Ah, The Fires Of Hell

...are burning my toes. Let me explain.

Today, I had the distinction of being That Person. All you Moms of special needs kids have met That Person many, many times in your children's lives. You know That Person. It's often a woman who puts on the genuine or feigned air of caring. She's often got a pleasant smile. She's assessing your child. And dang it all, she should realize that every thing she utters about your child is a question, an indictment, a judgement and a sentence. Every inflection, every facial expression, every lilt to the brow, change in pitch, even her posture, will be a judgement of you, of your worth, by way of placing judgement on your child, a worth or value on your baby.

And today I was That Person. I felt my toes burn as I began the assessment of a beautiful child cuddled happily in the arms of his loving mother. It's the questions. So, Mrs. Smith, does Little Bobby help you dress or undress him in any way? Does he push his arms into sleeves or pull up the legs of his pants? Can he put his socks on by himself? No. Of course not. Little Bobby is 18 months old and has Down syndrome.

I saw the posture change. How can a woman rise to the defense of her child and simultaneously buckle under the pressure in her shoulders. How does she lower her shoulders in sorrow in the exact moment her spirit to protect shines brilliantly? How does that work? Did I look like that hearing those biting words? How many of you recognize yourselves?

It killed me to see the smoldering shadow of hurt and fear dart it's path behind her eyes before she smashed it down and told it to shut up! She answered in a clear strong voice while burying her lips in her child's hair. My eyes burned, threatening tears. I'm sorry. These questions are asinine. I hate that I just asked you that. Of course he isn't doing these things. And of course, this is NOT the first time you've gotten the drill. I have baby with Down syndrome and I'm finding that the number of nurses who have any special needs children is a rare thing in the home care arena. She asked about my child, his name, his demeanor, how happy he'd made us while she hugged her child tighter then felt at ease to hold him a little looser. A little surer. A little safer. In the course of discussing our boys and in the general camaraderie of shared chromosomes, I got my stupid questions answered. Every single one. All without making this beautiful Mom and wonderful little boy feel attacked, made small, judged, undervalued, injured or ready for battle. Instead we celebrated the accomplishments our children are making. Laughing about their antics. Comparing the similarities in them to ourselves, to their Dads, to their siblings, to their friends.

And I do here-by swear on all that is chocolate, I will never approach this admission intake process ever again wearing the skin of That Person. I hope Her skin itches.

*Do the Dads hate this person as much as us Mommies?

**I'll edit this for spellling and grammer when I am not so tired.

***Hahahaha...spellling and grammer!