For the longest time, I was terrible for it — the constant, exhausting fixation.

Will he talk?

Will he have friends?

Will he fit in?

The list was endless.

And honestly, it’s only natural. Kane is my fourth child, and I have three older children whose milestones are etched into my memory — their first words, steps, and achievements. Those memories become benchmarks, even when we don’t mean them to be. But that kind of comparison serves no purpose. It only leaves you disappointed, resentful, asking “why me?” — and in doing so, you miss the magic that’s right in front of you.

You miss those fleeting, beautiful moments: a quick glance around the room as they search for their safe person, a tiny touch that says, “I know you’re here.” Those moments of connection are everything — yet they’re easy to overlook when you’re too focused on what’s not happening.

I didn’t see this coming. I was blindsided. Kane was walking at ten months, meeting every milestone. There was nothing to suggest that our path would look any different.

Then came the next challenge — convincing professionals to see what I saw. I found myself fixating again, this time on what he couldn’t do, instead of meeting him where he was and celebrating what he could.

Now, Kane is six and a half.

He’s just started counting to ten.

And WOW — I couldn’t be prouder. I cry with pride and get butterflies in my stomach every single time he does it. I clap and cheer every time, because this is his pace. Not mine. Not society’s. His.

I don’t live with “if onlys” anymore. I live in the day — in his day — ready to celebrate the next small, beautiful step he takes forward.