I Don't Want To Be Super Mom Today

I was told at the beginning of this process (or maybe it was the middle) that I wasn’t taking the help that was available to me for Cooper. This was said to me by someone pretty close in our lives. She went onto tell me that I was living in denial and I wasn’t get Cooper the help that he needed.

When she said this to me it was like one of those slow motion moments where time stops. I could practically see the words hanging in the air. I remember looking at her and thinking, ‘I am going to kill you. This is it. I am going to go to jail and never see my kids again because I am going to kill you.’

At the time, we were doing speech three times a week, occupational therapy one time a week, a one hour preschool class one time a week and a parent class one time a week. Plus, daycare 3 days a week, working, oh, and nursing a 20 lb. baby. I had shared with her that it was suggested to us that Cooper start a special education preschool and I didn’t think it was the right time. And honestly, at the time it was too much for me to comprehend. I mean, Cooper was 2. How would I get him there for one? My brain couldn’t go there. I needed time to think and process.

How dare this person tell me this? I am his mother. The amount that I do for this kid should put me at Super Mom status.

I can’t even put into words the amount of energy that goes into being the mom of a special needs child. And half the time, these moms are doing it all with a broken heart. It would be so much easier if there wasn’t so much emotion involved.

Last night I was filling out what seemed like the hundredth evaluation form. This one was on sensory issues. Does your child always, sometimes, occasionally, frequently, never, do this? BARF.

Then I moved onto opening up medical bills and moving money around our checking accounts to pay the never ending payments. And then I started to wrap my brain around how Jamie and I are going to manage work tomorrow while carting Cooper to his evaluation at the school. And then I started to think about calling all of Cooper’s therapy places and asking them to send his records to a new doctor we are seeing in May. And then it was too much. The idea of finding all of those phone numbers and fax numbers made me nauseous. I decided to wait on that one.

And when all that was done, I let myself feel sad and overwhelmed. And in a way, it’s comforting to get there at the end of the day. It means I survived and I get to worry about the next day.