Ten Fingers and Ten Toes

In the car today, on my way to work with my husband, we had a serious discussion about being a parent and what that means. It started when I told him that I cannot get these friends of ours off my mind. They just had their second miscarriage of the year in July, this time they lost twins, and they also found out two weeks ago that their two and a half year old is moderately autistic. Gone are the days of waiting for their baby to be born healthy with ten fingers and ten toes. The promise of a healthy childhood, adulthood, marriage, etc...was snatched from them with this diagnosis.

I asked my husband how he thought they were doing. He answered, "How do you think they are doing?" Thank you very much, Socrates. I think it is probably very hard and upsetting, I told him. He retorted, "I bet once you are over the shock of it, it's not any different then it was. He's still the same kid. The same boy you loved with all your heart and that you have been raising for the last two and a half years."

I wanted to scream at him. I managed to say in a firm, but serious voice, "YES, BUT NOW HIS WHOLE FUTURE HAS CHANGED!" He said, "That's the danger in developing expectations." He maintains that a parent will never, ever be able to predict the life direction their child will take, so why bother thinking about it? I maintain, as I always have, that he and I are very different. This isn't about wanting my child to have a high IQ or to have blue eyes or to have ten toes, this is about being broadsided by a disability. My mind is flooded with images of this boy's vacant eyes, catatonic rocking, the short bus. I can't help but see a bleak life for their boy. And for that, I will say many, many prayers.