Tonight I am crying. I am scared. I am nervous. I am shocked. And if true, and I am not saying it is, I am in denial.
I think these are "normal" stages a momma goes through. If there is anything "normal" about this. But there is most certainly irony. Irony threaded throughout.
Irony because I have been on the other side so, so, SO many times. And I was not as sensitive as I needed to be. Not as caring. Not as compassionate. Not as thoughtful.
And now, as I sit here, on the other side, possibly, I want to call each one of those parents and apologize. I had no clue the bombshell I was dropping. I had no understanding for the fear I began. And no idea to the worlds I crashed with my accusations.
But tonight I typed nine little words in google. Nine. Little. Words. Nine little words that made me swallow. Hard. And blink. Rapidly.
Nine little words that made my stomach flip. And made my heart beat faster. And made me pray, "Oh please God. Please. Let me be wrong."
Nine little words that were ugly to me. And I don't know that they are right. But I typed them. Cause they might be. Possibly.
But I typed, in true to Country Girl style, these nine... little ... words.
Help! I think my son might have ADHD. Maybe.
And then I hit send.
And shut my eyes tight.
And hoped there was nothing there.
A little "Sorry. No one had ever searched this ever before - ever" message. So I would realize that THAT was crazy. An absolute insane thought. And no one had ever been crazy enough to even think it, so I should forget about it too.
But there were pages.
So I closed my eyes and the lump in my throat rose and the sting in my eyes began to take over.
And I dismissed it.
Cause sure he meets all the qualifiers. And sure he even had disheveled hair and like lizards. But he is sweet and angelic. And I NEED people to see that. I NEED people to see HIM before they judge him.
I NEED people to know how much he cares. How deep he loves. How strongly he feels. How hard he laughs. How much joy he can bring.
I need it to go away. Cause I don't want to think about it or believe it.
And maybe, possibly, his PreK teacher is wrong. Like I am sure I was wrong about so many of my judgements.
Maybe he needs more of my attention. Or has a food allergy. Or a bad haircut.
Maybe it was a bad day. Or week. Or month. Or move. Or transition.
Cause I am not ready. I need people to see him first. See him. Please.