You know how life is really weird and all, right?

Yeah.

Ups and downs and all arounds. Being high, then being low, then getting stuck in the middle like a bad hair part.  Sometimes you’re overwhelmed to the point of tears and sometimes you can’t think of a single thing to do that seems more important than watching Real Housewives.

I’ll admit, I’m stuck in a low-middle area right now.

I’m kinda burning out.  Again, I know.

I have these phases every once in awhile, so I know it’s something that eventually goes away. But when I’m in the thick of it, boy it is hard to think I’ll feel normal again anytime soon. Yup, we’ve had lots of good times this summer.  Happy, sun-drenched days.  And we’ll have lots more before the year is up.  But that overwhelming funk just sucks the life out of me sometimes.

I don’t even really like writing about this stuff.  I often leave these rants in my drafts folder.  I feel like such a complainer.  And in a couple weeks when I feel better, it will all sound so lame. Because it’s not that I’m an unhappy person or live an unhappy life. And I don’t mean this to sound like oh, my life is harder than yours.  Because each person’s battles are their own. Whether you deal with health problems, unemployment, infertility, death, depression, being a care taker for a family member, having to leave your baby to start work, having to stay home with your baby all day, anxiety, working too much, not pursuing a dream, marriage problems, smudged nail polish or getting those straws that are way too long for your Starbucks frapp – #thestruggleisreal people.  I feel you.  And I sympathize with you. I tell myself life is meant to be that way at some point or another.  And I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, this post is just purely to say “Hey! This is what’s going on with me right now.”  So bear with me, if ya want to.

Being Stevie’s mom, as you know, has been so much harder than I ever imagined.  And when things get rough, I tend to turn inward.  I don’t want to write or create.  I do try to stay busy.  I meet with friends if they ask.  I take photography jobs that become frustrating when I barely have time to edit.  I start projects that become too big to finish.  I think about joining mommy groups and quickly remember I have nothing in common with these moms, other than the fact that we’ve all given birth.  Being a special needs mom is a totally different world.  And the only ones who know that are the ones living it.

But what’s really getting to me right now is simply the daily grind.  It’s so bad, that the last few nights, I haven’t wanted to go to bed because I can’t bear the thought of having to get up and do the same day over again.  I keep Stevie on his toes.  (Or is it the other way around…?) We are busy bodies all the way. Which can be a lot of fun, but the problem is that I keep us so busy around town to avoid the much bigger issues we have with each other. The fun running around is all a distraction.

Stevie’s issue is that he literally needs me every single waking moment of the day.  And my issue is that he literally needs me every single waking moment of the day.

Now listen, I know all parents look at that and say “YEAH, DUH.  That’s what kids do.  They need their parents all day, every day.”

But here we are at almost 4 years old, and I shit you not, Stevie LITERALLY needs me every single waking moment of the day.  Am I making that clear?  I want to be there for him, but I could stand for him to accomplish a bit more on his own too.  He struggles hard with being independent.  While he’s made progress over the last year, the amount of things that are still difficult for him can be overwhelming for both of us.  He can’t turn pages in cardboard books or dress/undress.  He can’t get himself a snack or a drink.  He can’t take off his socks and shoes.  He can’t go to bed on his own.  He can’t play by himself.  Or use the iPad by himself.  Or watch a show by himself.  He can’t use the potty.  He can’t do puzzles or turn a knob or catch a ball.  He is clumsy and hurts himself constantly when he’s out of my reach. Can’t color or understand stories.  Can’t play games and doesn’t try to figure out how things work.  If something feels the slightest bit difficult for him, he loses his mind instead of trying harder. As he gets older, I see the huge gap developmentally between him and other kids his age.  It gets bigger and bigger. When I see things on Instagram like a 3 year old making a pie, or a 2 year old dancing and talking, I try not to compare, but sometimes on the inside I’m like REALLY?!  And as a mom, it is so hard to watch him constantly struggle. To push and make him uncomfortable.  In many ways, I know I’ve given in to make his life a little easier.  And I hate that, because I don’t want to look back and realize that I gave up on him.

I don’t mistake his lack of progress for failures, because we do work on these things.  (And side note: he recently learned how to say hug and kiss, so that’ll get ya every time!) I know his progress comes slowly, but surely, you can imagine what it’s like when he needs me there to help with every single little thing all the time, day in and day out.  Forget having time for anything other than Stevie’s needs.  And it’s not just that he needs me, but his frustration levels are through the roof, so he can get pretty bent out of shape about the slightest inconvenience or misunderstanding.

