The Girl on the Other Side of the Glass

BREAKING NEWS: Erik drank from a straw for the first time yesterday! I jumped up and down.

This week the three of us went to a nearby pizza parlor for an Oregon State University sports presentation. I usually stay home to care for Erik, but the setting seemed casual enough for Huggies and sippy cups, and I was extremely hungry for a few slices of Canadian bacon and pineapple. After a quick assessment by the admissions staff at the door, Erik was admitted free of charge. That was a gigantic mistake on the university's part. Despite his size, he ate man-sized servings of pizza as fast as I could chop it up and present it to him. We all did a great deal of Van Damage to the buffet table. When the social hour came to a conclusion and the presentation was about to start, Erik and I excused ourselves and headed for the play room, a wood-paneled room filled with screened-in, alarmingly dusty 1980s playground equipment, various video games, and a miniature electric merry-go-round. I noted it was the first time it was not 4000 degrees inside. Usually the combination of electronics, red-cheeked children sweating buckets, and lack of circulation creates a dripping rain forest in this particular room. I took in a deep breath of cool air and realized too quickly that although the temperature was perfect, everything still smelled like thousands of feet. Shaking off my disgust, I made myself comfortable on a wooden bench and let Erik stand in front of me, free to do as he pleased. He only clung to me tightly as children zoomed by, screaming like banshees and throwing stray balls from the ball pit at each other. Erik was less than impressed. Frankly, so was I. He began his anxious rocking and threatened to melt down, but he held it together for a few long minutes before the inevitable bout of scarlet-faced sobbing came. I scooped him up and took him out of the chaos, closing the door behind us. Luckily, the extra event room was empty except for tables of pizza and beverages, and the restaurant staff said we were welcome to make ourselves comfortable there. We found a chair next to a bank of windows looking into the play room and watched the children play their demonic little games, all of their screeches muffled by panes of glass. It wasn't long before a hyperactive boy pounded on the lever on the emergency exit and an alarm began to shriek. I muttered a quick prayer of thanks that we were still not sitting on the bench in that room.

I admit that sometimes I wonder if Erik was made just for me. I have said it before, and I'll say it again. I don't believe in the whole "God chooses mothers for special children" thing. I know a lot of people do and I completely respect that, but personally I never bought into that theory. For the most part, when I have been the recipient of that ancient platitude, it has stung badly. I felt isolated and singled out, especially when the well-meaning person telling me this has a gaggle of typical kids. On the other hand, I freely admit there are times I know I couldn't have a child more suited for me. In this particular case, we were both happier away from the noise, quietly drawing pictures of our family on napkins pulled from our table dispenser and enjoying just one more slice of Hawaiian pizza together. We sat like this for an hour, and my lap began to go to sleep under 30 pounds of a pizza-stuffed Erik Quinn. A little boy came to the opposite side of the window to look at Erik, stuck his tongue out, and crossed his eyes. I waved back at him, and he went on his way. When we glanced up to check on the action, kids scrambled all over the dirty, giant playground tubes like nimble ants on an ice cream sandwich. The loudspeaker occasionally blasted out diners' order numbers, making Erik and I jump. To ease the tension, I would repeat the numbers in different voices, trying to make him laugh. We ARE undoubtedly perfect for each other. Maybe this is just sour grapes. Would I be happy with a typical child? Yes. Do they appeal to me anymore? Not really, although there will always be an ache in my heart for what could have been, and I will forever wonder what Erik would be like with just 20 more genes. I can even see why some people think I was chosen for this. However, don't expect me to think this is fair. Ever.