While you’re reading this, I’ll be at the hospital waiting while my son has a procedure to check on his feeding tube and its mysterious issues.
I got the prerequisite call asking me for his medical history, confirming phone numbers of my other emergency contacts, and going over his plethora of medications. The nurse and I spoke at length, you know, since his medical history reads more like War and Peace than a five-year old’s chart. I mentioned that he was premature and addicted to drugs, and just went on with the conversation.
After reading off his medications, dosages, route, and times given, she stopped me. She asked if I was his biological mother. I laughed and said, “Oh I guess that you were thrown off by the cocaine!” We had a giggle, and then she said that I was so wonderful, blah, blah, blah…special needs parents are heroes and so on and so forth…
The truth is: I’m no different than any other mom.
I wake up grumpy, and stomp down to fuel my day with several cups of coffee. I medicate and meditate. I fuss over mistakes made on math homework. I yell at the dog for using my work shoes as his own personal tree. I have a short fuse (sometimes) and open my mouth when I really should keep it shut. I ask the big child to change a diaper now and then. Some nights I don’t cook dinner and make everyone fend for themselves. I don’t shower every day. Sometimes, I forget to brush Jack’s teeth. There are days when I want to stay in bed and cry. There are days when I want to be anyone other than myself. I don’t bake cookies or make homemade crafts. I daydream of winning the lottery. I would rather poke my eyes out with a spoon than go get groceries. I occasionally cuss at the laundry for reproducing miraculously overnight.
See…
The reason I’m a special needs mom has nothing to do with me.
It has everything to do with my son.
My son, who wakes up every single day fighting for his life.
He is special…and not because of his diagnoses, but because of his soul.
I never asked for this life.
But I thank God daily for it.
Even when I don’t feel like brushing my hair.