Sometimes I get jealous. I look at the world and I see the mothers with one, two, three, Jesus, seven children without a disability or a condition between them and I am jealous. I ache when I think of the injustice. It’s not fair. I only want, only ever wanted one child. One little dude to have adventures with, to sing songs and do silly things and run in parks and teach and be told stories by and play imagination games and dress up with and…. the list goes on.
Sometimes I am so angry that this is my life. That this is the path I have not chosen yet it’s the one I’m walking. How is that fair? When I look at the beautiful families and their myriad of children who will never be given labels, who will never be the odd ones out, who will never know what it is to go through life born into a world that just doesn’t get them. These children will just be ‘got’ and it makes me weep.
Just one. Was it too much to ask? One perfect child. One who doesn’t scream at any given thing, one who can understand spoken instructions, one who has a sense of when to stop, one I don’t have to teach each and every god damn thing with pictures and laminate and Velcro and all the hidden worry because God forbid I should cry in front of him. Even though I sometimes do, and then I instantly regret it for the fury it evokes in him.
It’s just not fair.
Then something happens to redress my perception of fair. Of what is cruel in this life.
And I ache a little less and I rage a little less. I did not want this life. But I have life. I have the child I longed for, despite his differences to me. I am here. He is here.
I asked ‘why me’? Now I ask ” Why her”?
It seems injustice stalks all our beings, and does not discriminate.