My weekend started out in the usual weekend fashion: with a huge list of things to do (read: a list of things I had been avoiding all week) and a birthday party for one of Monkey's classmates. As it turns out, my darling Monkey was not in a partying mood or at least not in the mood to attend a party in someone else's honor. He may or may not have refused to play with any other kids, refused to wait his turn at every game, refused to sing happy birthday to the birthday boy and instead sang happy birthday to himself, had a full-on meltdown when I tried to encourage him to play with another little boy, disrupted the opening of gifts and snagged food & drinks from at least 3 people. I may or may not have been completely mortified and ready to leave the party after 20 minutes, but I persevered as long as possible (read: 40 minutes).
When things got really rough, I sought out birthday boy's mom to make a face-saving quick apology & exit. She happened to be talking to another mom, that I have since taken to thinking of "InappropriateQuestionMom". I waited for an opening and politely acknowledged that my kid was acting like a banshee 3 year old and that it was time for us to leave. Birthday boy's mom (who happened to know that I have been having some concerns about Monkey's social development) kindly said that they all have those sort of days and not to worry about it. I told her I appreciated her saying that, that I was hoping that Monkey would want to interact a bit more, etc. and then InappropriateQuestionMom opened her d*mn mouth and asked the worst possible questions that you can ask a complete stranger in that given situation: "Have you gotten a diagnosis yet?"
In retrospect, I have thought up at least a dozen responses that would have been better than the way I responded. I think I have it narrowed down to "Yes, the diagnosis is that YOU are an idiot!" or "The diagnosis is that he is three years old and the treatment is to avoid b*tches like you." Sadly, I did not respond with snark, wit or even outrage. I cried like a sissy little girl. How's that for MommaBear tough? (I better get my sh*t together before he gets out of preschool or I am really going to be a mess.) This stupid, inconsiderate woman who has seen my child once (on a bad day, no less) managed to rip a hole in me, letting my anxiety & emotion boil over. Mommy Fail.
The things is, I really don't care that this twit thinks it was her place to insinuate that my son has something that warrants a diagnosis. I don't care that I shed tears in front of people that are nearly strangers. (OK, maybe I do care about that, but only a little.) What I care about is that IF my darling Monkey does have a developmental delay or any other challenge to overcome, that this is what he will have to deal with. Rude, nosy and judgmental people that will assume that because he is boisterous, independent or just having a rough day, that there must be something wrong with him. That I should rush him off to a doctor for a diagnosis, therapy and/or drugs to "fix" him.
Maybe I'm over-reacting. Maybe my mommy anxiety is getting the better of me. Maybe (definitely) I'm emotional, but I don't think that anything is gained by inferring to a complete stranger that something is "wrong" with her kid, no matter what your intentions are. I'll freely admit that judgement is a part of motherhood, but so is teaching your children tolerance and inclusion. How are you going to teach your children to see everyone as equal when you spend your time judging children for acting like, *gasp*, children?
I doubt I'm the first mom to encounter an idiot like InappropriateQuestionMom and I probably won't be the last, but I hope the next idiot is prepared because tears won't be the only thing flying. That is, if we get invited to any more birthday parties. (Sorry about that, Monkey.)
Why do I always feel so caught off guard by major events? It is definitely not because I procrastinate. (It totally is, but let's just pretend, OK?) I was just cruising through the usual weekday stuff (#shittyjob, #shittyinlaws and some headbutting from my kids to round things out) and was *shocked* to look at my calendar & realize that I have less than a week until my tiny fragile baby strong, energetic Monkey starts school. I am going to be the mother of a preschooler. Sh*t. I'm not ready! Can we rewind? PUH-LEASE? Seriously, I'm not ready. Yes, I still need to shop for the perfect backback & lunchbox combo. And they will probably not want him to wear crocs, so I guess shoe shopping is in order. Plus he grows like a damn weed, so I need to get him some new shirts that fit. Preferably without ketchup stains. But I can handle all of that. Maybe. (He will probably be attending school in too short, ketchup stained tshirts, wearing crocs and with his lunch in a grocery bag, alright. Whatever.) What I CANNOT handle is the realization that my baby is not a baby. Oh dear heavens! He's going to be signing his MLB contract with the Yankees next week, isn't he? I need a drink.*
*Are all moms this unreasonably emotional when their oldest child starts preschool or is it just me?**
**If it's just me, I don't want to know. Lie to me. Seriously.
