Lilly is, for all intents and purposes, an only child. She has three grown-up siblings, but she’s the only child in our house; because of that, she naturally gets the attention and laser-focused love of a singular.
Sometimes I feel bad that she doesn’t have at least one brother or sister to grow up and play with. Both my husband and I come from big families (we’re both the fourth of five kids), and so we had ready-made playmates on any given day (or ready-made tormentors). But Lilly has to rely on either a) herself, b) her parents or c) friends.
Most single kids become experts at entertaining themselves, and Lilly is no exception. Lately, I can put a few bowls of odds-and-ends ingredients in front of her (flour, oatmeal, stale nuts or chips, salt shakers we never use, old ginger powder and cinnamon, a cup of water) and she’s happy for hours doing her “mixing”. We’ll ooh and aah over the sticky, goopy concoctions she makes.
Quite often, Mom and Dad are roped into games, puzzles, or blowing bubbles outside. On rainy days I’ll get out the Easy Bake Oven and we’ll make our tasty treats.
But there are times she just wants the company of other children. Other kids fascinate her. She spent her early years mostly around adults, so she’s comfortable with them and speaks to them more freely. And of course, grown-ups are more predictable and tend to cater to children. Kids, though–they’re exotic, mysterious creatures. You never know what they’re going to say or do. Oftentimes, she’s content just to watch them. She rarely approaches them herself; she waits for them to approach her.
And they do. Besides the fact that she’s a sweet, likable child and allows others to lead, there’s something about Lilly that draws kids to her. It might be the spina bifida–she’s different because she wears braces; she has to go to the nurse twice a day for some mysterious potty ritual; she walks a little differently. At this age, it’s okay to be different. It’s interesting. Kids are open and curious, never malevolent, as far as I know.
But in two years, that might change. In two years, she’ll be in fifth grade, and will have to leave her safe, inclusive elementary school. She will have to enter the portals of Hell: otherwise known as Middle School. It’s when kids suddenly turn into little monsters and devour each other, dividing into the strong and the weak, the cool and the uncool.
It’s a fire we all have to pass through, but I’d rather re-live it myself than witness my daughter go through it. It’s a whole different world: bigger, more confusing, with less safety nets. You have to find your own way. And it hurts.
I dread this period more than anything I can think of, remembering my own awkward, bumpy path, the sudden, inexplicable betrayals, the cruelty I witnessed or sometimes suffered through. And I didn’t have a disability, this extra thing that makes you different. I can’t imagine navigating this pre-pubescent gauntlet of conformity with something that makes you stand out. She has no idea what’s coming, and I’m trying not to hyperventilate with anxiety (two years in advance!)
Maybe it won’t be so bad.
Yeah, and maybe sticking needles into your eyeballs won’t hurt, either.
So anyway, I’ve hung my hopes on Lilly having a strong cadre of friends as she enters Middle School, a posse of kindred spirits she can feel a part of that might protect her from the worst parts of this brave (awful) new world (something I, in my perverse social awkwardness, never really had). At least one good, close friend she can rely on, confide in, and hold onto during the storms.
Lilly has had a string of close friends since preschool. Holly was her bestie in preschool, but alas, she’s a year older and left for elementary school before she did–and to a different school than the one Lilly ended up going to. Contact since then has been sporadic. Annalise was often by her side in kindergarten, but they went to different first grade classrooms, and have since drifted apart a little. (I went to a small elementary school where there was only one class in each grade, and the same kids moved up to each grade together. You could count on seeing the same kids every year). Adrianna adored Lilly in first grade, but she moved away last summer.
This second half of second grade has been spent with Lila (pronounced like “Lilla”)–yes, Lilly and Lila. Apparently, they’re inseparable at school, and Lila lives in the same apartment complex that we do. It’s perfect–we planned getting the girls together a lot this summer. But as fate would have it, it seems Lila, too, will be moving away, to Florida, this September. Lilly can’t seem to catch a break in the best friend department.
Friends often come and go–that’s life. But I’m hoping that in the next couple of years, Lilly can find a good friend or two that she can hold hands with as she passes through the gates of Hell–I mean, Middle School.