In the Down syndrome blogging community, something called a “blog hop” is happening this summer / fall (okay, it was supposed to be summer but I am a little behind!!), hosted by Meriah, the author of the blog A Little Moxie. The point of said blog hop? To get bloggers, such as myself, to write posts specific to issues surrounding disability. To get us thinking, to get us reflecting, to get us capturing thoughts, feelings, and emotions surrounding disability in a tangible form. Here are my thoughts for the seventh writing prompt, which is:
You know the one.
The split second in which time seems to stand still, all the worry, frustration and heartache of reality is pushed aside, and all is right with the world.
That snapshot you will forever cherish in your heart, because it is the culmination of tireless hard work and effort played out flawlessly.
I had one of those “Golden Moments” with Jake today.
We were at physiotherapy. It was a new location for us, and Jake was excited. We walked into the waiting room, and he could hardly wait to bolt around the corner and into the therapy room. The balls, hula hoops, stairs and balance beams were calling his name, drawing him to them like a moth to a flame.
Before the session began, however, we had to fill out forms, and wait. And let me tell you, when you are three years old, have Down syndrome, and possess a very short attention span at the best of times, waiting is hard work. To help us pass the time, the kind receptionist grabbed a few plastic dinosaurs, and Jake and I sat down on the floor to play. He was having the time of his life, lining them up on the chair, knocking them off, giggling voraciously, and then crawling underneath the chair to pick them up and start the cycle all over again. During one of the rotations he picked up the largest one, and instead of placing it back on the chair, he decided to practice his throwing skills. He threw the dinosaur into the air, up up up it went, and it came down hard, right on my head.
Cue the Golden Moment…
Instead of laughing hysterically at my pain, which is his usual response to similar situations, he had a different reaction.
He noticed that he had hurt me.
He recognized that he was at fault.
He marched his little body over to me right away, and without prompting, he stuck out his hand, signed “sorry” to me, and said “mommy”.
My child said sorry to me for hurting me.
My child understood the concept of sorry, and used it spontaneously in the appropriate context.
My child did not have to be prompted, pushed or cajoled into apologizing. He just knew what had to be done, and did it!
I could not have been prouder of Jake in that moment. The sting of the dinosaur hitting my head was completely and utterly lost on me, as I reveled in the Golden Moment.