I was at a local event over the weekend and spotted Ethan, a kid who’s the same age as Max, six. They were born days apart. Back when they were babies, his mom and I chipped in to hire an expert to teach us baby massage. She came to our house and we placed the babies on the floor, next to each other, then sat beside them as she demonstrated the techniques. Mostly, I remember the woman being surprised at how stiff Max’s legs were. It worried me.
That friend and I drifted apart, so I only see Ethan every once in a while around the neighborhood. When I saw him at this event, he looked so mature. I watched, in wonder and sadness, as he played with other kids, ran around, climbed and did all those things most kids Max’s age do.
I don’t get that many flashes of sadness anymore. They came fast and furious during those first few years of Max’s life but these days, I am amazed by his accomplishments, just how far he’s come and what he’s overcome on the way. I accept and adore him for who he is. Inevitably, though, when I see typically-developing kids I know who are Max’s age, I get bummed out. The feeling quickly passes, but it hurts.
I am not sure these flashes will ever go away. I used to feel sad that I’d have them—how crazy is that? Feeling sad about feeling sad? Yet they’re a part of me now. And I accept them for what they are. Just passing flashes, nothing more.
Ellen blogs daily at To The Max.
Photo by V. Mason