By Shawna Wingert, Contributor
Since the day my first baby was born, I have felt responsible for my children’s differences.
Not responsible in the “I’m the momma so I need to help my child” kinda way (although I certainly feel that too).
Responsible in the “Why do you let him sleep with you instead of in the crib, eat the ice cream instead of the meat, allow him to make the mess, help him in the bathroom when he is almost ten” kinda way.
I have been blamed, at one point or another, for every single one of my boys’ differences. Moreover, as we have received diagnosis after diagnosis, I find the blame comes even more frequently now ― not less.