I quickly lose sight of the fact that she is only 4 and a half. I’ll be the first to admit that I have become complacent. I leave her to her own devices at times. Especially when I am trying to run a house by myself. She is also painfully independent (see aforementioned slamming of bedroom door). I trust her not to put peas up her nose or to eat crayons. I am far too trusting.
Last night, as I was cooking dinner, my mind wandered onto thoughts of my grandmother as it often does. I started thinking about how full her life has been. She worked. She owned a business. She raised a family. She is an amazing friend. She was involved in politics. She served the town in various capacities, etc., and yet, at the end of every day, the thing that she feels pressed to do is cook dinner for “the kids.”
In order to keep myself awake I’ve been compiling list of things “to do” when no one else in the world seems awake. Simply getting up and turning on the light does not work anymore (plus who would want to wake up my darling husband).
In my very minimal downtime this week I watched the new episode of This is Us. It should probably be part of doctor’s orders to give it a few weeks before you embark on that show, but I went for it anyways.
Ya know, the funny thing about change is that it’s not always welcomed. And let me tell you, it certainly wasn’t welcomed by me. I wasn’t prepared. I wasn’t ready. Everything happened way too fast.
As I am in my final weeks of my pregnancy, I find myself worrying about things that are out of my control. One big worry is the age gap between my daughter and her soon to be sibling.
Although there is so much on my plate to fill my time, there is something missing altogether. Love? No. Fun? No. Sleep? Nope, I am even getting that (most weeks). It’s quiet – I have no quiet in my life.
October is Down Syndrome Awareness Month, 31 days in which members of the Down syndrome community focus on awareness, advocacy, inclusion and respect for all individuals with Down syndrome. My daughter was diagnosed a few hours after birth. * * * This is Abby. She’s 7. She’s in second grade. A regular second grade class.
He has taught me that I cannot control everything (or everyone) in my life. And not only is that okay, that is exactly as it is supposed to be, because it is usually somewhere in the unexpected chaos that is life with my son, that I make mistakes, or actually get it right, and either way, we learn, and we grow. Many days are spent yelling like a crazy woman, and many nights after he has gone to sleep are spent longing for a chance to do better tomorrow.
All of our lists go on and on…. we pick and choose our battles. For example, I have given up on the bandaid stuck to the carpet upstairs. But my microwave is always clean. This is the merry-go-round of motherhood, full of contradictory feelings and experiences.