“I want to play with someone that stands. I want to play with someone that stands,” Noah demanded repeatedly through his tears.
It was not intentional and he certainly didn’t mean it or understand what he was saying.
It was a typical four- year-old emotional state. He was overtired, and our original plans for the day were changed. He sat with me for an hour and a half at the store while I tried to get my phone fixed. He was an angel. He colored on his pages, played with his race car, and sat perfectly.
It was not the day that we both envisioned.
I had to get Hailey early from daycare.
We never made it to the pool for his swim lesson or for a “Mommy and Noah Day” as he requested.
I was so proud of him as he yet again went along with the flow.
But, by the end of the day, his no nap strike led to his exhaustion.
I totally understood why he was upset. He was a four year old and he spent the day without the things that he thought were going to happen.
I said, “Noah, your sister is home. Why don’t you play with her?”
“She is too little. I want to play with someone that stands. I want a sister that stands.”
That one cut deep, really deep.
I try so hard to contain my tears in front of my kids. But I couldn’t; not this time. I tried to sit him down and chat because I thought it would be a really good opportunity to talk about differences that exist in others.
But he was just not having it.
“Mommy is feeling a little sad, and that’s o.k. Sometimes we get a little sad and we can cry or not cry, we can talk about it or not. Right now, that is what I want to do.”
We talked about it a little bit, but I did not want to push him. It will come with time. He is so sensitive and aware of his emotions, but this just was not the right moment.
But sometimes, it is the brutal honesty of what a child says (in their pure utter innocence) that hits a chord with us. It is our own internal struggle that haunts us.
I debated about writing this specific post. For some reason, this one felt super personal and raw. But this is the truth, this is our truth.
It isn’t always an enlightening moment.
It isn’t always about acceptance or advocacy.
Sometimes, it is just pure moments of grief.
And that is o.k.