She Can

Yesterday was a Murphy’s Law day. Not a catastrophe, just an uhhhhh why is this happening sort of day.

We discovered water in our basement for the 2nd time in 2 months.

My engagement ring split in half.

A work document, due tomorrow, mysteriously vanished from my laptop.

This was all before noon.

By late afternoon, we decided to salvage our Saturday with a quick trip to the boardwalk. Some salt air, amusement rides and a creamsicle twist cone seemed to be just the remedy for the day.

When we arrived, Evan and I decided to split up so that Ellie could ride the rollercoasters, and I could take Mira on some more age appropriate rides that I know she loves.

Mira soared on the swings, glided on helicopter and sailed on the boat ride. We had made it through about 3 or 4 rides before she spotted the “trucks”, a slow-moving caravan of colorful trucks going around in a circle. We patiently waited on line and when it was her turn I went to lift her onto the pink truck and buckle her in like I normally do before I was stopped by the ride attendant shaking her head.

“She’s too small. She can’t go on.”

While a small crowd of people looked on, she held up a L shaped PVC pipe measuring tool to the top of Mira’s head just a few inches shy of reaching the top.

Over the last few years, I’ve learned there is a time and a place to make a scene. “Pick your battles” my mom always tells me.  This ride attendant was just a high schooler doing her job and paying attention to the safety restrictions. I get it. I guess I didn’t understand why she had been permitted to go on several other rides (with and without me). Rides that were much more active than a truck going around in a circle. But rules are rules, so I complied.

I scooped Mira up, and walked back through the line of people behind us, Mira screaming and squirming in my arms. She didn’t understand what had just happened. She just wanted to go on the pink truck.

I found a nearby bench, out of the way of the crowds, and sat Mira down on my lap. As her tears started to subside, mine started. I held her close and buckled up for my own ride.

Uncontrollable, raw, unexpected emotion.

It wasn’t the trucks. It wasn’t the ride attendant. It wasn’t even the embarrassing measuring stick or having to walk through a crowd of people with a flailing toddler.

It was the sheer weight of it all.  The weight of other, much bigger things that my daughter will want to do, but will be told no. Or worse, she will want to do, but can’t.

Before Mira was born we were given a list of “can’ts.” When taking her home from the NICU, another list. Every time we see her doctors, the list grows.

This experience was a harsh reminder that she is different. That there will be things along the way that will exclude her simply because of her size. As a parent, it is frustrating to know that there will be things that I just won’t be able to change for her. It breaks my heart because she deserves to do everything in her life that she wants to.

After a few minutes, a deep breath and some wiped away tears, Mira looked up at me and with her 3-year-old sassy voice said “Mom, stop crying. I want to go on the blue horse.”

“Let’s go!”, I told her, as we made our way to the carousel. We rode it about 3 times, each twirl around filled her with more and more joy. She was laughing so loudly that she had the surrounding strangers smiling and waving at her.  

As the sun began to set, we made our way to our car.  The girls had a great time, Mira confidently strutting and dancing to the beat of the boardwalk music.  This girl can strut. She can dance. She can bring joy to everyone around her.

This rollercoaster our family is on may have a few more twists and turns than the rides of others, but I know there is no one else I would rather be on it with.