me managing personal stress.

So the next time you’re measuring yourself up against another special needs mom, whether she seems to have the world put together, or one that has a dishevelled and messy home, remember we’re all on the same playing field.

We’re all doing our very best with some hard circumstances.

We juggle a lot and how we each handle things or how we cope will look differently.

Some moms turn to chocolate, some become compulsive exercisers, some over-organizers… none of us are better than the next nor are we trying to be.

Sometimes all we are doing is just trying to add order to our lives that feel like they can be chaos.

Be gentle and easy on yourself for whatever your “vice” is.

We all have one.  We all create it to help us get through the day.

And remember not to be critical of someone else’s way of finding order, or giving themselves a small piece of comfort.

We are all just as special and unique as our children are.

1) I will try to get some fresh air everyday.

2) I will allow treating providers and therapists to have less of an impact on my emotions and will not take their lack of confidence in my child to heart.

3) I will spend one day a week in my pajamas and not feel an ounce guilty about it.

4) I will search out new avenues of support and assistance and focus less on the dead-ends knowing something good will come through a new door.

5) I will organize and go through old paperwork and purge documents that are no longer necessary or relevant to my child’s care.

6) I will re-evaluate my child’s team and decide if a new doctor, therapist, care provider, durable medical equipment provider or specialist needs to be replaced.

7) I will be gentle with myself and be less critical if I can’t get it all done in a day.

8) I will treat myself to a time-out.  Maybe that means I’ll paint my nails, read a book for 15 minutes, or sit down and finish a cup of coffee.

9) I will only check Web MD once monthly and not try to diagnosis new symptoms online.

10) I will work on quick comebacks for the insensitive comments that others say about my child with special needs.

11) I will find more joy than sadness even during the really hard and difficult times like insurance denials and government benefit battles.

12) I will do my best to accept invitations to get out into the community even if that means joining a friend for a cup of coffee.

13) I will not invest my time and energy to get family members and friends to accept our situation and will cling to those who already understand.

14) I will insist on second opinions about negative news and verdicts about my child’s health.

15) I will designate one day a week to no therapies, appointments or schedules to allow our family to enjoy each other’s company privately.

Oh no, I have to go Christmas shopping with my child with special needs.

This is where you enter a lot of frustration and you haven’t even left the house.

The anticipation of loading and unloading a wheelchair in a skiff of snow makes your fingers instantly numb.

There’s the fact your child really hates coats and dislikes shoes.

And that the gobs of holiday shoppers will gawk even more than they do on other days out.

Thoughts of long lines makes you sweaty and itchy because you know it means that your child will be on sensory overload is bound to gag and potentially vomit, then cry uncontrollably for doing so because he can’t control it.

You’ll scramble for klennex, or the sleeve of your coat, but not before sanitizing your hands because you touched a grocery cart or something on the shelf last and may introduce a life-threatening germ otherwise.

You’ll purposefully flee to the other side of the store if you so much hear another child coughing.

You know you can’t possibility spring to the isle that has a Hatchimal or NES Nintendo Classic because well you can’t run people down with your child’s wheelchair and know that in the event it was damaged by psychotic shoppers insurance would take years to repair it.

Then you get to the depressed stage – you’ll cruise isles gathering ideas or trying to prompt your non-verbal child to give you a clue as to what they’d love for Christmas.

Just like the year before you spend way too much time in the baby toy section – even though your child should have developmentally outgrown that section many years ago.

And while his mind has, his physical abilities have not.

You egg him on to knock over a toy that he has an interest in off the shelf with his athetoid movements and high extensor tone.

He does only to get a multitude of stare downs from other parents and employees who then quickly look away once they see the wheelchair and assume you simply drove him into a pile of toys carelessly.

The check-out lane.  The finish line.

But wait.  Not really.

The lines are four people deep, each filled with carts to the brim.

The are people behind you and you’ve just started putting your items up for the cashier when the person in front of you demands a price check… and then a recheck… and then has to stand and silently to think about it attempting to make the cashier uncomfortable enough to just say it’s free now please go away.

All the while your child with special needs has started to scream because they are less than thrilled with the behavior of the customer in front of you.

You just want out of the store.

You’re even willing to leave what little treasures you were able to score behind.

You just want to go home.  Retreat for your sanity.

You’re pinned and have nowhere to go other than to stick it out until the end.

You finally get your items rung up and you whip out that debit card faster than you can say, “Happy Holidays.”

And just like that you’re gone with the wind.  A blazing blur out of the store.

You get to the car and think to yourself – I finally understand the true meaning of a Nightmare Before Christmas and vow to finish out the year with online shopping.