This is not my most positive post. Sorry, but it is just one of those days.
My body is tired. I over did it yesterday- I spent my free hours going through baby toys, clothes, etc for our upcoming garage sale while Maile, our PCA, had Roa. That, plus the usual appointments, laundry, house stuff...topped off with Gunnar fighting allergies in the night, wore me out.
Today, it would be so nice to sit and play with my boys. If they could run and play in the backyard, if they could stand at the sensory tables independently, if they could sit in the grass or sand box together and give me a bit of a break...
But that is not the cards Roa was dealt. He does not sit. He doesn't stand. He cannot walk independently.
So, there is no break for this mom. It has been an active morning for us all, playing in the backyard.
I am Roa's legs for walking and kicking. I am Roa's arms and hands for reaching and holding.
He laughs, he squeals, he has fun. BUT...
Eventually, I need a rest- take a drink of coffee, go to the bathroom, stretch my back.
When this happens, the crying begins, the yells, the pleading,
"MOMMMA....MOMMMMMA!"... so sorrowful.
It wraps me in guilt like a thick down quilt in the summer. That mornful cry because he can't do it on his own. He cannot play without me.
Three days a week. Three hours a day. Maile is Roa's play-assist. But the rest of the time while Daddy works, it is me- bending tight arms to reach for matchbox cars, moving stiff legs to help this weak torso sit forward towards the sand, pushing/pulling/steering a gait trainer on walks through the grass or down the street. I am Roa's play.
And when I need to step away- to tend to Gunnar, to make a meal, to breathe....
The sounds of sorrow fill the air. The begging cries of a child that can't do things on his own. He is stuck in a body that doesn't listen to his brain.
It breaks my heart. For four years now, I have listened to that cry. It is hard. Hard for me.
However, this is not about me.
For Roa, EVERYDAY is a hard day. Inside that body is a little boy who struggles to get out and play.
But right now, all he can get out is the sorrowful, begging call that I will fight through my own guilt-ridden parent emotions and help him play.
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