I did try for a while, but the transitions were just too tough for me. It was hard to go from a conversation regarding how hard it was to manage the kids soccer schedules with swim practice to my life where there is soccer, and swimming, but also endless therapy appointments, doctor's visits, clinic appointments, special ed staff, IEPs, Medicaid, social workers, support groups, psychologists, neurologists, tantrums, 9-1-1 calls, devices, research, toileting accidents, sleep deprivation, perseverations, and elopement. You know those uppity east suburban soccer moms with their Pottery Barn homes, PTA bake sales, and shiny SUVs? I was supposed to be one of them.
My inability to relate to the general population is just part of my presence now more than ever. No where is this more self evident than in my very own family. I just really don't know how to relate anymore to those who don't have the joy of parenting to a special needs child. I cannot keep my conversation limited to not mention it. It's just not possible.
I was never a the most socially adept person to begin with, and that is important to point out. I find that even amongst the special needs families I meet up with I have difficulty understanding their perspectives. Whoever says this autism stuff doesn't have a hereditary component is plum crazy if you ask me.
So yesterday, I stood up and I fell. As simple as that. That's what happens when you become middle aged. Doing totally normal activities throughout your day can cause grievous damage to your body. I can kind of laugh at it now - but yesterday was not so funny. When I realized how much it hurt and how large the swelling was, I cried. But not out of pain. This weeks activities flashed before my eyes - the clinic, the camp, the other camp. speech services, OT and PT - how would I get the kids to all their activities? Then it really struck me - Zach has been escaping from the house for the last 6 weeks and running away from me. That's when the panic set in. How am I going to manage to keep him safe if I am only hobbling along myself?
And that will be the surprise for the next week of our exciting lives. One single twist of the ankle, and this Mama Bear feels vulnerable beyond belief. Not normal, right? An over the top reaction for most people over just a sprained ankle. But for us folks with special needs children, the the panic of not being able to provide for your own kids, very real. Life as an outlier continues.
We started