Today I'm taking the kids to a pool party in NJ. Why so far? Because the party will be entirely populated by Fragile X'ers and their friends and family.
Why do I want to go? Oh, god... Ready? I want to go because I don't want to be the only lady with the retarded kid at the pool who makes all kinds of weird sounds and body movements. I don't want to be the lady at the pool with the anxious/ocd child who clings and cries and WILL NOT GO DOWN THAT SLIDE. Until she *does* go down the slide and then good luck getting her off said slide.
I don't want anyone looking at Lincoln wondering "why he acts like that", ever. But it happens pretty much all the time and my tolerance for the general public wavers from massive to minuscule depending upon how much sleep we all got, how hungry we are, hot and or cold... you know, depends upon life that day.
I don't want anyone looking at Lincoln and thinking anything but what a lovely, gorgeous baby he is.
I don't want anyone looking at Penelope and thinking anything but what a tenacious, strong girl she is.
Even when I show pictures and videos of my kids to people at work (something I force myself to do) it's not %100 without baggage for me. "Aw, look at Michele's cute retarded kid who likes sharks!" Or "Hey, Michele's cute retarded kid can say the word blue! Kinda..."
I want them to be kids. Just great fucking kids.
There is this cleft in me (like a lot about me), where on one side I don't give a shit what anyone thinks because my children are pure magic and on the other side I care too much that my kids are so different and struggle more than they should. I have not come close to justifying this dichotomy.
And I know it's noone's fault for feeling the way they feel. I know that my friends at least are trying really hard. But what what can they do? They can't say "wow, he's almost 4? He's really delayed." They can't say "I am so sorry your kid isn't normal." Or "Don't you wish PJ could handle shit a little bit better?" We are a trip of a family, no doubt. We demand attention. Like it or not, every day we demand it.
Today? Today I am so fucking relieved we'll be on the same playing field. That the mothers and fathers won't be giving each other sympathetic or sideways glances. We'll be giving high-fives and bitching and laughing and complaining just like regular folks.
Today the only thing I'll be paranoid about is how my gut looks in a bathing suit; and if you know me, you know that's not something I take lightly.
Why do I want to go? Oh, god... Ready? I want to go because I don't want to be the only lady with the retarded kid at the pool who makes all kinds of weird sounds and body movements. I don't want to be the lady at the pool with the anxious/ocd child who clings and cries and WILL NOT GO DOWN THAT SLIDE. Until she *does* go down the slide and then good luck getting her off said slide.
I don't want anyone looking at Lincoln wondering "why he acts like that", ever. But it happens pretty much all the time and my tolerance for the general public wavers from massive to minuscule depending upon how much sleep we all got, how hungry we are, hot and or cold... you know, depends upon life that day.
I don't want anyone looking at Lincoln and thinking anything but what a lovely, gorgeous baby he is.
I don't want anyone looking at Penelope and thinking anything but what a tenacious, strong girl she is.
Even when I show pictures and videos of my kids to people at work (something I force myself to do) it's not %100 without baggage for me. "Aw, look at Michele's cute retarded kid who likes sharks!" Or "Hey, Michele's cute retarded kid can say the word blue! Kinda..."
I want them to be kids. Just great fucking kids.
There is this cleft in me (like a lot about me), where on one side I don't give a shit what anyone thinks because my children are pure magic and on the other side I care too much that my kids are so different and struggle more than they should. I have not come close to justifying this dichotomy.
And I know it's noone's fault for feeling the way they feel. I know that my friends at least are trying really hard. But what what can they do? They can't say "wow, he's almost 4? He's really delayed." They can't say "I am so sorry your kid isn't normal." Or "Don't you wish PJ could handle shit a little bit better?" We are a trip of a family, no doubt. We demand attention. Like it or not, every day we demand it.
Today? Today I am so fucking relieved we'll be on the same playing field. That the mothers and fathers won't be giving each other sympathetic or sideways glances. We'll be giving high-fives and bitching and laughing and complaining just like regular folks.
Today the only thing I'll be paranoid about is how my gut looks in a bathing suit; and if you know me, you know that's not something I take lightly.
No comments:
Post a Comment