May 21, 2008 by Marj Hatzell
I really am a selfish, negative biatch when I wanna be. I mean it, I can be. If I really wanna and I really work hard at it and I really try, I can be mean and selfish. Yes, Aunt Flo is visiting soon. How did you know?
The truth is that I just don’t want to do this anymore. I’m not talking about ending my life or anyone else’s, don’t freak out. I just don’t wanna do this stay-at-home-mom-of-kids-with-special-needs-thing. I’m sick of it. SICK. OF. IT. I think I have a right to be sick of it. I’m tired of persevering. I’m tired of explaining. I’m tired of advocating. I’m tired. Just plain tired. I want the normal kids. Everyone does. Even me! I prayed on my knees for these boys and I got ’em. But I’m selfish. I don’t want ’em. I mean, I WANT them. Just not they way they are.
Do I have the right to say that? I don’t know. Do I want my kids to read this someday? Probably not. I don’t want them to think I don’t love them. I do love them! I want to love them unconditionally. It’s just so freaking hard. And I’m so freaking tired. And it’s really hard to go into one of their schools (Bug Boy’s) and volunteer and put on that happy face and smile and love on the kids when you’ve had a lump in the back of your throat all day, waiting for the perfect moment to let it all out so you feel better. I’ve been waiting all day for that cathartic release.
The time is now.
See, I saw kids at Bug Boy’s school. Kids who function higher than Bug Boy and Bugaboo. Kids who function lower than Bugaboo. Kids who are attending their neighborhood school with their same-age peers. Kids with serious issues. Down’s Syndrome, Autism, CP, you name it. They are there. So why can’t Bugaboo? Why the heck am I praying he gets accepted to these fancy-schmancy private schools? Why the heck can’t they accommodate him like they are supposed to, and am I selfish for even asking?
I don’t WANT him to go to school on the short bus. I don’t want him to be the kid they make fun of. I don’t want him picked on. I just want everyone to realize how awesome he is and how much he has to offer this world. I am so tired of people looking at my kids and pointing out all of their limitations and problems. I know I do it, too. I know I compare them to “normal” kids. And I don’t even know what normal is anymore. I don’t think there really is any such thing as normal. As Bug Boy puts it, everyone has a little autism, right?
So what the heck is wrong with me? Why can I look at Bugaboo and see nothing but pure joy and love most days and today I am sobbing and mourning and wishing I could see what he’d be like if he were normal? Is THAT normal? Is it fair to him that I sometimes feel that way? I guess I’m only human.
Look. I believe that there is a purpose to all of this. Someone bigger than me decided this and I’m just living the life. I’m just doing what I am supposed to do. I’m not trying to question it. I’m just trying to DO it. But sometimes DOING it is just so freaking hard. For him and for me.
What’s my point? I dunno. Just rambling I guess. I know I’ll probably read this tomorrow and delete it. But right now I feel so vulnerable. I am in so much pain. I can’t stand to be with one of my best friends right now because I’m around her kids and I’m smiling and playing with them and then…then it hits me that I was trying to do this very thing with my own kid and he wouldn’t do it and now I have to ship him off to other people all day, every day, because they are better at it than I am. I know it isn’t my fault. It just doesn’t make me feel any better. I want my kid. I WANT MY KID. I want to know him. I want to know what he thinks. Just once, ONCE, I’d like him to look at me with a glimmer of recognition. I’d like him to look AT me and not THROUGH me and understand me. I’d like him to whisper that he loves me. I’d like him to throw a fit at Tarzhay because he WANTS A CAR RIGHT NOW instead of sitting in the cart, holding his m&ms, waiting until I give him the go ahead to eat them. I want him to come down fifty times at night and tell me he can’t sleep or he had a bad dream or he wants a drink or his shade is crooked or he can’t find his favorite ________ or he wants to stay up. I want him to lie to me and tell me IT WASN’T HIM, IT WAS HIS BROTHER when I find the mess in the kitchen. I want him to race home to get the mail and tear open the junk mail and collect the fake credit cards.