I knew it when I saw it. This was it. This was my cover photo. This was the picture that would introduce Gia to the world. The picture that would unveil my less than perfect reality.
I love this picture. It’s beautiful. But it’s so much more than that – it’s symbolic.
This photo was captured just two weeks before Gia’s diagnosis with Childhood Apraxia of Speech, during what could only be described as a disaster of a photo session.
I remember it like it was yesterday. The fall family pictures of 2014. You know the pictures – the ones you need to go perfectly so you can send out the perfect holiday card that looks like everything went perfectly. Yep, it was those pictures.
So on October 28th of 2014, we drove to the perfect setting, dressed in the perfect outfits, to meet the perfect photographer. It was going to be just perfect!
As soon as Gia stepped out of the car, it was like she stepped on to another planet – Planet Overdrive. She was so distracted by everything around her, that you couldn’t get her attention for anything. She wanted nothing to do with us, the camera, or even an ice cream truck if it drove by. The entire session became a broken record of, “Gia! Gia! Gia!”. Nothing. We had no control over her, and she seemed to have no more control over herself.
Well there goes my perfect holiday card.
I left holding back tears. Had I completely failed as a mom? Was I raising an undisciplined, out-of-control brat? Or was her behavior symptomatic of a bigger problem? But what problem?
The apraxia news came shortly after, followed by the “suspected” Sensory Processing Disorder conversation.
My world imploded, but it suddenly made sense – beginning with our family pictures. It was one of many lightbulb moments to come. You can’t ask a child with untreated sensory issues to join you in an unknown environment, with a camera in their face and everyone shouting their name. You just can’t.
It was one year ago that I wrote my first post, Apraxia? What’s that?, and What Would Gia Say? was officially born. When it had come time to choose the cover photo for my blog, I turned to my imperfect fall family photos.
In a sea of perfectly unposed “candid” shots, there it was – the perfect picture.
It was a flawless representation of Gia at the time. She was like any other three year old that was ready to talk, but she couldn’t, and she didn’t understand why. This picture shows her struggle. I see a little girl who looks vulnerable and insecure, who’s confidence is depleting. She even looks a little lost, a little scared. When I look at this picture, I can see her, she’s in there. She’s a beautiful flower that’s just waiting to bloom.
I remember standing behind our photographer as she took this picture, desperately trying to get Gia to look, smile, pay attention…anything! I pleaded with her to get that scarf out of her face and stop covering her mouth. If Gia had listened to me, this would have been a pretty picture, but not my cover photo.
Here we are today. It’s a new year, and a new Gia.
The little girl you see in that black and white photo is not who Gia is today. So that beautifully imperfect picture has been retired. It makes me sad to see it go, but so grateful for what it means to leave it behind. What that picture represents now is so much deeper, and something only I, as Gia’s mom will ever really understand. It will forever be special to me.
So for my regular readers, I’m sure you’ve noticed – a new cover photo, and a lighter and brighter blog!
On October 3rd of 2015, I gave those fall family photos another try, only this time around, the word perfect had taken on a whole new meaning. You might call it, perspective. I simply hoped for the best, and the best was whatever Gia could give me.
Once again, I left holding back tears. Did that really just happen? Was that my daughter? Has she really come this far? Made that much growth?
Gia was happy, confident and controlled. She was completely in-tune with us and the reason we were there. Her environment was secondary, and she looked comfortable in it. Not only was she excited to take pictures, but she TALKED about getting them taken. It was a dream.
I was so proud of her.
Needless to say, I had a lot of pictures to choose from. My husband and I both agreed, this was the one. The new cover photo. The new Gia.
This picture spoke to me much like the other. It fully embodies Gia and the stage of apraxia that she’s in today. I’ll let you use your own interpretation of why we might have chosen this particular photo (I’d love to hear what it is).
I’m going to end this post and start a new year with the famous words that every apraxia parent has or will at one point utter – she has come so far, but she still has so far to go.