Sometimes I envy the moms who can stay in their vehicle at school drop off and pick up. Safe from the scrutiny of others because let’s face it: Sometimes, we are a mess.

Sometimes our hair didn’t get brushed because their hair and teeth did. Sometimes we can’t remember the last time we even washed our hair.

Sometimes our clothes don’t match, or they’re the ones we’ve worn all week to drop off in the mornings. Sometimes our legs are unshaven; our toenails unpainted.

But it’s because their clothes are clean, and they have everything in their backpack they need for today.

Sometimes I envy the moms that don’t have to visibly carry it all, parading right in front of the eyes of others who might have it more put together that day.

Sometimes, I hope the mom who needs to see that she’s not alone sees me. In all my mess.

Everything I dreamed about as a little girl looks nothing like the life I have before me

But that’s the thing about dreams: They grow and stretch along with us

The imaginings of a child whose bubble had not yet burst, who had not yet been touched by darkness and grief

Could never be of the beauty this life holds for me, now

Because it’s true, what they say

The joy is so much more vibrant, the light much brighter

Because the darkness has swallowed you whole before

So I look at my life; I hug my child tight

And the shit that persistently sprays all over my world

Becomes easier to wash away

Do you know what I can’t stop thinking about? The nurse I spoke to on the phone yesterday that – a bit rude with her tone, to be honest – asked me if my son “was there” when I explained it was hard to tell if his eye is itchy because he tends to touch them frequently.

It is obvious to me this nurse didn’t bother to take a quick peek at his chart before talking with me, and this was the third time I spoke with her. Maybe it isn’t customary – maybe there isn’t enough time in the day? – but if you aren’t going to look for the big things in my son’s medical chart, maybe take a pause and think about why I’m wording things the way I am. Assume competence in me, too.

I calmly explained that he is non-speaking and doesn’t yet have a way to tell me things like this. So she sent the prescription in for us. And I haven’t been able to get the conversation out of my head since.

“Well – is he there?!”

Sometimes, it doesn’t take much to cause another tiny crack in my mama’s heart. Patience and kindness sure can go a long way.