I’m trying to get back into the habit of writing.
I’ve started four posts now and finished all of ZERO of them. Ugh. I find myself telling myself to ‘Get it together’ more and more each day.
Writer’s block? Maybe. I’m way overthinking all my blogs. I feel like I was on this set path with Jackson and Abby, and Henry’s thrown me a bit for a whirl. Can I write helpful advice and also talk about being a normal mom?
My life is all over the place. Abby’s got a new ankle brace and dance class and Jackson’s got his first late effects clinic appointment Thursday and awards assembly at school on Friday. Henry’s tagging along like the sweet little Bonus he is and trying to cut his first tooth.
Oh, and I work 25 hours from home each week.
Imagine during Spring Break, we did ALL the above, and then also one of our dogs had surgery on her leg. So we added a healing senior dog in a cone of shame to the Bensten House of Crazy.
There was no getting it together that week.
I think life would be better if I wasn’t running the Cerebral Palsy marathon. We have been working to improve Abby’s gait and balance for what seems like forever. PT, then Botox, then another round of Botox with serial casting. Now the cast is off and we’ve got her in a new AFO.
We fix one thing, and another thing becomes a problem. Then we fix that and she goes through a growth spurt…and she tightens up all over again.
It’s so selfish for me to say how it affects me. It’s Abby that’s doing the hard part. And yet worrying about our girl has consumed me. I worry about stairs, slick shoes, uneven surfaces, wet floors. Other kids holding her hand and going too fast. Other kids holding her hand and going too slow. I think my heart jumps into my throat at least once a day. I told Everett my heart can’t take living in a two-story house for much longer. Too much room for error.
I tend to carry a lot of stress, but when it doesn’t let up, the stress manifests physically for me with headaches and my personal favorite (NOT), chest pains.
Welcome to mothering miracles.
These things my kids have, like what Abby’s dealing with right now, I can’t put a bandage on it to fix it. It takes time, perseverance. Patience. Abby still wants to go to a busy playground and make friends. I can’t take those opportunities away from her. I won’t take them away from her. So I’ll stand a few steps away and flash red when kids push right past her and almost knock her down, smack talking those little knuckleheads (in my head).
It’s part of the job, worry and all.