My shirt is soaking wet. John (a pseudonym) threw his drink at me. “You’re stupid,” he yelled for the fifteenth time today. And it’s not even noon yet. I try to remember he doesn’t mean it, but it still hurts. After several hours of his screaming tirades, I feel sick to my stomach and on the verge of tears. When I finally have a chance to do something on my own, I don’t think I’ll be able to enjoy it.
It’s not always awful. John and I have our morning routine. I cook breakfast, we eat together across the table, and discuss the day’s events yet to unfold. You might even think in moments like these that we are just two people in a relationship like any other, functioning through the mundane moments of modern existence. …continue reading
I have been a special needs mom now for nearly 10 years. That sounds much more impressive than it is mostly because when my oldest was young, I didn’t believe I was a special needs mom, let alone have the guts to say it. The only thing I really would admit to was that parenting my son was challenging.
Ok not just challenging, but demanding, and unusually exhausting. Which made me feel like an utter failure. I remember having conversations with my husband where I was in tears saying I needed help with everything from the kids to the housework, where I tried to explain how I could be so overwhelmed after a day at home ‘just’ taking care of the kids and running errands. He never understood why I wasn’t giving Mary Poppins a run for her money and reminded me often that it was ME who wanted to be a stay at home mom. He was right – I did want to be a SAHM – but I never expected it to be so unbelievably hard, and I sure didn’t expect to be so bad at it.
I watched friends and neighbors parent their kids and it seemed like it was effortless for them. Packing up their toddlers and babies and heading to grab lunch with their friends at a restaurant, or heading over to watch the city parade on a whim, or strapping their little ones into a double stroller and hitting the mall to do some shoe shopping. How did they manage that?! Back then I didn’t really understand how incredibly different my life was from theirs. I hadn’t adopted the term ‘special needs’ for my boys, or me and I sure didn’t think about respite. Perhaps I was even opposed to it. That somehow my need for a break only confirmed how much I sucked at parenting.
Fast forward a few years, add two more boys to the mix and a handful of diagnostic acronyms, and the picture was a tad clearer: I am a special needs mom. …continue reading