Yesterday, for example, was a particularly draining day.  Stevie wanted to go to the park, as he always does.  I told him ok, but I have to get gas in the car first.  NO GAS NO GAS NO GAS PARK PARK PARK. Tantrum, slamming his head against the back of his car seat, screaming.  So I told him “when you act like this, we can’t go to the park.”  And I meant it, we didn’t go.  He made me pay for it with a fit that lasted quite awhile.  Once that was done, I decided to go grocery shopping, and Stevie obviously didn’t want to be there, but instead of focusing on the park, now he had moved on to food.  So we raced through the store with me just begging him to behave.  Just a few more minutes.  The whole way home, he repeated “Eat. Eat. Eat.”  No matter how many times I told him we were heading home to do that, he definitely didn’t want me to forget.  The groceries were particularly heavy coming upstairs.  Then one of the many bags ripped and things spilled.  From the car ride until food was in front of him, Stevie had progressed to yelling “EAT!” Once upstairs, I quickly threw a hot dog on a plate and started putting away the groceries.  Then I accidentally knocked the yogurt out of the fridge and it went EVERYWHERE.  Like all over my legs, the floor, the inside of the fridge, the outside of the fridge – a miracle of science, really.  As I wiped it up, Stevie demanded juice. Then grapes.  Then he needed “HELP!” eating his hot dog.

I honestly felt like I was watching a movie about a mother’s impending breakdown.  I stood over the kitchen sink, covered in yogurt and cried out “I CAN’T HELP YOU RIGHT NOW!!”

Stevie began to cry.  “Help, mom!  Help!”

Then, instead of letting my tears spill over, I wiped my eyes angrily.  I marched over to him and shouted “ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?!”

I grabbed his hand and once again showed him how to use his pincer fingers to pick up the hot dog pieces.

I went back to cleaning up yogurt.

And the rest of the day continued like that.

Instead of “EAT” or “PARK”, it may have been grandma’s house, or Blue’s Clues, or juice, or cereal, or shoes on, or whatever he was thinking in the moment.  Just repeat, repeat, repeat. All day long.  And that’s not to mention just managing the regular 2-3 year old behavior.  Teaching him to be a nice person and have manners.  And that running into the street or the stomping on the floor (our poor downstairs neighbors) or the high-pitched screams just for fun are not OK.  The arguments over taking a bath, and going to bed, or the spilled juice boxes, torn papers, lost cars,  him bossing me around etc, etc, etc. are just the icing.

I reached a point in the end of the night that I told him if he said “MOM” one more time, I was going to put hot sauce in his mouth.  He whispered it quietly to himself over and over.  Which was fine.  At least I could drown that out.

Aaaand that’s just a glimpse into my every day life.  I imagine at this point in the novel, all my friends who have decided not to have kids are sitting back nodding their heads.  Like, yup that was a good decision on our part.  And those who have kids are nodding in agreement. Yes, as parents we have ALL had those days.  For me, it’s not so much that this one day was difficult, it’s that every single day is similar to this one.  Most of the time I handle myself waaaay better.  I can brush things off a little easier. I appreciate the little moments when Stevie and I are communicating and we are a team. I assure you, I’m not on the verge of being committed all the time. But when it builds up over the days, weeks and months, then throw in the funky feels on top of it… oh the fuuuunk.  When I’m in a funk, I don’t know how to deal.  And sometimes adding extra letters to words makes the writing feel more dramaaaatic, no?

I recently blogged about wanting to start therapy and my first appointment is FINALLY at the end of September.  So I am hoping that will help unload the burdens of my brain.  In the long run, I don’t really feel like it will solve much. This is sort of an un-fixable problem.  It’s just something we have to live through until we reach a new phase.  Until Stevie can make some more progress.  I’m ready for that.

Next chapter please! How about it, September?

So what am I supposed to do when it all feels too big to manage?  (It’s hypothetical.  I’m really not looking for anyone to give me all the answers.)  I guess just wake up tomorrow and do it again, as much as I don’t want to.  Try to come from a place of gratitude instead of resentment.  (Easier said than done, amiright?) Just show him lots of love.  Live by all the Pinterest memes you can find.  Do the best you can, ya know?

Although I often worry that’s just not enough.