Sometimes, life is unfair.
It's the kind of thing you tell your kid when he so desperately wants that new toy, or so desperately wants not to eat that broccoli. You're the adult, and you know that he can't have exactly what he wants, exactly when he wants it. Life gets in the way, you need to buy groceries instead of toys, and you need to eat broccoli to grow big and strong. Sometimes, life is unfair.
Picture, if you will, a little boy who loves Chuggington Trains. He loves them more than almost anything. I'd never ask him to choose between Mommy and Chuggingon Trains, because frankly, I don't think I'm emotionally prepared for his response. Chuggington is so immediately loveable for him, because the songs are easily memorized (ah, familiarity), the characters are clear and concise as they describe their thoughts and feelings (nothing ruins a good show faster than having no clue what's going on!), and the toys look just exactly like the trains on TV (there's our good friend familiarity again). Other little boys seem to like playing with them too, whether they're Chuggington fans or not, so they're a pretty universal social uniter. Aaaaand, the show doesn't make me want to insert ice pick A into brain stem B, like Thomas the Train does. Really, Chuggington for President. I digress.
So there's a little boy who loves Chuggington, more than almost anything. As a special Christmas gift surprise, he got tickets to see Chuggington Live on stage with his Mommy. It was going to be a really special big boy Mommy/Aidan day, and since Mommy's not insane, Aidan wasn't told of the surprise until the day of. But boy, was he excited! Big, real Chuggers! No way! Let's go!!!
Now picture, if you will, that little boy starting to feel sick. The drive to Chuggington is long, and as time goes by, the little boy feels sicker. By the time he arrives at the show, the sad truth is obvious. There isn't going to be any Chuggington today. There's just going to be a 75 minute drive to the Emergency Room, where he'll be poked and prodded while nervously asking if he can go see those Big Real Chuggers yet.
Then, he'll go home, and get sicker. The next day, he'll go to the doctor, who will send him back to the hospital in a big, scary Ambulance. This isn't Big Real Chuggers, Mommy. I know, Baby. I'm so sorry. More poking, more prodding. X-Rays, IV's, no sleep (we didn't even get admitted up into a room until 8am!), and certainly no Big Real Chuggers.
And I get it. Really, I understand. Life isn't fair. I know how to say all of the right things to Aidan, to make him understand, and to help keep him from being an angry and entitled little urchin. But here's the thing - who's going to come explain it to me?
Because It isn't fair that catching some plain old run-of-the-mill virus sends him to the hospital, and other kids wipe their noses on their sleeves and get on with their lives.
It isn't fair that everyone is signing up to bring candy, juice, and cupcakes to this week's school party, but all my kid wants is to hug a banana. "I won't eat it, Mommy. I promise. I just want to hug it. Please? I love that yellow guy so much."
It isn't fair that everything that happens to him forces me to doubt whether I can care for my own child at home. While other parents wonder if if their kid is too sick for school or healthy enough to throw at the wall/hope it sticks, my brain is overflowing with phrases like feed intolerance, elevated ketones, hypoglycemia, dysmotility, and direct admit.
It isn't fair that my kid *just knows* that he wants the IV supply cart removed from his ER room before he'll set foot in there. Or that he chastises his nurses for using sanitizer instead of soap and water. Or that he requests specific toys from the floor's playroom, because he knows they're there. It isn't fair that all of this is so normal to him.
It isn't fair that he gets a cup of water and a spoon at the ice cream shop, while everyone else gets ice cream. "Don't worry mommy, I can just pretend it's ice cream, because I love it!"
None of this is fair. He deserves so much better than he gets. He doesn't really know how unfair any of it is - not yet, anyway. He knows that his life is pretty great, and that he's loved, and that he's safe. He knows that he has everything he could ever need, and most things things he's ever wanted. Unfair, to him, is bedtime when he'd rather it was TV time, going home instead of going to Target, and mom meaning No when she says No.
So I know, these are all my thoughts, and not his. But you know what? That's okay. It's okay for me to hate the cards he was dealt sometimes. It's okay to say "How am I today? Not so good... This day is not so good at all..." There's no special trophy for pretending everything's just wonderful all the time. My little boy is brave, and and he's tough, but he shouldn't have to be - and it's A-OK for me to feel that way today..
