Help Me Out Dolly

  
I’m sorry Dolly but I’m going to have to rush you. You see, this ‘no-rush policy’ of ours is no longer working for me. I’m no longer cool with you taking your time to grow. 
I’m getting frustrated; I’m losing my patience.
You’re 15 months old now and I so want you to start acting your age. I’m desperate for you to start making the progress you should. We’ve spent over a year ‘babying’ you the way that you’ve needed but what you need now, is to grow. 

 
When you were first born, we tried to shed light on the situation by laughing about your future “it’ll look so peculiar watching such a small baby sit or walk” we’d giggle. “Wait until she’s talking and people can’t believe what they’re hearing” we’d grin. I couldn’t wait to see you flourish. I wanted to amaze people with your story, prove to them that your strength was admirable. What I fear now, is that we receive people’s pity. 
I don’t want ‘pity’ for you. I want hope! 
Sometimes, I see the way people look at us. Although it could be completely innocent, I read their eyes and recoil from their sympathy. 

  
I don’t want their sympathy for you. I want their awe.
I want people to look at you and marvel in the beautiful miracle that you are. I want them to notice your smile and your powerful eyes. I want them to see that you wear that smile throughout all of your pain, you never show your frustration. You’re dignified and fierce. You’re brave and determined. 
I wish I knew how to be strong like you. I wish I knew how to hide my fears.
My dreams for you have always been aspirational. I’ve seen what you’ve conquered, I know what’s achievable. You’ve more courage and ambition than any little girl I’ve ever met and I’ll make sure you know how much I believe in you. 

  
That’s why I’ve fought! By 9 months, I was certain that we should have seen some physical progress. It had been easy to shy away from it before then, people had been able to blame your size ‘she’s still too small to sit’, ‘she hasn’t got the muscle to roll yet’. I wanted to believe they were right. So, when the Dr deemed you as ‘lazy’, I was happy to accept it.

 Then a year came, and I started to admit that they were wrong. You’ve never been lazy – it’s not a word I’d associate with any aspect of your being, so why would I trust this judgement? Eventually, I made them realise that you were in pain. Eventually, I made them listen to your shrieks as I dutifully carried out the exercises we’d been given. Eventually, they noticed that those weren’t the cries of a lazy child.
The X-Ray showed that you’ve ‘spastic’ hips. This means that your hip joint can’t fit into the deformed socket – the reason why you can’t sit. No doubt, the reason for your cries. I felt sickened. Why hadn’t I insisted earlier? Why had I been so quick to agree you were lazy? How could I have been so blinded by ignorance? You require surgery, we’re not quite sure yet what it will entail. 
Your left hip is two inches shorter than your right. How hadn’t I spotted it? It’s now another thing I worry about. You’re no longer the tiny baby that people look at with joy. You’re the size of a toddler who can’t do anything but lie. I don’t want people to judge you, I don’t want anyone to think you’re anything but ‘normal’ – whatever that may be! They can’t see your strength, the fact that even this is still an accomplishment. It’s something that I’ll be forever proud of, forever grateful for. After all, there were days you couldn’t breathe for yourself.

  
The surgery will fix you, it’ll make life easier too.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want this for you. The thought of you needing more surgery – the thought of you needing any surgery – makes me want to vomit. I don’t want you to feel pain, I don’t want you to be scared. But, I know that it’s necessary. 
The surgery will help you grow and I need you to be ready to.

  
I’m ready to catch you as you spin yourself dizzy. I’m ready to chase you as you run with excitement. I’m ready to watch you dance, marvel as those beautiful slender legs bend into pirouettes.
I’m ready to walk with you, hand in hand. I’ve had your back all this time, I’ve never let you fall but I’m ready to sit back and see what you’re capable of on your own.
I’m ready to run with you, through make-believe jungles and woods. I’m ready to hide from witches and catch fairies as they prance in our minds.
I’m ready for you to be the toddler that you should be.
So help me out Dolly, let yourself grow, get yourself ready.
The adventure is yours for the taking.   

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3 thoughts on “Help Me Out Dolly

  1. I couldn’t love this more! ❤ Beautifully written! You are not alone in your struggles and feelings but our children are still amazing waitress!

    Like

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