Teeth, embarrassment, and thankfulness

We recently had a morning at Seattle Children's Hospital for dental work. Because Soren is so orally sensitive (the ultimate clencher), we need to use full anesthesia to do any dental work other than the very quick peek at the dentist's office (with three additional people holding down limbs).

Going to the hospital for the somewhat routine procedures is emotional for me. It's a children's hospital, for goodness' sake, and we're surrounded by sickness and injury and disease and even death. All parents have a specially colored ID lanyard, and I feel like I might start hugging any one of them out of empathy and solidarity. Even the air in the cafeteria feels thick, with the bonds between parents making me feel almost self-conscious. There's just a very thin line that separates us from the serious health issues that so many of these families face; it could so easily be us, as I've learned on this autism journey. It has nothing to do with what we do or don't do as parents.

So we go to the hospital because my kid has cavities. I'm embarrassed by how embarrassed those cavities make me, if that makes any sense. Dental health is a big deal (especially to Miss Only One Cavity over here), and it's my responsibility as a parent to manage my kid's teeth, at least now. It doesn't matter that brushing his teeth is a nightly two-parent strength test. I feel like a bad parent. And I feel a little judgy when I see the silver flashing from Soren's mouth. What five-year-old has caps??!

And then there's the layer of guilt. Soren's teeth must have been hurting him for months as we waited for a dental surgery spot to open up. One of his baby teeth had to be pulled because it was so damaged. I couldn't help him--heck, I couldn't even tell that he needed help. My baby. I feel like I failed him because his teeth are MY responsibility now.

And then I remember how superficial these pangs of embarrassment and guilt are when we're surrounded by The Big Stuff. Yep, my kid now has a mouthful of visible metal, and he had pain, but he's here, otherwise very physically healthy. I know embarrassment, and I know the puzzlement and grief at autism and its related anxiety. But I don't know that life-changing worry about disease or injury or death. I feel guilty that we're in this hospital for such a minor procedure, I feel guilty that I'm so embarrassed about my child's teeth--and I feel so grateful that this is all that's on our plate right now. And I know things could change tomorrow.

Thankful: August

• The wonderful week spent at our La Conner cabin with my parents, such wonderful grandparents. Great food thanks to my mom, sleeping in, playing in the ocean, chores completed thanks to my dad, general silliness and fun times. So relaxing that I forgot what day it was. Grateful that we all get along like old college chums. And a fun-filled day (escaping Seattle heat) with my sister and her twin babies and toddler. So much little boy love! 

• A cabin day with my dear special-needs mom friends (no kids!), filled with talking and listening like no one else can. And wine. And wine. And promises of doing this quarterly.

• The summer that finally came to Seattle (okay, for two weeks). Warm enough to dry our clothes outside.
• Blackberries. That is all.
• Erik's purchase of a kayak. Finally, we can go together (and I can get over my irrational fear of orca whales swimming under my solo kayak and eating me).
• An upcoming blogging course, Blogging from the Heart. Really feels like back-to-school!

I'm hoping your August was filled with little blessings, too. What are you thankful for this month?

Birthday love overflows

You know that expression "warms the heart"? This Saturday I experienced that phenomenon firsthand. My heart was overflowing with affection and appreciation. It was like a nice brandy going down slowly, and I'm still feeling that glow.

Soren's birthday celebration was Saturday, and he loved it. I mean really loved it. He was giddy the whole afternoon. And I know that the reason he was happy was that his very favorite people were there (immediate family) and they all made a point to really connect with him on his preferred level. You should have seen the tickle fests and tree climbing and cuddling and book-reading. You should have seen that boy giggle and practically purr with delight.

I was worried that he'd be overwhelmed, weepy, asking to play on the iPad, or staying inside by himself. Instead, he was making gestures to engage with adults; he hovered around cousins riding trikes and playing on the slip-and-slide, definitely interested in the action. Of course we made some concessions for our guy: we let him go at the appetizers without monitoring (it's his birthday!), and I'm sure he ate a whole bag of chips. We gave him a little alone time to watch a movie inside. And we skipped presents and cake (too much production) in favor of a round of "Happy Birthday" and ice cream cones. Soren was in his glory. And I'm pretty sure his pure joy rubbed off on everyone there.

I can't tell you what this meant to me. For one, knowing that we can find ways to really reach Soren and help him feel our love is so very hopeful for me. And two, I just love that others love my child. It's as simple as that, and I know that sentiment is not limited only to special-needs kids. Everything feels right with the world when others can see the beauty that is our children, a beauty that we parents--all parents--sometimes worry is seen only by us.

So to our family, I say: You made Soren's day. It was flawless. And you are still warming this mama's heart.