The progress never gets old

On Mother's Day, I got handmade cards from the kids, flowers from the husband, brunch with my sister's family and the priceless gift of sleeping late from everyone. Max and one of his occupational therapists also made me a plaster plaque with a fire truck on it and the initials F.M. (Fireman Max), which was incredibly thoughtful of him—how did he know I adore fire trucks? Oh, wait.

I also got an unexpected gift from Max; it was on his construction paper card.

On the front of it, he wrote "I love you." He's been writing that for a couple of years now, and it's getting to be more and more legible.

And there, beneath the "I love you": A little heart. The first time he's ever drawn one for me. It was a pretty great looking heart, too.

Oh, how it made me happy.

Twelve years into parenting Max, my heart never stops beating faster at every new thing he does, big or small. I mean, every. Not because I don't expect him to keep doing stuff—of course I do—but because I know how hard won every bit of progress is.

Drawing a heart isn't always easy even for kids with typical fine-motor skills. So far a kid with spastic cerebral palsy that affects his arms and hands, this is a feat.

Therapists have regularly noted that handwriting will likely never be Max's thing. I get that—it's far easier and quicker for him to type out sentences on his speech app but still, he is coming along. There's no end goal here; I'll just take it as it comes, and relish it all.