Yo soy La Lay

adventures in family, faith, and Down syndrome

Size Matters


(Ellie and Tessa in the same 4th of July outfit.  Ellie is one. Tessa is two and a half.)

Two and a half.

25 pounds soaking wet.

A little tiny package bursting with laughter and joy and sunshine.

Our park district has an amazing indoor play area where we like to bring the kids to get their energy out.  It’s huge, with oodles of slides and soft-cushioned obstacles to climb through and around. They have an area that is just for little ones and it is there that we like to let Tessa roam free and explore.  Mostly because it is caged and keeps her out of trouble. 🙂 

There are, of course, other children in the play area and I am so often amused when I see her surrounded by infants.  The sheer size of her peers is so markedly different.  And inevitably, another mom will come over to make conversation, hoping to commiserate on the exhaustion of having an infant in the house.

I wait for the question.  I know it’s coming because it always does.

“She’s so cute,” they say, “how old is she?”

“She’s two and a half.”

Inside, I cringe and wait for the response.  They vary, but usually it involves an effort to restrain eyes bugging out of their head and an oddly confused smile.  “Oooh,” they say, their eyes darting back and forth between my child and theirs, sizing up the differences.  Mostly, the conversation kind of dies.

One time, a mom literally asked me if I was sure.  She shared that her daughter is that same age and asked when her birthday is.  She thought I had miscalculated my own child’s age.

That was awkward.

A small part of me just wants to lie when I get asked.  Would it be any easier to just tell them she is 15 months or 18 or whatever number I feel like throwing out?  Maybe I’ll really wow them and say that she is 10 months.  That could be fun!

I think, as parents, we might all be happier if we could just stop asking each other how old our children are.  It does nothing good – just feeds into this urge to compare.  And what good are comparisons anyway?  One is potty trained, one isn’t. One is reading, one isn’t.  One is sitting or walking or talking or whatever.  Some are not.  They are not less.  Different, perhaps, but not less.

But more than that, I’m sad for the conversations that die out.  Our experiences are probably a little different in parenting, there’s no denying that.  But we can still share.  We are parents in the same community.  Our children will grow up near each other.   Commiseration gets us through some days!!  And even if my little one is on the scenic route, she’s headed in the same direction as all the other little ones – up, up, up.  I’m just a mom.  She is just a kid.  So let’s talk!


Advertisements
3 Comments »

Incomprehensible

This morning, with her little button nose smushed up as close to me as she could get, Tessa sang me a song.  I couldn’t understand the words, but her smile told me it was a sweet one.

My day has been filled with moments that I want to freeze in my memory.  Like for many around me, it is hard to digest all that has happened this week.  I find my breath catching in my chest as I soak in the calm breeze in my backyard, or my sweet five-year-old chattering with a robin outside her window.  

We have so much.

I did not wake to the news of Dallas this morning.  Before the national news, another devastating headline about a former student crossed my feed.  He, a troubled child, too adult before he was ready, sat in my study hall not too many years ago and dared me to attempt to control him.

I won him over, quickly, with patience and Jolly Ranchers.

I never found anger to be a useful tool, nor lectures.  I don’t know that either can help a person gain perspective or bring warring sides together.  But a show of love to the unkind, the hurt, the confused – that has seemed to build bridges, at least in my life.

Just a couple months ago, that student crossed my path again, sitting in the office of our building, inquiring about how he might be able to finish his high school degree.  

He had been through so much.  Made so many bad choices.  An adolescent with a brain that did not work like an adult’s, thrown into Big, Heavy situations long before his mind could control his body as he needed it to.

I do not know what chance he will have to finish now.  We could not save him.

Today I have soaked in every little privilege that my life circumstance has afforded me – the pile of books on the playroom floor, which my girls have been raised to love, the box of chocolate from my loving and devoted husband, fresh, clean clothes and our own laundry machine in the basement.  Clean water, clean home, stability, resources, safety, education, love.

We have so much.

I can’t imagine the lives of those who do not live as I do, but I understand that by pure chance, it has been different. And so I learn as much as I can.  I pray and try to be kind and gentle.  I don’t know what else to do.  I don’t know what words to say.  I don’t know how to stop the hurt.

This morning, Tessa sang me a song.  Her sweet words were incomprehensible, but beautiful nonetheless.

We have so much.

Someday I will understand.

3 Comments »