What have we become?

Today was not a great day.

On Wednesdays Killian has therapy from 10:30 to 11:30 am in Allen, which is about 20 minutes down the highway from our home. On Wednesdays we get up, get dressed, eat breakfast, take Wesley to preschool at 8:40, go grab a coffee for me and come home for about a half hour before leaving at 9:50 for therapy day. Doc hangs out with me in the waiting room for the hour Killian is gone. I do my best to entertain him and keep him happy but there is only so much time a two year old can be content playing quietly, looking at books, or watching whatever video is playing. Doc, as has been discussed before, is a high intensity individual.

Today however was going pretty well on the Murdoch front. He was doing great...until another mother came in with her two children (one for therapy, one to wait with her). The situation degenerated rapidly. Each week I take a small backpack with Doc's favorite little toys for him to play with. There can't be more than 6-8 toys in there at any given time and anyone who's ever had a two year old knows their attention span is short, and they're big on things being "mine". Hence, I only bring what he can really handle. It is not on me to bring toys for any other children present. This little girl saw things differently. She immediately ran, RAN over to Doc's bag and dove in with both hands. There was no please, no may I, no sweet look, nothing. Wait, I take it back. Whilst sprinting over to us she was angrily growling with her dirty, sticky little fingers bent into claws. No melodrama folks, that was the scene. Doc was understandably afraid and backed off with his hands in front of his face (in a protective manner) yelling "NO!"

Not one to be afraid of a three year old I lightly placed my hands over the girls' hands and told he those were Doc's toys and we were just going to leave them in the bag. She was undaunted. She growled at me and redoubled her efforts to get the toys. Again I removed her hands, closed the bag, and told her those were not hers and we were not getting them out. By this time Doc was crying, scared, and trying to get into my lap. Of course I picked him up and calmed him down. The whole time this girl stood still and SNARLED at us. It was bizarre to say the least. I told her Doc was afraid and did not want to play, so she should go see her mama. She left and went over to the little table and began throwing all of the books as far as she could. That held her attention until Doc got off my lap and went over to get a book for me to read to him. With both hands she shoved my child down as hard as she could, and laughed. When I rose to scoop up my baby she ran behind me to grab the toy bag! I picked up Doc with my left arm, and stopped her with my right. I put the backpack on my back, sat down, and again told her to go to her mama.

Where was her mother during all of this you might ask?

She was a mere ten feet away on the other side of the room happily chatting away on her cell phone about "What a pain in the ass it is to take him to therapy and watch Miss Thing in the waiting room". Quoted people, quoted. Funny since she wasn't watching anyone. Heck it wasn't even interfering with her phone calls! At this point I caught her wandering eye and gave her a look of unmistakable anger and exasperation. She rolled her eyes and made the "this person on the phone keeps talking too much" sign. You know the one, where you snap your hand like the bill of a duck. Seriously, WTF?! Was this really happening?!

A few minutes later she hung up. Her daughter was still terrorizing our side of the waiting room. The mom looks at me and says "She can be a real pill huh. Thanks for watching her for me". I informed her that I was not watching her daughter, I was watching my son. Furthermore, I told her that her daughter had tried to take Doc's toys and pushed him to the ground. She shrugged and stated that kids can be crazy sometimes, and who cares if she wants to play with his toys.

No apology, no embarrassment, no consequence or even stern words to her child. Stunning to say the least.

Luckily their half hour was over and they left. While waiting for Killian's second half hour session to end Doc and I were happily reading books, playing with Bakugon, and watching Madeline. With about 10 minutes left another mother asked me if I was waiting for Doc to go into therapy. I said no, that my older son was having physical and occupational therapy and we were just waiting for him to be done. She inquired as to why Killian needed therapy, and I responded that he had cerebral palsy due to premature birth. Then she hit me with this beauty:

"Oh, cerebral palsy. That's awful. What did you do while you were pregnant that caused it?"

Flabbergasted does not get close to touching how I felt at that moment. How freaking DARE she? What did I do?!

I gave myself shots twice a day for the entire pregnancy to combat a clotting disorder.
I took the anti emetic Zofran every for hours like clockwork so I could stop throwing up long enough to try and eat something.
I got an extra shot every Friday to help fend off premature labor.
I got two extremly painful steroid shots to help mature his lungs.
I spent 11 weeks flat on my back or side on bedrest to try to keep him in as long as possible.
I took procardia every four hours to relax my uterus trying to stop contractions, a medication that dropped my blood pressures to 60-40.
I got three units of blood to combact dangerous anemia.
I spent 29 weeks and 5 days begging God each and every day to let me have this baby. (And the next 57 days in the NICU after that begging God to let him live.)

I still have nightmares where the outcome wasn't so fortunate. If he sleeps too long overnight or at his nap my heart skips a beat.

I simply do not understand some people and the words that come out of their mouths.

Thankfully, right after she dropped that bomb her child's therapist came out to talk about the day's work. The therapist said Olivia did extremely well with all of her tasks and was a joy to have. Olivia's mom then expressed her true concern. She just KNOWS little Olivia needs medication for ADHD, because she has no interest in practicing her violin every day. Her mother went on that even though she was only 3, she was out of control and disobedient. Afterall, her husband had spent $2,000 on that violin plus the cost of the private instructor and it was just ridiculous for Olivia to not be willing to focus and practice an hour a day.

That, that is what was ruining this mother's life currently. That was the source of endless frustration and borderline disappointment in her own daughter. The freaking violin!!!

I gathered up my children and left. This mother would never understand what I go through, as I will never understand what she goes through. I don't know how I feel about anything that happened today. The whole morning was surreal.

It will be interesting to work all of this out at the gym tonight.

Go hug someone.
Kate