On April 19, I had an article published on Scary Mommy, entitled “When Your Baby Needs Glasses”. In my writing, I tried to explain the challenges associated with a diagnoses of extreme farsightedness, one that both of my children were given, and how the problem was a relative nothing but a problem, nonetheless.

And then, out came the haters, who accused me of being shallow or superficial or even short-sighted (no pun-intended). That there are far worse problems out there for children than just a pair of plastic frames with +6.75 lenses in them. With those people I agree, in part. Yes, there are far worse problems. I have said that over and over again. But I am far from shallow and last time I checked this is not a “my child has it worse” pissing contest.

Most people started to get my message. It wasn’t a vanity thing. It wasn’t a lack of gratitude. It was what it means to be a mother; the pain that I feel when my children feel pain and how I wish that I could take it away from them.

I had people question whether or not my children really had, in fact, been called out or bullied for their glasses.

Exhibit A.

And that was years ago. Could I give you dozens of other incidents during which my child was made to feel embarrassed or different or less than? Yes. Will I? No.

Why? Because it hurts.

But I will tell you about this morning.

My daughter had a Princess birthday party to attend today. They would dress up and do hair and nails and makeup and my daughter was overflowing with excitement. I saw her looking in the mirror and I noticed that she was holding her glasses in her hand, by her side.

“Why don’t you have your glasses on?” I asked.

“Because I want to look beautiful and I don’t look beautiful in glasses. I look ugly. I wish I didn’t have glasses. I wish I had contacts.”

Wallop to the gut. Big, intense punch, knocking the wind out of me.

Before any haters decide to start crawling out and attacking me, let me assure you of this:

We live in a house where uniqueness is celebrated. My children are encouraged to be whomever they are. They are urged to wear what they deem attractive, to do the activities that they find enjoyable and assured that they should love whom they love, regardless of any extenuating factors.

In fact, the photo above is from my daughter’s school picture day this year, when she decided to wear pink hair chalk and quite the outfit.

I tell my daughter that she is beautiful every day, but I also tell her that she is special, kind, smart, wise, funny, loved and talented.

But this morning, it did not matter to my little five year old, who does happen to be beautiful, that she would be able to have fun with her girlfriends dressing up as princesses.

It mattered to her that she is different.

Let me be clear: I do not think that she is different. She thinks that she is different.

“The Disney Princesses don’t wear glasses,” she told me. And she is right. They do not.

She then told me about a friend of hers, a sweet, awesome little girl, who had told her that she did not actually REALLY look like Daphne at her Scooby Doo birthday party because the real Daphne does not wear glasses.

Honestly, it took me three hours to type the sentence above. I couldn’t do it.

You do not have to be a parent to understand this.

Think about someone whom you love.

Think about something that is so important to them.

Think about this thing not only being important to them, but also being a source of pride for them.

And then think about that person being ridiculed or insulted or embarrassed for that very same, important thing.

Think about your grandfather, playing the accordion as the dinnertime entertainment for a restaurant, and seeing people point at him and snicker.

Think about how he would feel.

Think about your insecure, single friend, who just went on a date that she thought, for once, went really well.

Imagine if you saw her date blasting her publicly on social media, making fun of the night, when he did not know that it would be seen.

Think about how your friend would feel.

That is it.

This is it.

My daughter, my innocent, somewhat helpless five-year-old, was knocked down a few pegs

because she wears glasses.

And the hardest part is that she is starting to feel it.

We were at the playground this weekend and she was wearing her transitions lenses, that darken to become sunglasses in the outdoor light.

“Oh, I am glad I brought my sunglasses with me today to the park,” she said to me, so that the other children on the jungle gym could hear. She didn’t want them to know that she had prescription glasses. She wanted me to play along.

This shattered me.

Ok.

I don’t need to write any more on this subject, as I do not want to protest too much.

I am so grateful for my childrens’ glasses, as they help them to see.

I am so grateful for my childrens’ glasses because they make their lives easier, as their eyes don’t work so well on their own.

And I wish that they didn’t have them.

Now excuse me, but the Otis Redding Live from Europe record is playing, and I have a certain bespectacled girl to slow dance with.

“My Girl” is on, and that, she is.