Four years ago, I sat in a room with a group of other mothers and their babies. Three of our children had recently turned one, and the other two kids were about six months old. I had never been in a room with other kids who were so close to Penny’s age. 

It was terrible.

The whole morning, I thought about all the things she couldn’t do. She couldn’t pull herself up. She couldn’t climb. She certainly couldn’t walk. Then I moved to critical thoughts about the other kids. I thought that Penny was nicer than her, or cuter than him. But those thoughts didn’t help me out of my despair. Whether comparing or critiquing, the thoughts took me into a free fall of negativity.

I met a woman last night with a grandson with Down syndrome. He’s eleven. She told me about him, and she did so using Penny as a basis of comparison. “He doesn’t talk as much as Penny does” she said. “He needs a lot of sleep.” “Sometimes it’s frustrating for my daughter because she doesn’t even know what he needs.” “He is the most wonderful boy.”

I loved listening to her because, while she was comparing her grandson to Penny, she wasn’t doing it in a way that implied that Penny was “better” because she has a bigger vocabulary. She was describing the differences as if I were talking about myself in comparison to my siblings. Kate has long hair, and mine is shoulder length. No value judgements. Just reality. Or Peter is tall and I am short. Or even, Brooks is wonderful at crafts and I love writing. It was so refreshing to be able to talk freely, and even comparatively, without feeling as though there was a value judgement being made along the way.

I remember the end of that day, four years ago, when I had plummeted through the questions of “When will she be able to do that?” and “Does she measure up?” I finally realized that I had been asking the wrong question all along. I had been asking, “What can Penny do?” and I had been asking the same thing of all the other children, and then evaluating them one by one. But then I started instead to ask, “Who is Penny?” And then, “Who are these other little ones?” And that question allowed me to see them each as individuals, each as kids with distinct personalities and contributions and gifts. I could still compare them, but it wasn’t the comparison of judgement. 

There will always be a temptation to compare myself, and others, according to some hierarchy. But I hope I am learning to leave those types of judgements behind and instead interact with each individual–from the littlest baby to the person behind the cash register to the lady at church to the young boy in Penny’s preschool class–as a distinct human being with a distinct purpose. 

The funny thing is, were I to put Penny in a room today with those same kids from four years ago, it would be a very similar scene. The other kids would be able to do much more than she can. They would run faster and jump higher and catch balls with greater accuracy. But I’m pretty sure, if I noticed those differences at all, they wouldn’t bother me. I’m pretty sure I’d be able to see our daughter for who she is–as a sweet little girl who gets shy sometimes and sings at the top of her lungs at others, as a wonderful big sister, as a kid who loves reading and can throw a ball with precision, as my precious child. And I hope I would see these other children as the gifts they are as well.