The email message subject: 2014-15 7th Grade Orientation
My "subject":
- Sweet, tiny Claire
- Age 12.5 years old
- Developmental level according to asshole neurologists: Newborn
- Zodiac Sign: Leo
- 34" tall
- 23.5 pounds
- Technically a 6th grader this year
- Never attended school one single day in her life
- "Homebound"
- Founding member of WSD gang (AKA West Side Dwarves)
- Resident badass
My girl could have started middle school next year. We could have picked out a backpack & got a locker caddy and mirror & that first day of school outfit & planned how we'd fix her hair & prepared for boyfriends & puberty & school dances & middle school drama & sports & pressures. We could have had just Lola at home during the days and let her be an "only child" for a time. We could have seen our daughter interacting with friends, teachers, & maybe coaches. We could have heard others talk about her personality, spunk, long, skinny legs & dimples. We could have seen if she was the typical middle child or a rebel like her mama. It is so hard for me to think of these things, yet I do. Not often, because that is not who Claire is. But I would be lying if I told you that I don't wonder about how she'd be...
When Claire was around 3-4 years old, I remember going to an art show in Arizona & watching hundreds of thousands of people walk past our booth over the course of three days. At one point, I remember asking Scott this very question: "What did you think Claire would be like before she was born -- before we knew she had special needs?" He said he had an idea in his mind, and I agreed that I did as well. At one point, later in the weekend, he yelled out to me, "Gwen, see that little girl over there? She is EXACTLY what I thought Claire would be like before I knew her..." There stood this petite, blonde-haired girl who was smiling, sweet, & active. She was dressed so cute with her high ponytail, bouncing around, completely happy to be at the art show, finding joy in every little thing around her. I watched her interact with her family & it was obvious that everyone around her felt and fed off her energy. She was pretty & perfect. I remember wishing for a split second that I could experience what being her mother felt like. Shortly thereafter, I faked a bathroom break & lost it in a dirty Porta-Potty. I never told Scott.
When Claire was around 3-4 years old, I remember going to an art show in Arizona & watching hundreds of thousands of people walk past our booth over the course of three days. At one point, I remember asking Scott this very question: "What did you think Claire would be like before she was born -- before we knew she had special needs?" He said he had an idea in his mind, and I agreed that I did as well. At one point, later in the weekend, he yelled out to me, "Gwen, see that little girl over there? She is EXACTLY what I thought Claire would be like before I knew her..." There stood this petite, blonde-haired girl who was smiling, sweet, & active. She was dressed so cute with her high ponytail, bouncing around, completely happy to be at the art show, finding joy in every little thing around her. I watched her interact with her family & it was obvious that everyone around her felt and fed off her energy. She was pretty & perfect. I remember wishing for a split second that I could experience what being her mother felt like. Shortly thereafter, I faked a bathroom break & lost it in a dirty Porta-Potty. I never told Scott.
Fast forward to now & this email & these feelings & the "what ifs" & this MF PMS. Here I sit reliving those early feelings of sadness & the loss of the dream & seeing other kids Claire's age who would be her classmates if she were typical & how much fun I have talking to these girls & wondering what *MY DAUGHTER* might have been like had she not had special needs & WHY am I going there now? WHY can one simple email combined with hormones & probably the stars fucking aligning just right reduce me to tears so quickly? Why couldn't I just read it & click delete anyway, knowing it didn't apply to us? I don't know. Maybe because it feels so BIG to me. Maybe because I see other 12 year olds & remember that even though it feels like I'm living in a time warp & Claire is still 5 and Lola's a newborn, that in essence, I am the mom of a 15, 12 & 7 year old. Maybe the fact that time IS passing scares me. Maybe aging and things changing is what I'm wrestling with. Maybe I feel we're testing fate. Or maybe I broke down because I've been trying to be strong for too long.
Suffice it to say that after I had a good cry, I deleted that mofo. Then I swooped up my middle-schooler-to-be-who-will-never-attend-middle-high-or-any-other-fucking-school-for-that-matter and gave her a huge hug, a kiss, cried a little more, and I told her that she was, without question, the best damn thing to ever happen to me.
Because she SO IS.
xo