I feel like such a liar.
I spend my time telling all of you about how strong I am for my son, and
yesterday my strength was put to the test, and I failed.
We took our boys to the zoo for the first time this
year. There were a ton of people
there! The weather was perfect, the
animals were out (except for the prairie dogs – boooooo!), and we had a great
time. However, I realized that I am
still sensitive to the acts of others where Gabriel is concerned.
When we were walking to the zoo from the parking lot, we
passed two people in wheelchairs who I am assuming have cerebral palsy, but
since I am not a doctor, that was only a guess.
Either way, as we are passing them, Ethan asks us what is wrong with one
of their arms. Once we were out of
earshot, we stopped and told Ethan that God makes all people different and
unique and while it is ok to have questions, we should save our questions until
we are in a place where they can’t hear us discuss what makes them different
than us. We asked him how he would feel
if everyone asked questions and stared at his brother because he looks
different…well, you can probably guess what’s coming next.
While we were standing in line, there was a little boy next
to us asking his mother what was wrong with Gabriel. I didn’t hear her response, but the little
boy just kept studying our Gabriel’s face.
I wanted to explain it to him, but turned my back instead – I just never
know what other people want me to teach their children, so it was easier to
turn away.
Chad and Ethan went to ride the sky lift – I sat on a bench
and fed Gabriel. We watched all sorts of
people come and go and then a family was leaving the sky lift area speaking Spanish. One of their little boys walked by and just
glanced at Gabriel. Then about 10 feet
later, he comes sprinting back, stands about two feet in front of us and yells
to his parents in Spanish. They yelled
back and eventually he went with them. I
know it’s ridiculous, because I couldn’t even understand what they were saying,
but I spent the rest of the wait trying not to cry.
As we continued our trip to the zoo, at least six other
children and a handful of adults all stopped at some point to stare at my
baby. There were two couples who did
take a look at him, but one just asked me how old he is and said he was
beautiful. The other stopped and asked
if his palate is involved. I said yes,
and they explained that their niece was also born with cleft lip and
palate. They said she is 13-years old
and just had her third nose repair. They
were extremely nice and said that Gabriel is beautiful, but I just couldn’t get
past a 13-year old having their third nose job.
I had another one of those moments where I just sunk into this horrible feeling
that all of this is never going to end.
I am never going to be able to tell people exactly how many more
surgeries or when he will be done with surgeries, because nothing with cleft is
certain.
By the time we were driving home, my mood just got worse and
worse. God, I felt like such a
hypocrite. I have always had an ‘I don’t
really care if people like me or not’ attitude.
The only people whose opinions matter are those that I love. If you don’t know me, and you don’t like me –
I am not going to spend a second of my time worrying about that or trying to
make you like me. In my version of
heaven, those I loved on earth will be there in my eternity. If you didn’t make the cut because you chose
to hate me – no big deal – I won’t miss you.
Every day I say my mantra – ‘no one can make you feel inferior without
your permission’ (thank you Eleanor Roosevelt).
I raise my kids in the same fashion – or at least I thought I did.
How am I ever going to teach Gabriel that his scars don’t
matter? That whatever happens to his
teeth is no big deal? That he should not
care what people say, do, or think of him?
How am I supposed to teach him to be a strong, independent, confident,
mature person when I nearly cry over kids staring at him?
I don’t even know what they were saying or thinking and yet,
the second I catch someone looking his way, I start obsessing over what they
could possibly be thinking or saying as they walk away. And honestly, they could just be thinking
that he is a cute baby – because he is.
I don’t know, and the point is, it shouldn’t matter. They shouldn’t matter. If it were me and my scars, I wouldn’t even
remotely care about what they think. I
have a several inch scar across the back of my neck from having a benign tumor
removed a few years ago – I cut my hair short knowing that people would see it
and wonder what it is – and didn’t care.
When I meet my goal of losing 65 pounds and my husband and I go on a
cruise - despite the fact that I have stretch marks on my stomach, scars from
having my gallbladder removed, and two nasty C-Section scars – I am going to
wear the world’s smallest bikini and I am not going to care.
So why can’t I not care about what others think of my
child?
Sometimes I think that if people knew him like I do, they
wouldn’t even see the clefts. Sometimes
the clefts actually take me by surprise when I walk into a room because I
forget they are there. He’s a beautiful,
wonderful, little boy – and I suppose that’s why I don’t want him hurt by the
obnoxiousness of others. I don’t want
him to lose his sweetness because of things that are beyond his control. And damn it all, I don’t want him to ever
feel inferior without his permission.
I guess I, once again, have some work to do…
