Thank you all for taking the time to write such thoughtful and kind responses to my last post. I really do appreciate it. So much.

I’m better now. Really, I am. And I’ve spent way too much time thinking about it all anyway. I was rehashing the whole thing (again) with John the other night. He is always very patient with me when I talk about my feelings*. In fact, one of my favorite things about John is how well he manages me. I know that sounds odd, saying my husband manages me, so let me try to explain what I mean.

John is the only person I’ve ever met who can talk me down from a ledge. He knows exactly what to say to make me really think about what’s going on, and he knows how to do that in a way that’s non-confrontational and doesn’t make me want to lash out at him. John also knows how to help me parse through the thoughts in my head that I have a hard time working through myself so I can figure out exactly what’s bothering me, and then determine how to fix it, or how to go about leaving it alone and moving forward. In short, John has the paradoxical ability to stomach all of my bullshit, but not take any bullshit from me at the same time. I don’t know how he does it.

So I was rehashing the whole birthday party thing again the other night, and John is listening. As soon as I come up for air, John looks at me and says, very matter-of-factly, “Who are you?”

I was taken aback by what he said, slightly offended, really. I squinted my eyes, caught my breath and asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The Anne I know would say, ‘Screw it,’ and move on, never giving this another thought again.”

He was right, that husband of mine.

When I was pregnant with Archie, before we had any idea about his diagnosis, John and I went to the beach with my parents. John and my father went for the golf; my mother and I went for the sun, surf and sand.

It was a different time for John and I back then. John and I were utterly ignorant in a way we never knew we could be. We had no idea the way our world was about to be turned upside down. None at all. These weren’t the “good ole’ days,” they were just a different time and we were different people back then. Not that we’ve changed, really, we’re just better people now than we were then in the way you become a better person when you have a child, especially when that child isn’t what you expected.

But I’m digressing.

While mom and I were enjoying that beach I remember watching a father, holding his young child’s hand, walk up to a group of playing children. He introduced his daughter, and then asked the other children their names and ages. That father asked those children if it was o.k. for his daughter to join them, digging in the sand. The children agreed, half-heartedly, and the little girl joined them as the father backed away, watching for a while from a close distance, and then retreated to his nearby beach chair when he apparently decided things were going well enough for his daughter and her new playmates.

I remember snickering at that father, the way you do when you think you’re so much more evolved than someone else. And after I was finished snickering, I haughtily remarked to my mother, “I’ll never, ever do something like what that father just did.”

My mother laughed at me then, the way you do when you know you’re so much more evolved than the person with whom you’re speaking. “Oh, yes, you will,” she assured me.

And she was right, that mother of mine.

At nearly four years into this parenting gig I admit that I’ve done similar things with my children, especially with Archie. And I’ll do them again, I know. What I need to learn, I think, is that I just can’t worry too much when things don’t pan out the way I’d like them to. As John says, our kids will make their own way. They’ll break down barriers themselves that I can’t push through on their behalf. In the end, they’ll choose their friends and I’ll be pleased with their choices because I’ll have shaped them into the little people they are. In the end, everything will be o.k.

* I know that “feelings” is a really corny word. I feel like a teenaged drama queen, all, “You hurt my feelings!” But I think we all have a little leftover teenager-ness hiding deep down inside, and that the world would be a better place if we just acknowledged that and moved on.