Hey, you guys. I have no idea why I stopped writing. I think part of it is having 2 kids and being busy. I could make time, if I wanted to, and today, well, I wanted to. I had an experience the other day that was so ordinary and yet so profound, and sharing it with Dave just wasn’t enough. Sorry, Dave. I couldn’t easily fit it into a Facebook status update so, well, here I am.
It was a beautiful, sunny Sunday afternoon. Emerson was inside the house, reading a book, as he is wont to do, and Eliot and I were in the driveway playing with chalk. I drew him various things, wrote some words, and was remembering how much Em loved for me to do the same when he was about the same age. And then, at Eliot’s request, I drew him a moon and some stars. He started singing a song called “Moon, Moon, Moon”, and then requested that I sing with him. We sang it a few times and then he asked for “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.” We sang together in the driveway for a few minutes, and then he went back to chalking. Almost the entire time we sang together, I cried, and was insanely grateful for sunglasses.
I’m sure you’re wondering what the hell is wrong with me. Or maybe not. I don’t blame you either way. But here is the thing: Emerson has not once ever asked me to sing with him. It’s small, but it’s gigantic, you know? It was such a sweet little moment and I guess I realized that other people have that sort of moment all the time and I never had until that day and it was wonderful. I have a lot of those moments these days, and sometimes they make me sadder than they should.
Let me explain. There are many, many things that Em does that are not normal, but are special and wonderful in their own ways. I will never NOT enjoy those things. I mean, who DOESN'T love having contests to see who can use the most adjectives to describe something? He IS my child, after all. But for me to simply be happy watching Eliot make stuffed animals talk to each other or singing little songs or any other little normal kid things that I missed out on before - well, it's hard not to feel guilty about how much I enjoy them. Because somehow, it makes me feel for a minute like I am enjoying them because they're not what Emerson did. Does that make sense?
And then I remind myself that, HFA or no HFA, each child is different, and there will always be little things that make my heart feel like it's going to explode. There continue to be those things with Emerson, and there are just new ones with Eliot. And I love them all.