Monday, September 23, 2013

Beyond His Years

I took Quinn to get his hair cut last week.

{my baby}
We used to go to one of those kids' places--with a train table set-up and a seat shaped like a car and capes made to look like superhero outfits--and Quinn hated it. He would scream through the entire session, just throw a flat-out fit, and he always ended up with uneven haircuts I regretted paying for.

A few months ago, we tried taking him to Chris' stylist, Lena, and Quinn fell in love--with her or the experience, I'm not sure. She's calm and pretty, and a young mom herself. Quinn gets to ride up and down in the chair. She indulges his commands, and I think he feels like he's in control--minus the sensory overload that the other place offered. Also, he gets a lollipop at the end, so what's not to love?

Anyway, last week was the first time we'd gone without Chris. It just happened to work out that way with our schedules.

Quinn still sits on my lap during his haircuts, and so I got to chatting with Lena the way I would with any hairdresser. As we were making small talk, she asked about my work schedule, whether I was working from home part-time now--since it was midday on Friday--and it caught me off guard.

Most people know I'm not working, and I figured Chris had probably told her everything about my condition. Because I tell my hairdresser everything, don't you? I figured wrong. Chris hadn't said a word.

I started to tell her I was at home full-time with Quinn these days, and why.

"Oh, I had no idea," she said. And she asked the normal follow-up questions: When were you diagnosed? Did you catch it early? How are you doing now? 

I went through my spiel. I'm happy to share my story, and I don't usually think twice about it. I answered matter-of-factly: He was five months old. It was Stage 4 from the beginning. I'm responding really well to treatment. I'm tired a lot of the time, but aren't all moms?

As I started to talk, though, Quinn tensed up--noticeably. He clung to me, wrapped his legs around me, and buried his head in my neck. He was clearly uncomfortable. Lena noticed it, and we exchanged looks in the mirror. My voice trailed off, and then I spoke to Quinn.

"Mommy's okay, honey. I'm right here. I'm fine."

I have to start choosing my words more carefully around my little man, it seems. He's growing up much faster than I expected.

{my little man}

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