I've been feeling SO weary lately.
And it's not really like I have a solid reason for it. Not that changes in emotional tides are ever easy to pinpoint anyway.
But generally speaking...I'm wiped. Zonked. Bone tired. Ready to just fold up and sink to the floor. If I were even inflated at all, that is.
It struck me yesterday as I was collecting all our various junk scattered around Grams' yard. My parents installed a nice big pool this year for the grandkiddies. And it's been hot as heck here...so we're taking advantage. In fact, I had driven straight there after Trevy's Monday out-patient Speech. And we'd spent about an hour splashing around and attempting to teach Trevy how to keep his mouth closed so he'd stop freaking me out with all that water intake. Am I the only parent who had nightmares about dry drowning after the Today Show's segment last summer?
It struck me as I willed myself to bend over just one more time. To pick up just one more thing. All while keeping a vigilant eye on Trevy...who is magnetically drawn to all things electrical or climbable.
I am just so utterly exhausted.
And he is just SO much work.
Sometimes it catches up to me. The fact that I've been chasing the cognitive equivalent of a 12 month old (give or take) for the past two years. Sometimes it catches up to me. And then suddenly I'm wondering how am I going to manage it when he's 10 lbs heavier? When the monkey leash no longer holds him by my side? When he can reach things on the next shelf up? When he can throw things that won't just injure a toe but will shatter a window?
Right about now is when I start having a mini panic attack. And my heart screams I can't do this anymore. I just can't do this. He's so beautiful. And I love him so much it hurts. And he's made a handful of forward developmental gains. But God...I can't do it. I'm too exhausted. My heart is empty. I have no energy left. I can't chase him one more step. I can't take him to one more therapy session. I can't try to teach him the same thing one more time. I can't exhale one more advocating word. Or pursue one more insurance approval. Lately I've felt like I can't even get out of bed one more day. And I certainly can't give an ounce of concern for how I look if I manage to get my feet under me. I can't deal with the guilt over not accepting one more play date invite. I swear to God I can't handle one more conversation with someone who tells me how blessed I am. Or who thinks I'm overly negative about Trevor's development...while their typical 3 year old runs cognitive circles around my son. I can't handle another parent of typical children telling me how they worry too. It is not the same. And by God I can't see one more suspicious episode. My heart is hanging by a thread. And I want out. I want my mommy! I want to curl up and sleep. Indefinitely.
Or take that big floaty pool chair. And set sail on the high seas. Drift away...
It struck me as I was picking up all our various junk scattered around Grams' yard. That sometimes it catches up to me.
Hope you weren't waiting for some poignant spiritual truth.
Cause I've got nothin' but buckets of weary worn out mommy heart.
Although I'm certain there must be a lesson somewhere at the end of my rope?