So I heard a little tid bit of interesting the other day.
Did you know that the angriest community in the world are mothers of young children?
I wasn't sure if I should laugh in liberated delight. That I am not alone!
Or cry that I am she?
The proof is in the pissy.
And I have been pissy. Indeed.
So shoot me.
Maybe it's the just passed holiday blues...looming birthday row...all this transition jazz...or PT(my child had 1/2 of his brain removed)SD finally catching up to me?
I used to be Miss. Optimism Joy. Once upon a time. I actually won the best smile award once. Had gloomy people tell me how they hated my perpetual happy. I've changed so much...in so many ways. As my skinny pics like to taunt me!
I hardly recognize myself anymore.
In the mirror. Or the heart.
And sometimes it makes me sad. Sometimes I'm not so sure that I'm really being Shaped. Or that I was ever cut out for this mess. Sometimes I wonder if I'd be happier had things worked out differently. If Trevy were born whole. And that I still had no idea about things like seizures and radical brain surgeries on toddlers. Sometimes I wish things were easier.
How shallow...right. I know. I've looked to my left...and have seen those with more on their plate than myself.
Oh so shoot me that sometimes I wallow in my shallow.
I know every time Trevy smiles at me is a mini miracle. Or gives me hi five. Or imitates his brother or sister. Or does anything that was absent before the nightmare-miracle. Not to mention all the developmental successes he had pre-radical brain surgery. For which I am often reminded both by myself...and others.
But you know what?
Sometimes I'm just not. Sometimes my emotions get the better of me.
Sometimes I'm sad. And angry. And disappointed. Faithless. Overwhelmed. Grinchy...with a side of pissy.
Which reminds me of Christmas.
Instead of being saturated in thankfulness. I was slowly drowning in dsiappointment. As I watched Trevy's reaction to each offered gift. There was no tearing into wrapping paper...hunting for the goodie underneath. Because there was no understanding that something fun was hidden. Chosen specifically with a little scar headed toddler in mind. With heart visions of wrapping paper swirling above the chaos. Happily fluttering to the floor. Where it would be smushed underfoot of an exuberant understanding scar headed toddler! I even used tissue paper too. Hoping that the opaque red elmo would be noticed first. And discovered by the tearing away of toddler paws.
Elmo was not found. At least not without help.
And the Seizure Monster laughed as Disappointment ate my Christmas joy for breakfast.
I should have taken my own cliche to heart...
Great expectations lead to great disappointments.
So shoot me.
That in spite of every thing I have to celebrate...
Sometimes I don't.
Sometimes I cry. And whine. And sulk. And scream. And rage. And yell at the kids. Take it out on Jonathan. And silently pity party through Christmas. And the weeks following.
Sometimes I notice the glaring gap between where he is. And where he should be. Instead of focusing on the miracle side of where he is. And where he could be.
Sometimes it's all too much. And I just want to curl up in a ball and hibernate until the Future that's far too slowly unraveling is no longer unknown. And I can wrap my heart around who he will be.
Sometimes the Sad Tide wells up. And I'm a sobbing mess. For me. For Trevy. For my children who can carry on conversations about brain tissue being studied and uncontrollable seizures. For my husband who works a job that brings him no sense of self worth because the job that did was stolen from him by the Seizure Monster. Sometimes my tears even flow for those of you I've grown to love. I hate that you have to suffer.
Sometimes a storm just feels like a flippin' storm.
I'm allowed to sometimes feel like the sad eclipses the happy you know.
It's in the rules.
Somewhere. Ecclesiastes maybe?
So shoot me that I have selfish emotional basket case days.
Shoot me that...
...instead of being thrilled that the milestone roller coaster is finally creeping forward. That instead...today...I'm overwhelmed with it all.
Sure we've made gains. But standing here. At the base of the mountain towering over Trevy. Looking up. Up. Up. Up. Up.
It just feels heartbreaking. And more than hard. Impossible. And like...this isn't supposed to be my life.
And yes. I know that I should be happy that we can even stand here. And dare to look up.
Maybe tomorrow I'll be bigger.
But go ahead and shoot me today. Cause I can tell the pissy party has set in for the time being.
And today. I'm Grinching it out on the blog. Call it therapy.
...this is what happens when your husband and first born are at a baseball cinic. Your daughter is engrossed in a Barbie and the Magic whatever. Trevy's meds have kicked in and he's taking an early morning nap.
And I'you're left alone. With your turbulent heart. And thoughts.
And happen to blog for a hobby.
Now that I've spilled all those guts let me add.
I do Believe. Even if my faith is sketchy at times. I Believe that this Life was Given to me. To Trevy. That there is a Purpose for his beautiful broken little life. And mine. Yours. And I deeply hope all of this...this...mess...is changing me. And not just at the hips. But in the heart.