A mother’s pain

I thought I wouldn’t have to deal with this until much later, much further down the road.  But it’s here, and I’m not quite ready yet.  Isabella has always been pretty advanced for her tender age and something of an old soul.  Since she was a two month old in a baby carrier at the mall, people used to comment that she had “wise eyes”.  In fact, she must have gotten the “wise eyes” remark at least ten times from distinct observers since infancy.  And it’s true, for a baby, she was kind of wise.  At least in the sense that she never ceased watching others, observing, and taking in the world around her.  Now, she is still very aware and mature for her age – I mean, every time I speak with her, I feel like I’m talking to a teenager in a two-year-old’s body.  But even with all this taken into consideration, nothing could have prepared me for what she is going through now.

Isabella has become acutely aware of her missing left hand.  We don’t discuss it at home except to tell her that we love her arm and her hand, and that she is beautiful and perfect in our eyes.  She does receive many questions and remarks from both curious, friendly children and not-so-friendly children about her missing hand.  But, regardless of where it originated, she has realized that she is different, and she has attributed a meaning to it that we would not have wanted for her.  Isabella has started to indicate that she is self-conscious of her missing hand, and I am at a loss about what to do differently to change her perception.  It started when her Papa (Jake’s dad) paid her a compliment last month, saying that she was beautiful.  Bella retorted with, “No, I’m not beautiful Papa.  I have a hand and an arm”.  Her Papa repeated himself several times and each time he was answered with the same response.  A few weeks later, she was on a walk with her Nana (my mom), when she initiated, “Nana, I have a hand and an arm.”  Nana replied, “Yes, and I love your hand and your arm.”  Bella retorted, “No!  It’s not nice.”  Although it hurt me to hear this, I tried not to take it too seriously.  I hoped by just reinforcing our love for her and all her parts equally, that this would pass.  I couldn’t tell if she meant what she was saying or if she was just testing us to get a reaction.

Today, I got my confirmation that she isn’t just testing.  She really does believe what she is saying, and it breaks my heart to pieces.  I started dressing Bella this morning, and like usual, she snapped at me “Let me do it!”, so I let her.  As she was dressing herself, she got pouty and said, “Mommy, I want two hands.”  I responded, “okay, let’s go downstairs and get your other hand (her prosthesis)”, she got teary and said impatiently, “No, mommy!  I want three hands!  I want Jesus to give me three hands!”.  I was speechless.  She repeated, quietly, “I want Jesus to give me three hands”.  I just hugged her for a long time, so she couldn’t see my tears.  And that’s it… no great lesson, no triumphant ending, no turning her life around with a teachable moment seized.  Motherhood is equal parts joy and pain, and today was just a reminder of that.