By, Rebecca of Mommy, Ever After
They help her, they are a tangible solution to a small problem, and they look so darn cute.
I’ve learned to love them so much, that I have stopped thinking about them.
I have accepted them.
They have become a wonderful, valuable, treasured part of my wonderful, valuable treasure.
And then, today happened.
It all started innocently enough. I went to Ikea with my mom and sister (a fellow life-long member of the glasses tribe). We joked our way through the rows of Hemnes and Karslbad and were having a great time until I came upon a family who was hovered by the Klippan sofa display.
It happened in slow motion.
As I saw the six year old boy spot my daughter,
who was sitting peacefully in her stroller, munching on a soft prezel,
I noticed his hand start to raise as his index finger jutted towards her.
“NOOOOOOOOOO!” I wanted to scream, as my ears filled up with the noise of my pounding heart.
“Look at that baaaaaaaaby!”
He shouted, as he pointed, wagging his finger at my daughter’s heart shaped face.
“She has glassssssses! Why does that baaaaaaby have glasses?”
And he did not say it in a nice way.
In fact, he said it in about as mean of a way as someone who wears Spongebob Underpants could muster.
His mother scolded him, and commented how he was being “rude” (Okay, mom. I’m sure he feels terrible about his “rudeness”.) and how he was wrong, that she actually is so cute in her glasses.
Yes. Just like that.
And then my heart shattered in 80 grillion pieces.
I did not say a word. I did not scold the little boy. I did not preach to him. I did not “kill them with kindness”.
I, instead, sought refuge in my sister’s arms,
somewhere between the Kivik chairs and my own personal hell.
And I cried.
My heart ached for my little girl.
This was the first time that she was teased for wearing glasses.
And she had no idea. She just sat eating her pretzel, happy and smiling.
And that made it infinitely worse.
But, my sister, being the wise baby sibling that she is, talked me through it.
She has been wearing glasses since she was two, and she assured me that she has never felt ashamed or bad or silly because of her glasses. Never. Not once. She told me that they are an accessory. That she loved her specs.
And I had no choice but to believe her.
That is what survival is all about.
I went on with my Ikexcursion, and as I pushed my happy little glasses wearing girl, my heart began to piece itself back together.
And I realized that I will never be able to control what people think or say or how they act. All I can do is to take care of my daughter’s needs, both physical and emotional, in the best way I can.
When she is old enough,
I will not tell her, “Yes, you are bespectacled.”
I will tell her “You are you. You are Bespectacular.”
So when we reached the cash registers
and the nice, young lady behind us made goo-goo eyes at my little girl, I held my breath, but knew I could handle whatever comment she threw our way.
She told me that she loooooved my daughter’s glasses.
I told her that I love them too.
And I do.
So, with dried tears and a full heart, I bought us $1 cone of frozen yogurt. Always be spectacular, I say,
and always treat your little girl to dessert.