the ungrateful mama

despite the unending love the little dude wraps me up in,  i have moments where his rituals and rules become too much causing me to lose sight of all the gifts and goodness he brings. i'm left filled with despair, sadness. like the undertow, it rolls in, crashes over me and knocks me down and rips me away from any steadiness i once had. it's there, in those transitory moments, when i come face-to-face with the details of this life with the little dude. the realities and weight of this role as his mama can create a tightness in my chest. i hear a voice in my head saying i can't do it.  i feel like the rocks that get churned up in the rip, solid and at the same time spinning. as i struggle with the current on my way up for air, i think, i don't want to be the mama with the child on the autism spectrum.

the mama with the child who needs all the dialogue and scripts in order to process his world. the one with the child that immerses himself in a world made up of trains, stuffed animals and drains. the mama that wakes to hear the same words spoken as we start our morning to the same closing lines each night as we end the day. the mama with the boy who lives in disharmony with his body, as he attempts climbing up the ladder to the slide, only to be afraid to come down it. the mama of the boy who talks endlessly at the dinner table about a stuffed cat and what she might be thinking. the mother of the 7 year old still on training wheels. the mama who has to constantly advocate  and explain who he is with teachers, grandparents, family, friends, strangers. the mama who has to answer the same 3 questions over and over and over again about someone's dog or who might be where.

for a split second i want to be one of those moms, the ones with the kids who are happily climbing at the playground, the ones with kids who want to have play dates and are eager to talk about their world and what they want, not report on facts about flags and what language people speak in belize. not the mama of the boy who at soccer was the last one in every drill, the one constantly distracted into doing his own thing on the side, the one who ran with a wonky gate behind the pack, afraid of the ball. yet when that same boy then melts in a puddle of tears after the class from exhaustion, there is nowhere else i'd rather be, than right there as his mama.

just writing this makes me feel awful. still, i have to get it out in order to take that breath and make it back to the shore. because in truth, i love this boy down to his toes. i do love him fearlessly and there's nothing in this world that would convince me to leave this role. i suppose what i really wish for is a pause button. time to step away from it. time to fill myself up with more compassion, more wisdom, more energy, smarts and creativity that would allow me to find a way to periodically set him free from his mind, from this script, so he can flow and be care-free, not worry about all the what-ifs. to have a little more time with the boy that appears during the quiet moments, when he is relaxed, snuggled up next to me hanging on every word while we read, the deeply caring and sometimes silly little boy who greets me with enthusiasm, love and all his trust.