Poignant reflections from Chuck E Cheese

Yesterday the kids slept too long for us to do what we were supposed to do–specifically my gestational diabetes test. Alex had been counting on going to “the hospital with the bridge,” and he was really mad at me. So he demanded that we go to Bonkers when Daddy came home.

Daddy didn’t want to go to Bonkers (I think he was too tired to climb around in the rigging after Alex, especially since he’s claustrophobic), but he suggested Chuck E Cheese as an alternative. So we spent about an hour and a half Thursday night eating pizza and salad and running from one game to the next. Christian and I even played each other once .  (I won. But then, these games are aimed at 3-5 year olds, so maybe I shouldn’t crow.)  

This was our third visit to Chuck E Cheese. The first visit, Alex was crazy with excitement, and Julianna stubbornly refused to eat. At that time it was me she was refusing, so I was anxious to get home and pump before I got engorged and plugged. Christian managed to get her to eat some grape pieces and bread. (Daddy’s girl.) Then he went off to play with Alex while I cuddled Julianna, who began shrieking with apparent outrage. I had just called to them to get their coats when suddenly the contents of her stomach emptied down my front…after which, she promptly went to sleep.

Talk about an “Aha” moment.

The second visit, she rode nearly everything with Alex. She was just as excited as he was, but didn’t have the cognition to understand that there were more rides to come when the one she was on ended. She howled every time we moved her.

Last night, she wanted to walk (holding onto us, of course), to touch, to cruise, to stare. She liked the games and rides well enough, but she was clearly absorbing the sights and noises in a way she never has before. (And if you’ve ever been to Chuck E Cheese, you know there are a *lot* of sights and noises.)

Watching her absorb, process and classify her surroundings tugged at my heartstrings. It happens with every child…this sense of wonder, of joy so intense that it actually resembles pain, in seeing him or her grow, become more than s/he was a few minutes or hours or days before.

But watching it happen in a child with special needs makes it oh, so much more poignant. Knowing, as we do, how dearly bought are each of those milestones, the wonder of such moments intensifies. It can bring me to the edge of tears, even in so unpromising a locale for tender moments as a garish, noisy Chuck E Cheese.