Turning 3 with an IEP
Dear son,
Watching you turn 3 has been nothing short of magical. Your adventurous spirit is shining brighter, and your independence is growing every day. Whether you’re zipping around on your scooter or bike, or bonding with your big sister over your first mischievous words—‘poo-poo’ and ‘pee-pee’—you’re filling our lives with joy and surprise, especially with your witty little comebacks.
Tonight, our home will be filled with laughter and love as family and close friends gather to celebrate you with cake and joyful smiles. But as you step into this new chapter, there’s something else that comes with turning three: your Individual Education Program, or IEP.
An IEP is a formal plan designed to meet the unique educational needs of a child with a disability. By the time you turn 3, the school district is required to formalize an IEP. It’s something I knew nothing about until you came into our lives, and now, it’s a constant companion in our journey. While other kids are simply starting preschool, we’re already deep into planning your educational goals and the accommodations you’ll need to thrive.
Looking back, it feels like just yesterday when we first learned of your profound deafness, standing outside the hospital on a cool October day. You were barely 2 months old. The news hit like a wave, leaving me breathless and shaken. The world was still grappling with Covid, and, suddenly, we were grappling with this new reality. I was barely able to process the words when the audiologist asked, ‘What are your goals for your son?’
At that time, I thought the only decisions I had to make revolved around whether to bottle feed or breastfeed and when to introduce a pacifier. I didn’t know I also had to consider how I would raise you: with spoken language or sign language. From that day on, our lives took a different path. We began navigating not just the typical parenting tasks but also the unique challenges that come with your disability. We started thinking about your future, your education and even wondered how college might be possible for you—all while burping, changing diapers and rocking you to sleep.
My maternity leave became a whirlwind of engaging with early intervention services, visiting schools for the deaf and connecting with other families on similar journeys. We explored cochlear implants and started learning sign language. We found support in the deaf community and made sure your caregivers were fluent in sign language or willing to learn. It was a time filled with countless meetings and decisions, but it was also a time of growth and learning.
I’m grateful for the resources and information we’ve found along the way, though I feared sometimes that the weight of unexpected challenges threatened the pure joy of raising you. My heart ached when others expressed sympathy, because you weren’t perfect in their eyes. I worried that as a hearing mother, I might never be good enough for my deaf child.
But here we are, my sweet boy. We’ve faced so many unknowns and navigated this unexpected parenting journey with strength and love. As your parents, we continue to advocate for you in a hearing world, because even with your cochlear implants, you still benefit from sign language. We push for a balance between the deaf school and an oral school, because modern technology has opened doors for you to access both worlds. We continue to learn about our rights and the laws that protect and support you.
We’re not finished yet—there are still conversations to be had with the school district, negotiations to be made with the deaf school and work to be done on your IEP. But today, we’ll set those discussions aside and let the summer sun shine on us.
Yes, our commutes are longer than most. Yes, you and your sister don’t attend the same school like most other siblings do. Yes, we have to think about accommodations that other families don’t. Yes, we’ve faced ignorance and misinformation. But it’s also true that we’ve been lifted up by our community and by kind strangers. It’s true that we’ve learned to self advocate. It’s true that we’ve grown wiser and more informed. And most of all, it’s true that I’m happy—so very happy—with who we are and the journey we’re on.
With all my love,
Mom
