Waiting (and waiting.....) Rooms

I spend a considerable amount of time each week in therapist's and clinic's waiting rooms....Far more time than I would care to admit. This is the nature of what we do. I imagine, since you have somehow found this blog post, that you too spend part of your week in much the same way. Other moms sit on uncomfortable wooden bleachers in all kinds of weather to watch their son or daughter practice baseball or softball. I sit in clinic waiting rooms hoping our child is getting the emotional coaching they so desperatly need to be successful at school and at home. Some parents sit and wait on lawn chairs watching their child perfect their pitching skills....my kids, however, head behind closed to doors to learn how to better manage their bitching skills.

When you have regular/recurring appointments as we do, you begin to see the same faces each week. Each week for months now, I see the same Mom and brown haired son. We are "regulars" to one another and always exchange pleasantries. Today athey walked in a few minutes late for their four o'clock and they both turn and say hello with a smile and a shrug to me before turning to the receptionist. I realize that they are acknowledging their lateness to me, as though we have some sort of unwritten social contract...which in a strange sort of way, we do. The mom heads in to the therapist's office and the son and I begin our usual small talk. He is nervous when his mom goes in to talk without him and he is left alone in the waiting room. He used to go down the hall and knock a few times each week ("How much longer?") He knows I am both a MOM and a therapy waiting room regular, which, when combined, make me a safe person to talk to. So we talk.

Sadly, I know our foster son does not share that same level of trust with adults (nor with his peers - and certainly not with his therapist). Adults lie, they hurt you, neglect you, molest you, and are unkind. Adults are not to be trusted. Period. Avoid eye contact. Never answer a question directly. Keep a flat affect. Never let em see you sweat (or feel). Do not seek them out for comfort. Lashout when experiencing discomfort. Yep; that's my kid. My RADish.

So while the waiting room conversations are a small comfort to the brown haired boy I see weekly, they are a painful reminder of how very, very far away from OK my own kid is.