long** Boston children's (museum or hospital)

I went to Boston. Moe was more work than help, so I asked him to stay home. I had no schedule, no to dos all weekend, just time. Ethan dialed 911 on speeddial at the hotel. The hotel was not pleased, but it made me think of fire trucks. We were driving around, lost looking for a target to buy swimmy diapers for the hotel pool and a map of Boston.

At the Chelsea fire station they were washing the fire truck, as it was finally a warm day. I drove around the block, found my way back weaved back and forth on one-ways, totally lost but I found the Chelsea fire dept. what more did we need? Can we see your truck? A fireman let Ethan sit in the seat, he was terrified, and then slowly, with mam’s push, love and guidance, he was impressed by the flashlights. We took a tour and talked about big and little, red and twucks, twucks, twucks. Moe called and apologized and said he wanted to try. I said I needed to think about it. I thought about it, read trashy magazines and took and hour long bath with Ethan, because we like baths.

We found the target and we bought the map, and I forgot it at the checkout, and I bought fake tan to make me feel okay with Amanda’s borrowed and never returned too small bikini, a dashboard confessionals cd. We turned it up and found a playground, and turned down a 3:00 meeting with Auntie Em to take a nap and finish my novel. Dinner with Em and Jarrett, and Jarrett hugged me and I was struck, who are you and why are you hugging me? Is he coming onto me? Nope, just brotherly love. He’s such a good big brother, And he hugged me like a brother. He’s not my brother, but he sees me as a sister. And they bought me dinner ad didn’t complain that I missed the turn and got lost and showed up an hour later. Emily showed me around her very grown up apartment, with furniture that matches, and her very grown up self. She knows Spanish. I never knew that. It’s what got her through Italy. Italy. I was the one who was supposed to go to Italy, and live in a big city.

I almost got arrested for shoplifting. I was lost, 2 blocks from Boston children’s hospital , but just kept circling. Found a playground, but not the hospital. Gas tank running low, Ethan got hungry and cried. We stopped at a Dunkin Donuts inside of a gas station. I bought a latte, 2 shots of espresso, something Moe taught me I liked, and choc-ek mek (chocolate milk), and boeuf (juice) and a banana, and paid on the dunkin Donuts side. A little on the cheap side, and Ethan started screaming, and I put him in the football hold so he wouldn’t bite me, and tears brimmed, and stayed at bay, all eyes on me, college coeds around me, tight asses , slim hips not stretched by childbirth, minds not expanded and fogged by motherhood, free and young and carefree…like I could be. And he screams and thrashes on my side. What will he eat? What was it Moe said he ate on Sundays when he let me sleep in? a bagel and butter toasted? I don’t even know what my child likes to eat. And so I took his squalling, flushed thrashing body and I left the uncomfortable stares of college coeds that are sure they could do it better, and what is wrong with me?

And I walked out the door balancing hot coffee, chocolate milk, juice and a banana on a flimsy cardboard tray. Wasn’t that price too low? She would have told me if I needed to pay for the other stuff on the gas station…right? Will he be okay? Is my son retarded? I had him at 19, my body in its prime, what if my genes are broken, what if I will always create damaged children, different children? If Moe was here, I wouldn’t have to carry the coffee alone…Ethan alone.

I rushed out the door and towards the car..Hey! you have to pay for that. Oh god I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. I must’ve realized I was shoplifting if I’m apologizing. How much? $4, okay…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…I just, I’m so lost. HARRumph. How do you get to children’s hospital? Eyes soften slightly. Children’s? My friend can tell you. Man steps up and softens and tells me, and points. Go straight 2 blocks and take a left, can’t miss it. You’re almost there. Thank you…thank you… I have to get gas, whole store staring, Ethan still squalling. Almost there. 2 blocks. 2 blocks to what? Your child is retarded. It’s all your fault, maybe it’s better that I lost the map. I am alone. Ethan calms, and demands more choc-eck melk.

I find the hospital. I park. Baby, baby, we’re on panda bear floor, when mama asks you later where is the car, tell mama Bear, Bear.

And my lip trembles as I walk out of the parking garage and I beam a little too brightly, flash a smile at strangers, everything is okay.

Mother in the lobby with her two perfect children, I wonder what could be wrong with them, they look fine? Maybe Ethan is just like them? "Come on, let’s go up to daddy’s office." And I see the pager on his belt. He’s a doctor here, and they are perfect. A tear slides cool on my hot cheeks, and I stand in the middle, Fegan, fish symbol and the walls are covered in hieroglyphic directions I cannot read, another language I do not understand. People are beginning to stare at me in the middle of the lobby, wide eyed, tears streaming, and I want to start screaming. I want to strip naked, and scream. Somebody please fucking help me. And there is a woman with a shirt on that says cheerily
ASK ME.

Is my son retarded? Will he be happy? Is it my fault? Have I done enough? Where was my mistake? What did I do wrong? Is it my fault? I realize, it means, what floor is my appointment on. What floor is my husband’s office on? My child is fine, I have that disease where there’s nothing really wrong with him, but I need to believe he’s sick so that I can get attention, so that I can get sympathy. Munchausen syndrome. That's what I have, nothing's realy wrong with him, it's all in my head. I can confess that, and then he will be fine, and we can just fix me.

