There are times that I still long for the days when I was blissfully unaware. Unaware the differences between a mic-key and an amt mini. Unaware of how melatonin works (or why it doesn't sometimes). Unaware that syringes made great bath toys. And so on. You get the idea.
I fully realize that part of my journey included becoming MORE aware, not less, and that clearly, the path that God has me on does not include naivety or ignorance.
I was reminded of this again the other day while at an activity for one of my girls. During the activity, I have only one girl to attend to. I find myself very relaxed, carefree even. However, while we were there, I noticed another child that was a part of what we were doing. Suddenly, my heart sank, and my stomach was in knots. Because it was clear to me that this other child had a little something more. Pre-diagnosis, I'm sure....this child's mother was clearly struggling. She remarked how she was always tired, and how her child never stopped. You could feel her embarrassment when her child wouldn't listen, despite her best efforts.
Bah. I hate being aware sometimes. I wanted to hug her, to tell her that she wasn't a bad parent, and that, in the end, everything would be okay. But she doesn't yet know about this journey; about the road she's going to travel. So, for now, I play with my daughter and watch from the sidelines.
Because sometimes the best I can do is to pretend to be unaware.