But seriously, the dysmaturity that comes along with FASD is not always a problem. Sometimes, like Little Man’s latest pretend play, it is a delightfully funny surprise. Sometimes it is piercingly sweet, like the way he still loves to rock and sing and cuddle every night before bed. It can make my heart almost stutter in my chest when I hear him give a rolling belly laugh of the kind kids seem to lose somewhere between toddlerhood and school age. And it swamps me in a tidal wave of love when he melts into my arms, tears clinging to his lashes, comforted just because Mama kissed it better.
I saw a rainbow on the way home from work the other night and it immediately brought to mind that trite old phrase – you can’t have rainbows without the rain. As much as I hate the sticky sentimentality of clichés, I have to admit there is some tiny grain of real truth stuck in all that syrup. I may mourn what Little Man could have been without the prenatal alcohol exposure but I love who he is now and FASD is a part of him. I would not wish the pain and problems he will experience from this disability on anyone but I wouldn't change him either. I will just celebrate every sweet, wild, sensitive, restless, frustrating, amazing bit of him just like I drank in the shimmering beauty of those surprise colors.