Everything Would be Easier with a Secret Handshake

You'd think after a number of years parenting a child with behavioral special needs, I'd know a thing or two about how to approach another mother in a similar situation.  But I don't. 

There is a little boy and his mom that attend the same "gym" class Little Bro and I attend.  It took very little time for me to figure out that the no-need-to-attempt-participation approach the mother took to circle time and the stuck-like-glue helicopter mama approach she took to free play was a finely honed survival routine meant to maximize her son's freedom and enjoyment while protecting him and others from his behavioral challenges.  THAT was easy to spot, since Little Bug and my finely honed survival routine is like second nature now.  For the past few weeks, I've gone out of my way to smile and interact with this mother and her little boy, simply because it's clear others are learning to steer clear.  But she's too busy helping her son have a positive experience, and I'm too busy chasing my fearsomely fast younger child around the gym to have a conversation that extended past the most basic of pleasantries with her.

Last week her son took a younger kid down.  Hard.  It happened so fast she simply couldn't stop the movement.  I saw all the moms (and the teachers) momentarily pause in horror before trying to pretend they didn't see anything more than a little "oopsie" between two buddies.  Worse, I saw the "how dare you" glare from the younger boy's mother before she could compose herself.  But what made my heart hurt most was the look on the mother who had been so vigilant and patient and determined to make sure her son was able to have a normal gym experience. She seemed so defeated in that moment that she had failed her son by not protecting him from himself.

And I can identify with that feeling with every fiber in my body.

For the rest of the class she kept a wide berth from everyone else.  Her son exhibited some behavior during his restraining time out that likely embarrassed her more, not just because of his screaming and thrashing, but having had to do it myself a number of times, having to hold your child in a restraining time out is a pretty awful thing to have to do in front of strangers who don't understand. 

After class, I loitered a bit.  I wanted to reach out to her in some way, to express in some form that I understood and that Little Bro and I were looking forward to seeing them again next week.  I wanted to let her know that I understood how hard to is to take your child to an environment where they don't excel or fit in, where the protective buffer of understanding and accommodations isn't there.  Where their challenges tend to be highlighted more than their many strengths and strides.

But I didn't know what to say.  "Hi, I noticed your son clearly has special needs.  Mine does, too.  So...yeah" didn't seem like a great pick up line.

It felt wrong to force her to further acknowledge her son's challenges, and it felt wrong to invade my son's privacy and reduce him to "another special needs kid" just to make someone else feel better. So I just caught her eye and said good bye to them both by name.

But what I wish I could have said to her was this:

I know what it feels like to have your child struggle to have everyone else see what you can see...the amazing, strong, special child who just wants to be friends but isn't always able to show it the same way others do.  I know what it feels like to have to be a mother other people secretly judge for being over-protective, too strict, unfun, and low-key because that is what your child needs to stay balanced.  I know what it feels like to watch your sweet, loving child accidentally hurt another child in a way that doesn't look accidental.  I know what it feels like to have so much progress derailed by a moment.  I know what it feels like to see your child picked last, or not at all, in the toddler game of life.  I know how it feels to dread going into another day of battle and to see your child miss opportunities. 

And I know what you know...despite (or rather, because) of all that, you're a lucky mama and your son is a soul anyone would be lucky to call friend.