It literally happened over night, in an instant.
And while I can't tell you that story, I can tell you that it's been isolating, lonely, and for an extrovert like me, a game of carefully walking a line and balancing my friends on a tightrope so I don't go crazy.
Today I literally spent 8:15 am to 3:00 pm dealing with medical or insurance issues.
L-i-t-e-r-a-l-l-y.
I made my kids' lunches while I sat on hold for the 17th time with another doctor's office.
I cursed the answering service under my breath as I smeared the last tablespoon of peanut butter onto an organic wheat piece of bread.
And then I called someone else, held my breath.
And hoped they understood my plea.
I do not cry anymore. I don't have time to.
The menagerie of bills, toys, artwork and forms on my kitchen counter has become more than embarrassing and tonight I rallied and made some order to the seemingly ending chaos, polishing the black granite shiny with a rag. I may have rubbed a little too hard, I am not sure.
My attendant asked me today if I like being a stay-at-home mom and I almost choked.
"No," I thought.
But instead, "I don't love it in the summers," slipped out.
The other day I was walking with my kids, June strapped into her special needs-stroller.
I was at the beach by myself with these little people. Which is a miracle within itself.
Some guy says, "Aren't you too big for that stroller little girl?"
I looked at him, pursed my lips and let out "Hmmmm."
Because I was contemplating him. And contemplating my life.
Because I didn't have the energy to sock him across the face.
Because he's right. I have a 9 year old in a stroller.
And sometimes my 10 year old takes care of her as his "chore".
And lately it's been my 6 year old.
I am sorry if you have called me and I have not responded. I am on auto-pilot.
If you didn't catch it up there, I have run out of peanut butter. That never happens.
This too, shall pass, but the unfortunately the passing is taking too long.
I told God yesterday "I thought you just wanted my Summer".
And I think He whispered back, " I want all of you."
And as if I thought it was enough to have just one child with special needs, I am coming to the realization that I may have two. Matter of fact, I am certain my entire family is some kind of special.
I have accepted it.
But I can't move on.
I'm sorta stuck.
I wanted the other family.
The normal family.
God, would you help me love my new normal?
