Wednesday, November 10, 2010


Been a long time since I've posted... I've been on Facebook (you can add me as a friend if you want) sporadically instead of here, but really been off Internet most of the time. Sort of back now, I guess.

I like posting short updates on Facebook, but let's face it... perfect platform for short updates about the family and what not, but it's not the right place for venting about OTHER PEOPLE who don't have Ds in their lives. And I'm not talking about everyone who doesn't have Ds in their lives; just the busybodies and the woefully ignorant.

Kiki and I have been blessed in that over her 3 years, we really haven't had many negative public encounters. Most people we engage with are pleasant, smart people who focus on interacting with Kiki, asking her age, her name, complimenting her smile, her giggle, her beauty. These are the people I love.

Then there's the lady today at WalMart. We were shopping for long-sleeved shirts. Kiki was sitting in the cart, stroking the fabrics and waving and smiling and saying HI to people who passed by. I probably had a sourish look on my face because as I was shopping, I was daydreaming an engaging little drama (an amusing activity I often engage in because in my experience, imaginary drama is way more fun than the real thing).

Regardless of the look on my face, I was enjoying myself. WE were enjoying OURselves.

Some woman with a lovely child on her hip saunters up to me and says, "I just have to say God bless you, ma'am. You hang in there."

I felt myself go entirely red, immediately feeling guilty because of my daydream possibly garnering some kind of empathy from someone, and then I caught her nod slightly at Kiki, and the look on her face... I don't know. It suddenly pissed me off. "She's fine, actally," I said. "WE're fine, thank you."

"Oh, of course, of course," she said, smoothly, "But something just told me to come say it to you. God bless you, ma'am. God bless you."

And then she sauntered back off her cave.

And instead of thinking, "Well, she meant well," I suddenly wished I'd punched her in the face. Maybe I've reached my limit of people who mean well. I don't know. I mean I really wouldn't have punched her; she was carrying a child.

But I really wish I'd schooled her, along the lines of, "Really? You're taking time out of your shopping to do something you obviously think is saintly, and the best you can do is imply to me that my life is substandard and requires divine intervention based solely on your impeccable powers of perception that my child has a genetic condition? Let's just assume you mean well. Here's a good deed in return. Next time you feel compelled to 'offer comfort to the unfortunate', say something like, 'Your child is gorgeous. How old is she?' or 'Your daughter has such a winning smile! What's her name?' Now THAT would have made my day. Instead, right now, you've utterly infuriated me."

Unfortunately, I do not think well on my feet. It's the only thing I truly, utterly hate about myself.

You know, I try not to dwell on the negative. It's not constructive. I'm actually way more hung up on her baldness than I am her Ds, if that even makes sense. Actually most of our negative public encounters are those related to her lack of hair. Kids notice it; adults query if she has cancer or had brain surgery. I suppose in some ways her alopecia has made me almost oblivious to her Ds; so when someone notices her Ds, it takes me totally by surprise.

Still, she's 3 years old, and this is only the second public encounter in regards to her Ds that has left me fuming afterwards. I think that makes us much luckier than most.

About Me

I'm originally from the west coast, but now live in the midwest with my husband Kipp, our two dogs, my stepdaughter and stepson, and our youngest daughter who has Down syndrome.

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