Monday morning we walked into the pediatrician's waiting room. All I could think of was a post written by a lovely blogging friend about the craziness in waiting rooms. I was prepared for snotty children, for coughs and flu masks, for grandmothers wanting to pinch Paige's cheeks. I was not prepared for what happened.
After we settled and Fynn ran over to the gigantic germ table bead maze table a mother with two blonde haired toddlers parked her double stroller next to us and let her kids free. Her daughter looked about Paige's age, but I could place an age with her son who quite obviously had Down Syndrome. I guessed somewhere around Fynn's age, but wasn't quite sure.
I watched as the mother held her breath as her babes started mingling with Fynn and a few other bigger children. The bigger kids looked at her son a little funny and gave him extra room, some moved away completely. They knew there was something different about him, and they weren't sure how to react. How to talk to him. How to play with him.
My son, my wonderfully caring son went right up to the little boy and started playing next to him. They played with the beads together, laughing and coming up with their own games. Together. In minutes they were chasing each other around the waiting room on hands and knees, engaging each other in the common ground that three year old boys have. Because it turns out that these two boys were born just weeks apart.
As the boys played I asked his mother how old her children were. She went on to explain how her son had just turned three, and her daughter was 16 months {sounded vaguely familiar!} At this point she sighed a breath of relief and her eyes softened. They were no longer as cautious and protective as at first. We talked about the kids names, how her daughters was a name that I would have loved to have given, but it was vetoed. We talked about having our hands full being mothers of two little ones so close in age. We talked about how her son will be starting school in a few days, and how nervous she was. How three is such a huge age. Potty training, independence, strong wills. We talked like there was no elephant in the room. Because there wasn't. By that point it was just two mothers, and four children.
My son saw the little boy for who he was, not just a child with a chromosomal disorder who looked different. My son taught me {a woman who worries so much about offending that often will just look the other way... } that we are all alike. That we all like to get down on our hands and knees, enjoy friendship, and find common ground. We all have common ground, no matter our how different we might look or act. Our hearts are all made up of love. Our hands ready to give and receive friendship.
My son, it turns out, might be the wisest soul I know.
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Please visit Emily at Chatting at the Sky for more Tuesday’s Unwrapped. You’ll find simple moments and simple mysteries unwrapped in everyday life. Enjoy!