So, every once in a while there is a huge slap in the face--punch in the gut--kick in the kidney reminder that Max is not a typical kid.
This evening, I had one of those moments. I was looking on my "family facebook", the one where all of my cousins and Grandma and aunts and uncles congregate, and I saw some new status updates. From my nephew whom I've only seen 2 times. My nephew that is a whole 7 months older than Max. My nephew that wants to be a paleontologist, and who was playing Super Mario Bro's, and who was just hanging out in his status updates. I smiled at the thought of his little statements, but then I stopped and thought...wow...he's Max's age.
And there it was...an incredible reminder of where Max could be...or should be...or might have been. But he's not. And will likely never be at the same level of the cousins his same age. And most of the time I am completely at peace with that. I love Max for who he is...he's an incredible joy. And I am so happy he's mine.
But every once in a while I get that slap in the face--punch in the gut--kick in the kidney reminder...that brings a lump to my throat and tears to my eyes. And makes me hurry over to him and hug him for who he is...and wish for what he may yet be...and hurt just a little for the little boy I dreamed he would have been.
And I know that may sound harsh, or ungrateful for the beautiful son I have, but I don't feel I have to explain that to anyone who actually gets it. And I am okay with that. There is a love like no other a mother has for her special needs child...and a pain like no other a mother of a special needs child carries always.
I try to focus on the joy and the love part...but just every once in a while that pain part spills through and it needs somewhere to go.