but he doesn’t look special needs

that's what the lady at dollar general told me while checking out with my kid on my hip

I knew this day would eventually come. I’ve been thinking about it ever since JJ turned two. Kids develop at such different rates. However, most kids generally find their rhythm by age two. I anticipated some questions, looks, or stares would eventually happen.

They didn’t start until he turned three. It’s only happened twice so far. He also just turned three.

My kid is tall for his age; he always has been. When he was one, many people thought he was closer to two. Now, when I carry him, his feet dangle just above my knees, knocking them as we walk.

At the last women’s basketball game—Go Gamecocks!—we attended, the same ticket agent who has seen us come through the same back door for the past three years decided to say to JJ, “It’s about time you start using those legs.” My response as we walked away was, “He’s trying.” Because that’s the truth.

My kid can walk; he just needs some help with it. When we walk, he needs breaks—and so does my back because I’m slightly hunched over.

I’ve had the walking questions before, and my usual response is, “he gets around,” which is yet another truth. He gets where he needs to go.

The ticket agent didn’t irk my nerves as much, but I hope she keeps her walking comments to herself when she sees us again this Sunday.

But the lady at Dollar General …

At the DG by my house, there are usually at least two shopping carts available. I planned to drop JJ in the big basket in the back, grab my two items, and head out.

There were no carts, so we had to hip it and use a basket he wanted to hold while I held him—okay, kid, do you.

We get to the front, the cashier says, “Now you know you're too big for your mama to carry you. Give her a break.”

That is the truth; my body could really use the break. But that isn’t my reality right now.

This is our exchange while she is scanning my two items:

Me: If he could walk, I would absolutely let him.

Her: Oh, he is still learning?

Me: Yes, he is, and I have a special needs kid.

Her: Well, he doesn’t look like it.

*At this point, I put JJ down to stand in front of me while paying for my items. And he is pulling all the gum and candy out of the racks in front of him. I'm snatching stuff out of his hand while trying to pay—typical toddler behavior*

Me: *wide-eyed* Well, everyone is different.

Her: *now in a mousy low town* Oh, well he is so cute.

*I pick JJ back up*

Me: Tell her bye.

JJ: *raises his arm up to signal bye*

*

If I could give advice to folks who want to ask about a child’s mobility—don’t ask. I know it’s hard not to want to inquire when you see something different or it looks like a kid should be doing something and they are not; just don’t.

You don't know what is happening behind the scenes or why that kid is in a stroller, wagon, or still in a carrier on a hip.

Old Jemia would have snapped at the cashier, probably saying something like mind your fucking business. But I’ve grown, and I also have to realize that people don’t know what they don’t know.

I have a social friend—someone you only speak to when you see them or pop into each other’s comments or DMs and the conversation is always good—share the loss of a sibling with special needs.

JJ’s physical therapist told me a couple of years ago that she wishes I could talk to some of the parents of her other clients because we’ve always just done everything with JJ. I’ve never wanted to limit his experiences because it would be harder on me.

I am the parent at the park crouching behind their kid while he stands up and spins the tic-tac-toe. I am picking him up and sliding him down the slide so he can experience that. By the time we leave the park, I’m sweating, and the kid is full of joy. And that is all I’ve ever asked for: a happy, healthy kid. I got exactly that!

If you see a child behaving or responding in a way you are unfamiliar with and cannot keep it to yourself, be kind and gentle with your words and reactions.

Parenting is hard work. Parenting while being a caregiver at the same time is even harder.

We are all doing the best we can to raise awesome people.

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