It was one of those days. The hubby was watching our 3-month-old, while I towed the 2-year-old off to Target for a much-needed grocery trip. Un-showered, under-dressed and over-tired, I balanced two carts at my side.
One held Cole, my energetic toddler, riding in the bed of the cart and wearing his “I’m a big brother shirt,” and the other quickly filled with diapers, dog food and other new-mom necessities. (I’m sure coffee was on the list.) We maneuvered the crowded aisles, smiled with an “Excuse me!” and an “Oops, sorry about that!” while bumping into strangers and knocking groceries off shelves.
It was the first time since the birth of our sweet Kate that I had shopped on my own. Parents and friends had come to the rescue when we delivered our little girl and had pampered us even more than usual when they heard of her Down syndrome diagnosis. Our freezer was full of delivered casseroles and other homemade delicacies, so grocery shopping had fallen to the wayside while we focused on adjusting to life with two under 2.
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But today, I was on a mission. “Hold on tight,” I urged my son, zipping around corners as he cheered, “Weee!” The other patrons cleared the way. Never mess with a woman in sweatpants with a cart full of diapers. An hour later, we arrived at the checkout. Exhausted but unscathed, both carts were piled full, ready to fill our empty kitchen. As we waited in the long line, I desperately tried to distract my tiny sidekick as he grew increasingly restless. “We’re almost done, honey,” I coaxed.
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I swiped my credit card fiercely through the card reader. A long line piled behind us. “Ma’am, do you have another form of payment?” our cashier asked. “This card is declined.” My son’s mood was declining as well. I called the bank. Apparently, I had inadvertently canceled my only form of payment earlier that day while trying to take care of another matter, and so, I had no choice but to pull over my two overloaded carts and wait for my husband to come to the rescue.
At that moment, her eyes softened and she held my gaze with a warm smile.
And then I saw them. Standing behind me in line was a kind-looking, middle-aged woman and her 19-year-old son. He wore a green and white striped shirt and a green sports cap for a team that I can no longer remember. He helped his mom unload the groceries and then, once bagged, helped put them back in the cart. He waved at me when I said hello to him and said very strongly, “Tarrrrget,” as if to remind me where we were.
He wore glasses and scratched his nose and enjoyed his mother’s company and as they were leaving I said to her, “Excuse me?” She stopped and smiled—the way you do when total strangers stop you in large department stores.
“Does he have Down syndrome?” I asked, cautiously. I still don’t know what the rule is on asking about things like this—and what if he didn’t have Down syndrome but something else? And I was moderately concerned about offending the poor woman, but obviously not enough to keep my mouth shut.
She answered, “Yes, he does.” And I responded, “I have a 3-month-old with Down syndrome.” At that moment, her eyes softened and she held my gaze with a warm smile. It was as if we were both part of a secret sorority and she was an old member.
She asked me a few questions and, before leaving, softly said, “Welcome to your beautiful journey.” Then she asked my baby’s name—to which I replied, “Kate.” And she said, “That’s my name, too.” And off they went.
At that moment, I was reminded of the beauty of making a connection, whether it’s with total strangers in line at a store or with my little boy in his “I’m a Big Brother” shirt who leaned over to gently hug me, as if to say, “Mama, we’re in this beautiful journey together.”
This essay was originally published in April 2011.
Image:iStock
