I Speak Dutch Better Than Italian

Sometimes, I can't quite get the words out. I still make mistakes in English, written and spoken, that occasionally get less than polite chuckles. I've said a few times, "I speak Dutch better than I do Italian"... that is, I know better how to deal as a high-functioning disabled person, and don't quite fit in the "normal" world.
I was 34.5 weeker... preemie. My parents' lives were full of speech, physical, and occupational therapists, and doctors galore, from an ENT for my ears and later, my extremely swollen tonsils, (And I suppose, lawyers, thieves and Indian chiefs). I, and they, know the warped world of thinking, when pregnant, that you'll have a bouncing baby, etc... and ending up on a whole 'nother planet.
 My first live infant (Yes, I mean that, I had 3 miscarriages before Lorelei) was born at 33 weeks in May '06. Sure, it was a fight, lunacy and I hated my ex and his family even then... but, I fell in love with my sweet angel instantly. There is, I suppose, a sort of romance only babies can give. I cried watching her struggle, when we fought bacterial meningitis together... every year after, come winter, I get a sort of relapse... not the disease, but I find myself struck down. I remember heaters, and bad advice, tubes, medicines, an apnea monitor that would go off if she so much as sneezed. I learned to tape a diaper around wires! I remember panicky phone calls. Lordy me... I laugh at my "Oh, God... it's... it's down to her feet!" call at 3AM!
My sister had an Almost 10 pound Bouncer, and had no idea really, so she said, of how it was with me. A few ladies sent me this, and another on Patron Saints, which I'll go in search of. This is how I explain myself or  why I am not used to "normal" parents or infants: "I'm sorry, I can't hear you. Please speak up. Yes, I picked that up... I am sorry I didn't understand you, I speak Dutch better than I do Italian."
I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this......
When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.
After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."
"Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."
But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.
The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.
So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.
It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.
But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."
And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.
But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.- Emily Pearl Kingsley
Goodnight, and God bless :)