Motherhood is one of those things that has an ebb and flow. There are days when I feel like a rushing river, crystal clear and moving with a purposeful force. There are also days when I feel like low tide- so far from the beach that it seems like I will never reach the edge again (not to mention the smell. Low tide. Gross.).
What I'm getting at is that this week was straight up low tide. I felt a million miles from where I wanted to be almost 90 percent of the time. We were moving- it was school, therapy, sports, doctors appointments, errands, volunteering, back-to-school night, on and on and on. In my old life, being busy was what propelled me. I liked the feeling of having a full plate and being able to keep it spinning. I thrived on multi-tasking and gloried in my ability to keep things together. This week, I felt sluggish and confused most of the time. The culmination was losing my temper this afternoon when PJ was having trouble controlling his body. He was swirling around the room like a tornado on crack and when he's at that level of disorganization, I often become his punching bag. Well, perhaps not punches, but there is much pulling of hair, kicking of feet, and slapping of hands.There is almost always an elbow to the boob. Spoiler alert: Autism isn't always pretty, folks. Eventually, my loss of temper looked a lot like a crazy lady raising her voice while her face was very. very close to her sons.
PJ was so crazed that he didn't take it personally at all, thank goodness. But I felt out of control and disappointed in myself for losing it. He plopped into my lap and pulled my arms around him. With his head snuggled under my chin, I burst in tears. This prompted a flood of head pats and a stream of "Mommy, it's ok-aaaaaaaay, it's ok-aaaaaaaaaay, it's ok-aaaaaaaaaay," from my son. The whole thing felt like something I would shake my head at if I was watching from the outside. It was a hot mess and I was ashamed of myself.
I would like to say we rebounded and that the rest of the night was lovely. Really, we simply made it to bedtime without any further incident. I guess I can consider that a success in comparison to the rest of the day. I tucked PJ in and it seemed that he still liked me, so I guess it was a wash.
In what will, hopefully, be a long life of days there are bound to be a few duds. Hell, I don't even think that I would want a short life to be all 10's. How on earth do you learn anything if things are perfect all the time? I try to remember that the crap days are meaningful, too, but, jeeze. Watching my baby struggle makes it even worse. But, he's asleep in bed, wiping the slate clean, and I will follow suit shortly.
Wishing all of you a week full of 10's! Bring on the Pope!