What Matters

It doesn’t matter, we say, he’s not dying.  We’ve always said that about the boys, whatever it is it doesn’t matter.  It doesn’t matter if he never speaks, it doesn’t matter how long he wears a diaper.  It doesn't matter if he talks too much, it doesn't matter if watches television. 
It doesn’t matter. And then in the next breath, in that way that we categorize our children even as we tell ourselves we shouldn’t, we make it matter.  How many animal sounds do one year olds know?  I wonder if he should be able to write his name better?  He seems really coordinated with that hammer, doesn't he?!  Do you think he should understand money?  Is this fever something to worry about?  Sometimes we get hung up on things that really aren't matters of life and death.  Not much is, actually. 

A few weeks ago an old lady at the library judged him to be bossy, saying "He likes to be in charge of everything, doesn't he?"  Oh dear, she's right, he does, I worried for a moment.  And then I remembered he's just three. 

"He's an intense child," someone recently suggested.  The comment certainly resonated, but it did not withstand scrutiny.  And if it did, it wouldn't matter.  
They're living.  That matters.

JEB