Thursday, April 7, 2016

Dear Impatience...

This morning, there I was, minding my own business in line for coffee, two tots in the shopping cart minding THEIR own businesses (they're good shoppers, and we needed sandals today for everyone).  The lady in front of me struggled a bit with her form of payment, but she and the cashier worked it out in under five minutes.

The twenty something texter behind me muttered under her breath impatiently about it, "Don't know WHY I come here..."

My turn.  I smile at the cashier, and ask, "May I please have a tall coconut milk with a bit of strawberry in it, no whip, split into--"

The muttering ramped up again, "F**king hippie, non-dairy ordering b*tch taking a million years..."

"--split into two cups with flat lids and trimmed straws for my LACTOSE INTOLERANT CHILD," I turned and looked directly at the mutterer at that point, and smiled, finishing my order, "And a caramel macchiato, skim and Grande, please."  The cashier repeated the order and I nodded.

Still holding the eye of the Bitchy McBitch behind me, I told her sternly, "Patience will bring you many good things in this world, but that mouth of yours will not."  I set an extra $5 on the counter and told the cashier, "That's for the last behind me.  Be the change you want to see and all that."

The girl watched me, jaw slack, as I collected my cups and went on with my shopping.

What a way to start the day.

Tuesday, April 5, 2016

He's Never Said, "I Love You."

Today, I was absorbing the adorableness of a maybe two-year-old at the Y as she pranced around the lobby in tiny black tap shoes, singing nonsense, when all at once, she took her brown, curly pigtails and zoomed over to her mama, enveloping the woman's knee in the biggest, squeeziest toddler hug that she could muster.

"Love you, Mama!"

I had to pretend serenity, collect my things and head for the restroom as tears gathered in my eyes.  I have good days and bad days, like any other SN mom - like any other TODDLER mom - but this morning, I held my breath and shoved the door shut behind me before losing it.

Instead of "I love you" from my son, I got "Tuberous Sclerosis" from his doctor.  Instead of,  "Mom, can I...Will I...why is...?" I got "masses in the brain...seizures...delays..."

My son cannot verbalize love, and it breaks my heart.

Don't get me wrong, I'm an epic translator of Hamlish, the mash of sounds and grunts and gestures mixed with half-formed toddler talk and repetitive syllables.  I KNOW my son loves me.  He hugs me often between playing games with his brother, touches my face gently when I'm sad or tired, snuggles me as he winds down to sleep. 

In the dark of the night, he scoots closer to me and tucks his giant noggin under my chin.

I know, as a mother, that my son loves me.  He doesn't need to say it...

...but reclaiming those stolen words would be nice.