Troubled Mom

Ok, so my son understands my illness at a very basic level. He knows that when I run out of marbles, I've really run out of marbles. He's seen my pacing logs, and he knows that it will be a long time before I am even a semblance of my former self. But that doesn't stop it from being frustrating for him, and that just kills me.

When I think about it, I know it, and it makes sense. If I'm frustrated, he has every right to be frustrated. If I hate that there are things I just can't do anymore, well, he has every right to hate them too!

Every time I think about it, my heart breaks a little. He misses the old me just as much as I do. He'd love to roll around on the floor, and play video games, and play card games and word games, and soccer and go on the swings together. So would I.

Generally, we've reached an understanding of what is and what is not possible. I save energy on other things, so I can spend time with him every day when he comes home. Seriously - there are days I don't shower or cook, so I can be with him a bit. But these last couple days I've got a serious case of post-exertion malaise, and I can barely walk. The hairs on the back of my head are standing on end all the time. Every little sound is like nails on a chalkboard, and I'm overly sensitive to touch. So the poor kid comes home, tries to hug me, and I shiver, and shake, and breathe, and hug him back. I hold him for as long as I can, until it becomes unbearable.

I know in the long run, that all I write about in this blog applies to him as well. That his spiritual, emotional, psychological development is strengthened by this experience. That it is as good for him as it is for me to accept the situation, and understand the limitations of our bodies and lives. That he is strong, and adaptable, and empathetic. That frustration is a natural part of life, and learning about it now, while he's young, is not at all a bad thing.

But I still wish it would go away. I still wish I could kiss him and make it all better. I still wish I could kiss myself and make it all better. But not all boo-boos are so easy to fix, are they? I know that, you know that, and he surely knows that. It doesn't stop it from being hard, though.