The Line

Let me describe for you a scenario:

You are sitting at therapy. While sitting on your plastic chair waiting for your child to finish therapy, That Mom catches your eye.

That Mom. The One.

I KNOW you know her. She’s the one who has taken over half of the waiting room. She has her book that she pretends to read while she really just eavesdrops on other conversations. Each time a therapist emerges, she listens to what she/he tells the other parent regarding a child who does not actually belong to her! Her other children have proceeded to take over the place, and may actually be licking the floor….

But, once she catches your eye—you’re a goner.

She snuggles up all nice and close. You’re her prey. She asks you what your name is. She introduces herself by first, middle, maiden, and last name—followed by year of birth, graduation date, anniversary, and birthdates for all her kids.

At this point, you are begging the Apocalypse to happen.

Then, she starts telling you about her “special” child. Rather than telling anything nice, she just starts listing diagnoses: cerebral palsy, autism, dysphagia, constipation, reflux, skinny toes, ringing in the ears, acne…and the list goes on  and on.


Why do we care so much about labels? What do labels make?

When I introduce my son, his name is Jack. He is 4. He is awesome, and handsome, and never leaves home without a hat on his head.

So many times (even in the blogging world), it seems like there is some sort of angst going on…who’s kid is worse off than yours. That’s not what it’s about.

We are here to support one another. We are not here to compete, compare, or push our own agendas.

Am I wrong?

(and I now will step down off my soapbox…. ) 🙂

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