the scoop on Coop

Rebrand Sam Edits-03

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We’ve been quiet on the house front because we r

We’ve been quiet on the house front because we ran into a few hiccups and had to pause working on it…but as of yesterday, this baby is officially ours. ❤️😭

The kicker? We now have 10 days to to make it livable and move out of our current home. Let’s gooooo.

Photos: Hannah Mae Creations

At this exact moment two years ago, our world as w

At this exact moment two years ago, our world as we knew it changed. I've been trying to find words to put this journey into perspective...then I realized I'd already written them. This excerpt from my book Hello, Holland says it better than anything I'd write right now. So I will leave it at this: You, Cooper Michael, are my best thing and have changed me in ways I'd never imagined.

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Nothing readies you to sit in a dark room for two hours while your baby is hooked up to machines and monitored. It’s not so much the process itself. It’s the waiting, the wondering, the trying to read the expressions of the audiologist, to gain some insight into what is happening.

For us, the test took about two hours. Two hours of staring at my sleepy newborn baby, wondering if he was able to hear something, anything, holding onto that little bit of hope. As hearing parents, I think it’s natural to do that, to hold onto hope that your baby can hear the sounds of the world, that they are “normal” like you. With time, that perspective shifts, but at first it’s something you cling to.

After two excruciating hours, our baby was unhooked from all the machines and the two women who had been in the room monitoring the testing left to discuss the results. In some ways, that 10-minute wait was longer than the previous two hours had been.

When they returned, one of them looked at me and my husband, took a deep breath, and said, “We are seeing significant hearing loss.”

“How significant?” I asked.

“We had no response,” she replied in a soft voice, knowing the weight those words carried.

As prepared as I may have felt heading into that test, knowing what I already knew as Coop’s mom, reading what I’d read about Waardenburg Syndrome, my world still came to a screeching halt and my heart shattered. Tears pricked at my eyes but I didn’t let them out. I knew if I fell apart there would be no pulling myself back together.

(Cont. in comments)

#hearingloss #deaf #asl #cochlearimplants #waardenburgsyndrome

Tonight I was standing next to Coop’s crib and h

Tonight I was standing next to Coop’s crib and holding him, cuddling like we always do before bed. It’s pitch black when we do this, and he doesn’t have his implants on — so he lacks sight and sound. He grounds himself by feeling my whole face, sometimes grabbing it with each of his chubby little hands on one of my cheeks.

Something about that tonight — something about many small moments lately — hit me hard. In the early days after his diagnosis, I was often hit hard with waves of emotion. But they were fear, anger, frustration, questioning.

These days, the waves that hit me are different. They are waves of unbridled joy, waves of gratitude that this is my child and this is our journey.

Think about how you felt watching your child take their first steps…and now imagine that every single day after being told they wouldn’t walk. That’s sometimes how this journey feels with Cooper. Every word, every sound, every attempt to mimic…I’m sure people think I’m nuts in public because I celebrate every one of those every time.

Right now we are on an upward trend when it comes to new words and sounds. But I know we will plateau, decline, incline again…and that is why we continue to sign as well. Obviously I enjoy communicating verbally with Cooper but you get to know your child on another level when they don’t have that option at points. It forces you to pay even more attention to the direction of their eyes, to the pitch of their cry, to the meaning in their gestures.

Being a parent is a learning experience every single day, and parenting a deaf child is no different in that regard. If you’re new to this journey, I promise you that the day will come that you will experience that unbridled joy and gratitude. It may not feeling that way in the thick of it, but one day it will become obvious what a gift you’ve been given.

Lately nothing makes me recoil more than seeing po

Lately nothing makes me recoil more than seeing posts with lines like “loving every second” or “enjoying every single moment.”

It makes me pause and consider and wonder, is that how it’s supposed to be? Should I feel guilty? Am I supposed to live and breathe for every waking moment spent with this child?

I mean damn, I love this kid. But I do not love every moment. Not by a long shot. I don’t love the meltdowns ending in throwing himself on the floor. I don’t love changing poop diapers. I don’t love when he winds up and punches me in the cheek then cocks his eyebrow and waits for my reaction. I don’t love when trays of food get dumped on my clean floors.

And guess what? That. Is. Okay. That. Is. Normal.

You are not obligated to enjoy every moment with your child. Not even a little.

What you are obligated to do is to demonstrate grace in those moments, to display compassion and patience, to take deep breaths. You are obligated to show your human side, not your super mom side, to walk away when necessary.

And, above all, you are obligated to come out the other side of those moments with a child who knows in the depths of their soul that you love them more than life, even when you don’t love every moment.

Communication has always intrigued me. Whether thr

Communication has always intrigued me. Whether through writing, speaking, images...there’s something about it that has always sparked a passion for me. I spent my high school years exploring it, then four years of college majoring in it.

But none of that — no amount of classroom hours, no amount of communication theory — has taught me as much about communication as you have in two short years, sweet Coop.

Before you, I thought hearing and speaking were integral parts of communication. I thought language development was natural, easy even. Before you, I never thought about facing people so they could see my mouth when I spoke. I never peeked at people’s ears when they asked me to repeat something, wondering if they were maybe aided.

Before you, I didn’t know just how much could be communicated through the twinge of an eyebrow, the lift of a corner of the mouth. I didn’t consider that vibrations could be felt and that hands could be used to communicate full needs and wants.

But most of all, I didn’t realize just how transcendent love really is.

Even though now you can hear me tell you I love you daily, I know you understand it more when I kiss your forehead or hold your little fingers. I know you know the sign more than you know the words. When we rock in the dark each night, you without hearing or vision to rely on, I know you feel the vibrations on my throat, the beat of my heart through my chest, and that is your safety net.

These two years feel like both a lifetime and a quick blink. You blow me away with your intuition and ability to adjust to the world around you.

Thank you, Cooper, for being my best teacher and opening up my world every single day. You make me better. Happy birthday, sweet boy.

Happy (almost) birthday, you (almost) 2-year-old!

Happy (almost) birthday, you (almost) 2-year-old! You kept it spicy as usual. ❤️