Pity Party for the Mom
posted Monday August 31st, 2009
Yesterday was the first birthday party of first grade.
I hope it’s the first of many.
Actually, at the moment, I really don’t. I need some time to recover.
Even at their best, other kids’ birthday parties can be stressful, if it’s not your crowd. And this wasn’t. I’m just not a walk-right-up-and-introduce-myself kinda gal, so I hung back, mostly, checking my iPhone, which I know is obnoxious and probably what kept others from approaching me.
No one approached Sophie much, either, despite her attempts to engage the other kids. She looked a little bewildered a couple times, but then she latched onto one of the young women working at Pump It Up — the party was at one of those warehouses packed with bouncey castles — and played with her the entire time. (I bet that girl slept well last night.)
I don’t want to sound whiny, but I swore to be honest in this blog, so I’ll say it: Sometimes it’s hard to watch Sophie with the other kids. She does have friends, real friends, I know she does. A few. OK, a couple. But those kids didn’t happen to be at this party. And so yesterday the other partygoers cruised past her — faster in every way. The only time the birthday girl approached (politely, I have to admit) was to ask Sophie to relinquish her turn at the air hockey game, which she’d just started playing. Sophie agreed, and walked away. I wanted to cry.
It was a marked difference from the few birthday parties we attended last year. Or maybe I just didn’t want to admit that that’s the way it is/was. I still don’t.
And if you ask Sophie, the party was super and she had a great time. I suppose that’s what counts.
Yes, sometimes reality comes and socks you in the face. And it hurts.
That’s why this whole thing is considered a challenge.
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Oh Amy, I know exactly what you mean. This stuff is hard. Really hard. I admit, I kind of dread the “typical” parties.
Aww, that sounds terrible.
In my neighborhood, I have slowly realized, there’s a disabled teenager who seems to never leave his house. He stands in the picture window, hands on the window, peering out at the few people who walk by. I don’t know if he even goes to school. He waves at me, sometimes, and that’s about all he does all day. He’s got the kind of puffy face that I associate with Down syndrome, and thinking about him made me want to tell you that Sophie is incredibly lucky to have you as a mom.
Because you keep taking her out, even when it’s hard. She’s not ever going to be like my neighbor, lonely nose pressed against the picture window, every day.
I don’t know if that makes this kind of birthday party any easier — probably not — but I wanted to tell it to you anyway.