This month, Kay is starting soccer—and while that sentence might sound simple, it carries so much more meaning than just a new sport on the calendar.
Soccer, for us, isn’t really about goals, drills, or even learning the rules. It’s about showing up. It’s about inclusion. It’s about giving Kay the chance to experience something so many kids get to try without a second thought.
Kay will be playing through Miracle League, the same nonprofit organization she plays t-ball through, and one we absolutely love. Miracle League has given Kay a space where she can participate fully, where differences are expected, accommodated, and celebrated. There’s no pressure to perform, no comparison to what a child “should” be doing. The focus is simply on being there, trying, and having fun—and that matters more than anything else.
Because when you parent a child with Down syndrome, you learn pretty quickly that sports look different.
Kay has low muscle tone, which affects her strength, balance, and endurance. Things that may come easily to other kids often take her more time, more effort, and a lot more energy. Running is harder. Kicking takes coordination. Staying engaged for long periods can be exhausting. And that’s okay.
Going into this, I have expectations—but not the kind you might think. I’m not expecting goals scored or perfect form. I’m expecting moments of distraction, lots of breaks, maybe some wandering, and a whole lot of encouragement. I’m expecting effort. I’m expecting joy. I’m expecting Kay to be Kay.
And honestly? That’s more than enough.
We recently picked up her required shin guards, and while I highly doubt things are going to get too intense out on the field, Kay took that part very seriously. Rainbow-colored, covered in unicorns, and absolutely perfect in her eyes. She was so excited trying them on, proudly showing them off, already feeling like she belonged. Sometimes it’s the smallest details that make something feel big to a child—and watching her excitement reminded me why this matters.
Everything else we’ll pick up on Valentine’s Day when we get her uniform. Shoes are the only thing we won’t be stressing over—cleats aren’t even recommended, which honestly feels very on brand for Miracle League. It’s one less thing to worry about and one more reminder that this space was created with kids like Kay in mind.
I’ve learned over the years that participation will always matter more than performance. Kay doesn’t need to prove anything by playing soccer. She doesn’t need to meet a standard or keep up with anyone else. She just needs the opportunity to try, to move her body, to be part of a team, and to feel included.
That’s what soccer represents for us.
It’s courage.
It’s confidence.
It’s community.
And it’s another reminder that Kay deserves access to the same experiences as any other child—just with the support and understanding she needs to thrive.
I don’t know exactly how this season will go. There will probably be moments that look messy or different from what people expect soccer to look like. But there will also be smiles, pride, and growth in ways that don’t show up on a scoreboard.
And that’s a win in my book.