I attempted a cute Earth Day craft and Charlie whined and threw his paintbrush on the floor.
I sat down next to him and read a book and he wailed in protest
His good hand stealthily undid his diaper and there was pee on my carpet.
I was tired. Tired of pushing. Tired of trying new things and having them flop. Tired of picking him up all the time. Tired of reading his mind. Just plain tired.
I've never run a marathon before. Never even attempted it. Don't want to. I think a person would have to be crazy to put their feet down on the pavement and try to run for over twenty-six miles. Nutso.
But people do run marathons. They fight their bodies and their schedules and even their own minds to complete a task that they don't have to do. They push through all that for a feeling of accomplishment. To show that they can do something that not everyone can.
Parenting Charlie is my marathon.
There are days when I went to lie down act like I'm not even there. There are times when I wish it were easier, wish someone else could do it for me. There are times when I just don't want to do it.
But oh is the victory sweet.
When Charlie's speech teacher tells me she's never had a kid go as far with augmentative communication as he has.
When his teacher tells me she thinks cognition is his strong suit.
When he takes a few, hesitating steps in the gait trainer.
If I'd had a normal kid, I would have taken it for granted that he would be smart or gifted. Maybe that's obnoxious, but it's true.
If my kid had been typical, I would have applauded his first steps, but I would have expected them.
Yes it's hard. I can admit that. You question your decisions. You don't have the energy to move forward. You have to take a break.
But I always keep pushing. Pushing through the pain, the discomfort. I know I'll find my stride again eventually.
Charlie is my marathon.