It's the kind of thing you tell your kid when he so desperately wants that new toy, or so desperately wants not to eat that broccoli. You're the adult, and you know that he can't have exactly what he wants, exactly when he wants it. Life gets in the way, you need to buy groceries instead of toys, and you need to eat broccoli to grow big and strong. Sometimes, life is unfair.
Picture, if you will, a little boy who loves Chuggington Trains. He loves them more than almost anything. I'd never ask him to choose between Mommy and Chuggingon Trains, because frankly, I don't think I'm emotionally prepared for his response. Chuggington is so immediately loveable for him, because the songs are easily memorized (ah, familiarity), the characters are clear and concise as they describe their thoughts and feelings (nothing ruins a good show faster than having no clue what's going on!), and the toys look just exactly like the trains on TV (there's our good friend familiarity again). Other little boys seem to like playing with them too, whether they're Chuggington fans or not, so they're a pretty universal social uniter. Aaaaand, the show doesn't make me want to insert ice pick A into brain stem B, like Thomas the Train does. Really, Chuggington for President. I digress.
So there's a little boy who loves Chuggington, more than almost anything. As a special Christmas gift surprise, he got tickets to see Chuggington Live on stage with his Mommy. It was going to be a really special big boy Mommy/Aidan day, and since Mommy's not insane, Aidan wasn't told of the surprise until the day of. But boy, was he excited! Big, real Chuggers! No way! Let's go!!!
Now picture, if you will, that little boy starting to feel sick. The drive to Chuggington is long, and as time goes by, the little boy feels sicker. By the time he arrives at the show, the sad truth is obvious. There isn't going to be any Chuggington today. There's just going to be a 75 minute drive to the Emergency Room, where he'll be poked and prodded while nervously asking if he can go see those Big Real Chuggers yet.
Then, he'll go home, and get sicker. The next day, he'll go to the doctor, who will send him back to the hospital in a big, scary Ambulance. This isn't Big Real Chuggers, Mommy. I know, Baby. I'm so sorry. More poking, more prodding. X-Rays, IV's, no sleep (we didn't even get admitted up into a room until 8am!), and certainly no Big Real Chuggers.
And I get it. Really, I understand. Life isn't fair. I know how to say all of the right things to Aidan, to make him understand, and to help keep him from being an angry and entitled little urchin. But here's the thing - who's going to come explain it to me?
Because It isn't fair that catching some plain old run-of-the-mill virus sends him to the hospital, and other kids wipe their noses on their sleeves and get on with their lives.
It isn't fair that everyone is signing up to bring candy, juice, and cupcakes to this week's school party, but all my kid wants is to hug a banana. "I won't eat it, Mommy. I promise. I just want to hug it. Please? I love that yellow guy so much."
It isn't fair that everything that happens to him forces me to doubt whether I can care for my own child at home. While other parents wonder if if their kid is too sick for school or healthy enough to throw at the wall/hope it sticks, my brain is overflowing with phrases like feed intolerance, elevated ketones, hypoglycemia, dysmotility, and direct admit.
It isn't fair that my kid *just knows* that he wants the IV supply cart removed from his ER room before he'll set foot in there. Or that he chastises his nurses for using sanitizer instead of soap and water. Or that he requests specific toys from the floor's playroom, because he knows they're there. It isn't fair that all of this is so normal to him.
It isn't fair that he gets a cup of water and a spoon at the ice cream shop, while everyone else gets ice cream. "Don't worry mommy, I can just pretend it's ice cream, because I love it!"
None of this is fair. He deserves so much better than he gets. He doesn't really know how unfair any of it is - not yet, anyway. He knows that his life is pretty great, and that he's loved, and that he's safe. He knows that he has everything he could ever need, and most things things he's ever wanted. Unfair, to him, is bedtime when he'd rather it was TV time, going home instead of going to Target, and mom meaning No when she says No.
So I know, these are all my thoughts, and not his. But you know what? That's okay. It's okay for me to hate the cards he was dealt sometimes. It's okay to say "How am I today? Not so good... This day is not so good at all..." There's no special trophy for pretending everything's just wonderful all the time. My little boy is brave, and and he's tough, but he shouldn't have to be - and it's A-OK for me to feel that way today..
it certainly doesn't make up for the unfairness of it all, but maybe he would be eligible for a wish via the make a wish foundation? they might be able to make some kind of chuggington event happen for him.
ReplyDeletehttp://wish.org/refer-a-child