About two weeks ago, over an innocent lunch of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, I found myself suddenly living out a moment that I’ve imagined countless times in my mind- Pete discovered that his left hand is different.
I’m not even totally sure how it started. I think Emerson was saying something like “If we all pitch in to clean up, it will go faster because four hands work better than two.” And she started figuring out how many hands we have in our whole family. Pete, for his part, was not paying much attention at all, but then Emerson said something about her thumbs and then said (with the utmost sincerity, kindness, and blunt honesty that only a sibling can give) “Pete, you only have ONE thumb.”
P- “One thumb?”
E- “Yes, you only have a thumb on your right hand but not on your left.”
P- “Emer, {his nickname for her} how many thumbs do YOU have.”
E- “2.”
P- “Mama, how many thumbs do you have?”
me- “I have two, Pete. Most people have two thumbs, but God made your hands different because he knew that you were smart enough to figure out how to do things even with just one thumb.”
P- “Iris {our nanny}, how many thumbs do YOU have?”
I- “2, Peter.”
He looked at his hands for all of 5 seconds and declared, “I have two thumbs as well.” And with that, while I had tears in my eyes {both pride that he was so confortable with himself and sadness that we even needed to have this conversation in the first place}, my kids went back to eating PB & J and talking about Jake and the Neverland Pirates. The moment was totally surreal, but it was not to be the last of its kind.
A few days later, we ran into my dad at the YMCA and while they were playing, I heard him ask “Gwapa, do you have 2 thumbs?” My dad confirmed that he does indeed have 2, and that was that. Pete seemed to just want to check it out, but wasn’t lingering on it.
Until this weekend. Emerson and I were in Colorado for a wedding and the boys were hanging around here. At one point, Jeff was pushing him on the swings in our yard, and Pete became very quiet. Jeff thought he might have dozed off and said “Hey, Peter, are you awake?” Quietly, sadly, he said to Jeff, “I only have one thumb.” He was sitting there, thinking about the fact that his hand is different. The kid is not even 2 1/2 years old, but he’s already so introspective. And we can see that it’s hurting his feelings to know that he’s not the same as everyone else.
Break my heart. Break my freaking heart.
As his mom, I just want to FIX this for him. But that’s not a realistic possibility. And while he is A-MAZ-ING at the things he can do on his own, the fact of the matter is that he will always look different. Now, I’m a firm believer that he needs to know from the get-go that YES, his hand and arm are different but that he is totally “normal,” and according to Psalm 139, he’s “fearfully and wonderfully made” by God. I don’t want to hide his differences from him or keep it a secret. My feeling is that I’d rather he hear it from us than from some punk-assed 7 year old on the playground at school. I’d rather arm him {pardon the pun} with the feeling that he’s different but equally awesome so that when that day comes (and, unfortunately, I know it’s coming), he’ll have the confidence in himself to shrug it off and move on.
In my heart, I know that he’ll find some great friends, and even a great girl that would love him just as he is. Check out this picture… He’s so blessed to know that type of love his entire life. This is my absolute favorite picture from this summer. She’s holding his LEFT hand! There will be more bumps in the road, Bug, but always know that you are loved and You. Are. Awesome!
