One of these things is not like the others

We've returned from our vacation, where we decided to call the Hot Spouse vs. Fat Spouse competition a draw, and to just sit back and enjoy the frickin' nachos. Our days were arduous enough without that competetive layer, what with the long 100 foot walk from the pool to the beach and the weight of those piña coladas that we had to heft every afternoon at the swim up bar. We made it a family affair, eschewing alcohol but loading up on pineapple and marischino cherry garnishes that left us sated and drunk on their unique combination of sugar and formaldehyde.

The first few days we kept to ourselves, primarily at Shawn Joaquin's demand and hidden by his monkey-like full body grasp that precluded all conversation with strangers. On Thursday, we decided to take advantage of one of the many activities and joined the aqua aerobics class, Shawn Joaquin digging his talons into my back as I swung my arms and thrashed my legs about in some semblance of exercise. In doing this as a family, as well as joining the poolside Spanish class and conversations about the best dinner spots in our little enclave, we learned we had been a hot topic of discussion the entire week.

I first realized this when people began to say things along the lines of "I've been watching you with him all week, and he's so lucky to have you" and "god bless - we were just saying the other night that more people should do what you're doing" and each time they looked pointedly at Shawn Joaquin, ending any speculation that they might be discussing my husband and his sometimes Special Needs appearance in the early morning. While my inner voice wanted to scream that my son was not in any way luckier than some child that happened to pop out of my womb, I realized that this was an Opportunity to Educate rather than pummel.

"Where did you get him?"
"How long have you had him?"
"What is he?"

In each case I took a deep breath before responding, shoving aside my inner demon that wanted to reply with a personal question of my own — "When did you last have sex?” "Do you love your husband as much now as before?", "Do you still beat your wife?" — and prefaced each reply with "Our son is...." to reaffirm our connection.

To have his connection to me questioned, to have others express disbelief that this little body firmly attached to my side was anything other than my son and the meaning and center of my life was initially painful. And to have people believe that it is HE who is lucky, rather than us. In each instance, I had to look at the intention of the speaker rather than their words, and note that each one expressed appreciation for his beautiful little face, his smile, and our obvious love as a family. But it was a wake up call for me, as I realized that as Shawn Joaquin and soon Madelena hear these questions they will be as much my audience as the inquirer. And that I need to come up with answers that will make my children comfortable and proud and reassured that biology has nothing to do with family or our commitment to one and other.

Our fame/freak status reached as far as the two Harley hog riders with the multiple tats over their large, grey-hair covered bellies and chests. When one of their poolside neighbors asked Shawn Joaquin's name, I heard one biker relay the answer to the other as if it were the answer to a question they themselves had been asking.

This blog entry has no neat little bookend or button to wrap it up, no witty conclusion. I will spend the next few months and years determining exactly what is the right answer to these invasive questions knowing that my listening audience is rapidly expanding to include my children. In the meantime, I can only ensure that they know they are loved and more precious to me than anything in this world, and no biker or Georgian or Mexican waiter can cause me to question that — and in doing so, they themselves will learn not to question their place in my heart.