While I initially intended this to be a more humorous blog, I feel the need to post something rather... deep and important to me in my parenting journey. I feel almost guilty for jumping right into something "heavy" but there you are.
When I had my first son Ben, I really didn't have a lot of time to think through the whole parenting process. He was born with Down Syndrome, which we were NOT AT ALL prepared for, but I dove right in to managing his care and daily routine with not much fuss. In fact it seemed to come quite easy to me, all the scheduling, back and forth to appointments, setting up a regular routine for each day and each week plus the daily domestics that came with marriage and motherhood. Surprising to me now, is how quickly I adapted back then. I'm not sure what it was, whether it was my need for recognition from my (now ex) husband as being a valuable contributing partner, or seeking approval from my mom for being "the best" mother and wife, or if it served a deeper need to be competent in SOMETHING because I chose not to finish college with the demands of a special needs child. This would be a first for me looking for a reason why I was such the "super mom" but I don't dwell why, I just did what needed to be done and loved and cared for my son in the process.
Losing Ben less than two years later to Leukemia was a beyond a difficult blow, but even then I managed to keep a positive outward appearance on all accounts, whether dealing with friends or strangers. Family was a whole other issue. I had my relationship challenges with my husband, the strains of childhood hurts with my mom, and a sister that didn't ever quite "get" me but always seemed to try and change me or fix me. There is a lot more communication between my mom and I and my sister and I, still a lot to work through, but it's not as strained most days they way it used to be. Ben's life and passing did a lot for re-evaluating my relationships with my family, and paved the way for healing between us. I struggle daily with chronic pain, chronic fatigue and depression due to my Fibromyalgia. I was diagnosed less than a month after he passed. Recently, I'm also suffering from anxiety from post traumatic stress.
There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of him in some way or another, be it a passing thought or an all consuming one. The wounds of loss do eventually heal but the scars never go away, and there are days that the memory of him is sometimes more painful than the event of losing him was. I'm now the mother of two more glorious boys, ages 4 and 17 months. If Ben were still alive he'd be 14 now. My two younger boys have brought so much joy back to my life, but with the joys come the stresses and physical strains. It's been a rough few years. The Fibro makes motherhood more of a challenge than it is, and I still stuff away a lot of heartache with cynicism and food. Lets face it, food is an easy bearer of comfort, and when I had nothing else, food never let me down. Of course, I'm now peaking over 240lbs. Yes... I'm appalled at that number. UTTERLY appalled. Exercise is my friend and foe, as it helps where it should, but I'm also out for 2-4 days unable to do much but care for the boys. My laundry suffers, my housework suffers, but I push through for those kids because that's what I need to do, it's what a mom should do and I do my best.
I wake up every morning, thankful for the sleeping angels, who will wake to be rambunctious imps and who will run me ragged by the time I have to go to bed. I have little or no complaints about being a mom, because it was what I always wanted. I just hope that I can do right by my boys, and raise two loving, caring, compassionate, strong minded, independent thinking and responsible men who will blaze a trail and make their positive mark on this world. That's what I pray for and dream for and hope for...and everything that goes with making that happen.
Sometimes it takes a bit of courage.
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