Yet again I am awake and it’s late. I shouldn’t have had that cup of coffee at my neighbor’s house at four o’clock this afternoon. I knew it then and I really know it now.
Through my late night surfing of the blogsphere over the last four years I’ve been introduced to several mothers of children with special needs. Well, not introduced to them necessarily, but to their writing, and to the experiences they share in these blogs.
I am always struck when I read these blogs by how petty my parenting issues seem. I consider my posts and feel that the dilemmas I face as a mother are small beans when compared to what someone faces as the parent of a child with special needs.
Sure one can say as I often do, “It’s all relative.” But in this case, I don’t know that it is. Wondering about your son’s arguments at school versus your son’s ability to see? Bumps in a bouncy house versus learning sign language so that you can communicate with your child? These don’t seem relative to me. At the same time I read what these parents write about their experience and I know that they don’t consider what they are doing as anything extraordinary. It’s their life.
As I’m writing this, I hear my older son down the hall. His door opens and he makes his way from his room to our bedroom. It’s his nightly, midnight “wake up call.” On a normal night I might feel miffed. My sleep interrupted. The addition of two arms, two legs and a growing torso in my already cozy bed.
Tonight, as I hear him ask my husband, “Where is Mommy?” I am reminded to be thankful for the words he can speak. For the answers he can hear. For the hands and feet that will be in my face. Tonight hearing his even and steady breathe next to my ear will be the sound and the comfort that finally helps me sleep.