Over the last few years I have had some pretty frustrating experiences in with Ez Target. It is, more likely than not, because we spend an embarrassing amount of time there…but it also seems that we attract more attention there for some reason.
I try to be patient with the little old ladies who want to look at her–I suspect trying to place exactly what’s “wrong”–while insisting on touching her head and face and hands. They are always super stealth these little old ladies. They come up and seem to maintain a respectable distance, making me think I can abandon my line: “She’s been rather sick lately, so please don’t touch her.” And then, BOOM, their sweet gnarled hands are all over her like they are rubbing sunscreen into her skin while the exclaim, “Look at the eyes!” Now far be it from me to shock a little old lady who makes me think of my own sweet grandmother who I miss especially much in these recent days. And really, once their hands are on her, the damage is done…I guess I need to work on being one step ahead of these ladies. Perhaps I should offer hand sanitizer to any granny who looks at her?
I try to return the curious stares we get while walking through in her gait trainer with smiles…fighting back the prickly anger I feel sometimes when I catch someone staring with what I think might be judgement or pity. I smile at the comments people make, gesturing at the Pacer, like, “I have never seen one like that before!” that lead me to believe that they think I am some weirdo who brings my 9 month old in a play walker to Target. Or perhaps they have an exceeding intimate knowledge of pediatric gait trainer models and recognize that Esmé’s model boasts the new (in 2011) color: Purple. And that it is the Mini version, also new in 2011.
Ditto her new wheelchair…that people seem to think is some form of ultra-rugged bugaboo-type fancy-pants “make a statement” stroller instead of a feat of engineering that holds Esmé upright, spine straight, and engaged in the world. It’s been waved at and called a “contraption” by a (somewhat strange) unsuspecting stranger…and, while I considered telling her it was a piece of medical equipment that may have cost more than her car, I smiled and nodded. Because, I guess, if this isn’t a contraption, what is really?
It is unfair to expect people to know the difference between our “adaptive stroller” and a bugaboo or a BOB. It is unfair to expect people to understand that my daughter’s life includes a daily struggle with germs and that touching her is an invitation for all hell to break loose. I don’t expect it. But it can be tiring.
Yesterday, as I stood in line with Esmé in her purple walker, waiting to pay for our printer paper and Father’s Day cards, I heard a voice behind me say “Mom, it’s a baby.” And I knew in those few words, that the “Mom” behind me knew what I knew. How did I know? Two years of speech therapy. The mom said “Yes, honey, isn’t she cute?” As I turned Ez around to say hello, I saw a mother and her beautiful teenage daughter, with beautiful smile. I also saw what my eye has been trained to see in years of scouring the internet learning about genetic differences, syndromes, and disorders. And my heart saw a beautiful relationship, a loving bond, happiness, and hope…
I told the girl that Esmé was very small, but she was 2 1/2. I asked how old she was and got an excited, smiling, and proud “I’m fourteen!” in response. Her mother looked at me knowingly and said, “She was very small too.” I smiled and said, “Who wants to be on a growth curve anyway?”
What we didn’t “say” but, you know, said…was: “hey there. I see you. It will be ok.”
Doesn't it feel good when you find another parent who "understands"? That unspoken communication made her day I'm sure.
I've had a few comments on my son's medical stroller. My favorite was a sweet elderly lady who grumbled, "We sure didn't have such fancy conveniences when I had little kids!" I smiled, nodded, then turned away so she would see me busting out in laughter over the though that our insurance paid several grand for the sake of my convenience 🙂