• I have moments of absolutely insane worry that include things like, “If terrorists blow up our state, where am I going to get seizure medication?”
• I sneak omega-3 oil into Max’s Wheatina and wheat germ into his chocolate pudding and when he looks suspicious I make it like everything is OK.
• I cannot stand it when I say, “He has cerebral palsy” and the other mom tilts her head and goes “Awwwww.”
• I turn into the most obnoxiously pushy person on the entire planet when it comes to getting stuff Max needs, like appointments with busy doctors. Once, a lab messed up a blood draw and I called the office to complain and made them send a nurse to the house to redo it.
• I have been given several good memoirs having to do with kids who have disabilities and I never feel like reading them in my spare time because, well, that’s my real life and I’m all about escapism.
• Sometimes I get resentful that I’m the one who deals with the doctors and therapists, never my husband, until I get a grip and realize how hands-on he is with the kids in other ways.
• I do more stuff for Max than I probably should and really need to step back and let him gain independence.
• I get a kick out of it when Max does naughty stuff, like when he purposefully pushed over a bottle of hot sauce the other night at dinner, because it’s such an every-kid thing to do.
Ellen blogs daily at To The Max.