I don’t need a doctor, or a laywer, or an ivy leaguer, but it would be nice to have someone to distract me, to be in this with me. But I am alone. And my brother is not here. And Moe is having a bad day. And I am alone. And Ethan is happy staring at the ball exhibit, balls whirring and tipping off tracks and bouncing into tennis ball baskets and gonging, and rolling down impossibily turning tracks and bouncing, and dinging, and ringing bells and hitting miniature chimes. And I am being stared at, kind eyes, a volunteer shift almost over. I turn to ask her. To ask her all of the questions I have, but she has removed her Ask me t-shirt and slipped her bag over her shoulder and is headed home, and I have missed my chance. She had the answers, but I missed my chance to ask her. I am out of diapers, I could’ve sworn I put 3 in the overstuffed tote,that was never designed to be a diaper bag, but a coeds bag for light reading and light travel.

We follow the fish, and go to the wrong floor, up and down. And Ethan loves elevators, at least, up and down, pushing the buttons and waiting in eager anticipation, and at least there’s that.

We find our floor, and he runs off in the cafeteria, big boy that he is, he wants to get napkins for his sticky hands himself. Perfect sign language, tells me, wait please, 2 minutes, I can do this myself mom. Okay, go baby, but the napkins are too high. So he goes and wanders and surveys what he wants to see. And I am alone. Watchful eyes of doctors and residents and other parents, cashier, where IS that boys mother? And I hunt him down and he shoos me away, I can do it myself. And I try to let him, but I end up with him in the football hold, all eyes on me and my squalling babe, tucked safely under my arm, out of harm’s way!...AND this way, it’s harder for him to bite me. And the diapers and the toys and the books, and the massive medical binder don’t all fit in the stroller, I repack and reorganize, but still no fit.

We go to our floor, check in and play in the waiting room. Mama come pay me. But mama’s worlds away. And we are alone. We are alone, and I cannot reach you. And my brother is not here yet. I could use that brotherly hug right now. And I am alone, and I will not be able to distract you long enough, even with my stroller full of distractions, too stuffed to fit into the tiny exam room, packed with the best of the best pediatric neurologists. And my brother comes, and off we go.

Heterotopic gray matter. And it’s not my fault. And he’s doing relly well for what he has. I’m doing something right. I can’t…do this, coordinate 20 specialists and work, and clean and grocery shopping and baths, and nigh nigh time and two books, and exact English sign language, and pay the bills and buy the house, and…I miss my friends. And I miss reading fiction, totally unrelated to his “condition”, not speech and development, and behavior management,and parenting.

And this is not temporary.
This will not get easier any time soon. And they’ve never seen anything like this before and they do not know what he will look like in 10 years, and they do not know what “delays” he will have. Learning disabilities and delays, it’s all no big deal, just temporary, things to work around, he’s normal but things to work around. And here we are and it’s been , justa few more months, just one more mile, just one more thing, when I finish school, and this Dr’s appt, and go full-time and make it through this project, and CPSE, and Early intervention, and it will get easier…soon…any day now he’ll just start talking. Any day now, this will all be over, it will get easier.

I have been running the last mile for the last 3 years, pulling out all the stops and pushing just a little bit more, and I have gotten stronger, and found strength I never knew I had. And…just a few more years, few answers, and many questions. And this is how it will be for a while.

And I am alone. And it is okay. And it is okay. I am alone, but my eyes are open.

I cried for children who are worse than him, and forchildren who are better, and for college coeds in the big city, and for study abroad, and for mothers alone, and a lot for couples, they were just as unhappy, and scared and worried, but they were together. And I cried for the promise of the glittering city, and my shiny hotel in the outskirts, staffed with the underclass, the underdogs, struggling and scrubbing. I cried for sign language instead of Spanish, for italian, and for my east bublefuck hometown instead of Italy, and for my friends all moving off to the big cities, and me…buying a house in east bumblemfuck, and giving up my job, my semblance of a profession, and for trying to do a perfect job as a professional and as a mother, and ending up with mediocre both, for state instead of Ivy League, for foodstamps instead of a passport…and for pale ale instead of snuzzles, and for money thrown at the problem instead of love and tenderness. And for couples. Amd marriage and an unbroken home. And for a perfect child, and good genes, and a father for my child. And I cried. I cried alone, and I accepted, and finally I embraced. And it is okay. I am alone and it is okay. And I have lost parts of myself and Ethan is helping me find them.

I stopped punishing. I have nothing to pay for, and even if I did, I have paid for three years. I have paid my debt. I have permission to be happy, and I must be happy to help Ethan see how it’s done. And it is okay. I am allowed to accept this life, and stop denying. I am allowed to be happy. If I let it in, it overwhelms, it overtakes, and I cry.. and then acceptance, and peace and it’s okay.

I can be happy in this. And god, he is such a wonderful child. And I am so much happier than I was before him. I had all of the freedom in the world, paralyzed by fear. And here I am, tethered and tied, to something meaningful, and I am happy. It is okay. "Fuck the assholes, love the child". I am alone, but I have Ethan,and I wouldn't have it any other way. He has a lot to teach me.