This thing, being a mother, is for the bravest and the strongest and the toughest and, I suppose, even the weakest. Tonight, after a long weekend with friends, hauling children, packing and schlepping bags, scrounging up meals, and hours of indoor swimming, me was tired. I actually was tired before, but am really trying to stop saying that as it annoys even myself. Anyways, tonight I gave myself well-deserved freedom to admit it and my husband made pancakes for supper and took over bedtime.
I settled in a tub filled with shampoo bubbles and closed my eyes. I pondered the week's events and it was only a few minutes before I heard the urgent crying. Really, sobbing. It was Amos, our youngest, and though he's 3 now, proper speech alludes him. I was out and in a robe in seconds and found my husband changing his diaper on our bed as he howled.
What in the world, I asked. He couldn't find you, he said. Of course. He couldn't find me and he needed me. For what, I didn't know, but I gathered him in my arms to rock a bit and finished putting on his pajamas and told him it was time for night-night.
It's not just having a child with special needs that changes things. No, it's being a mother.
Being a mother means you bolt from a bath to check on little people who sound truly needy. Being a mother means you abandon any and all plans you have when children are sick or need to go to the dentist. Being a mother means you are tired, you've been tired and you will be tired, as long as they need you. Being a mother doesn't pay too well, the hours suck and the benefits include poop and vomit on your duvet cover.
Being a mother. I can't think of anything better in this world.
Originally published on my blog, Tales of an Educated Debutante.
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