Taming the Green-Eyed Monster

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Ok, you probably won’t like me much when you’ve read this post. I’m not desperately fond of myself at the moment, either. But the deal I made with myself was that this blog would be me warts and all. Otherwise, what’s the point?

So here goes. Me in all my most resplendent unattractiveness. I have been wallowing in self-pity for much of the day. Boo seems to have plateaued developmentally. His low trunk tone is stopping him getting much further and no matter what or how much I do, I can’t seem to fix this. I am desperate for him to sit. For the hope that him sitting would bring me. The hope that some gross motor milestones might actually be his for the taking. But I’m also a bit desperate for my back, too, if I’m honest. It’s not coping fabulously at the moment.

I hoped when I told the physio this morning about my fears that he was slowing down that she’d tell me I was being daft. She didn’t. She agreed. She referred us to wheelchair services for an adjusted buggy. We talked about how desperately we need our OT referrals to come in. (We have be one the waiting lists for some time.) We talked about how the fact he doesn’t currently have adequate seating is keeping him back and may cause damage to his back. While trying to process all this I spent ages on the phone looking into conductive education and feeling overwhelmed by the prospect and commitment it would take. Let me be clear, I am 100 per cent committed to Boo’s health as it is, but there’s not much slack in the system to take up for new things. Something would have to go. It can’t be precious time with Sissyboo, or, unless we totally reconfigure life and up sticks and move schools etc., my work. Maybe it has to be my sanity. Then a bunch of trivial things went wrong. A bit fell off the car etc. You get the picture. Wallow, wallow, self-pity, wallow, wallow. See what I mean? Not very attractive. It gets worse…

I had to get Sissyboo from school and I stared hard at my iPhone as if I was doing some really importantly work (actually I was tweeting, maybe that constitutes important work, in a way). I didn’t want to be approached by anyone. I couldn’t stand even overhearing their conversations. Like the Mum who was saying ‘what a nightmare it was’ and how ‘stressed’ she was about trading in their colossal 4×4 for another new 4×4, or the other parent who was irritated that their 6-year old didn’t do as well in their grade 2 piano exam as they’d hoped, or another who said she and hubby had been out so many times this month that they’d run out of babysitters and would have to miss out on a dinner party next week. None of this is made up.

I gritted my teeth and tweeted harder, hoping the tears welling up in my eyes wouldn’t show behind my sunglasses. I should have such nightmares, I thought. You don’t want to know what mine are like. I don ‘t get them every night. But then I don’t sleep much. Boo may never walk, let alone tickle the ivories and if The Grumposaur and I go out again before I’m 50 (still some years away, I hasten to add), well, I’ll be amazed.

Walk a day in my shoes, I internally screamed. And then my anger turned to me. Who the heck was I to belittle others’ problems? I may never have owned a 4×4 and my dinner party days are long since over, but I have had the luxury of being a parent to a neurotypical child before having Boo. I got stressed at times and life often felt difficult. I didn’t know I was born.

I’m glad I had that experience. And I wouldn’t really want others to feel bad about having it good. Because to feel that way, you’d have to have had a glimpse of the bad. And I would do anything I could to stop others having it bad. Like us and so many families like us or in much worse situations than us. I am glad the playground mums’ problems extended to cars, pianos and nights out and not anything worse. I really was.

By contrast, I will never be glad that Boo was premature. Never be glad that he is disabled. Never be glad that Sissyboo has to be affected by things that no child should be affected by. But then I looked at Boo’s dopey, sleepy happy grin (aka his seven dwarfs grin) after I gave him his bedtime bottle just now as Sissyboo read me her school home reader and I cannot imagine being happier.

Enough of the jealousy, then. Life is hard as hell some days. And I refuse to pretend on my blog, as I often have to in life, that it isn’t. But I really wouldn’t want it to he different. Let it go, Mrboosmum. This is your world now and it may not all be trees of green and skies of blue, but it’s still wonderful.

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22 thoughts on “Taming the Green-Eyed Monster

    1. mrboosmum Post author

      Thank you, lovely. I think, as with most things, beating ourselves up about having the feeling is almost worse than the feeling itself. How can we get out of these vicious circles? Hope you’re all doing well.

      Reply
  1. Leoarna

    We all of us, at some point, swing between feeling that no-one has got it quite as bad as we have and knowing that our troubles are as a drop in the ocean for someone else. But none of us reach solution or resolution if we’re busy beating ourselves up. So you’re right to tell yourself to let it go, roll with the good and the bad, ‘accept’ so that you can do what you must, but ‘be angry’ so you are motivated to take the next step. The middle path….

    Great, great post. And I hope the ‘system’ gets its arse in gear so you get some results on the OT front soon. x

    Reply
    1. mrboosmum Post author

      Thank you and sorry for the terribly late reply. Still waiting for the system to get in arse in gear and getting angrier and angrier, but otherwise, much happier this week.

      Reply
  2. plus2point4

    We all have days and weeks like this especially when others are complaining about insignificant woes.Can you talk to someone who can give you some support?

    Reply
    1. mrboosmum Post author

      Thank you for reading and the lovely comment. And sorry it has taken me so long to reply. I have had some good support in the past – an 8-week cognitive behavourial therapy course – but that stopped and now I talk through my blog, I guess. It helps a good deal.

      Reply
  3. Looking for blue sky

    I’ve been in this place too: I remember that feeling of panic that I didn’t know how to help Smiley. And then we went to Brainwave (Dolman Delcato based rather than conductive education, but the same kind of thing). And even though I didn’t know how I’d manage her programme, I did, and it did help, and as I tweeted to them today, I’m still using a modified version of it 14 years later. xx

    Reply
    1. mrboosmum Post author

      Sorry it’s taken so long to reply, lovely. How are you? I am excited and apprehensive about trying conductive ed with Boo, but we’ll see. We have a visit at the school for parents in early September. It’s got to be worth a try, I figure.

      Reply
  4. the jay train

    I’ve been there – Several times. Everyone I know has been there. Every Mom whose blog I read has been there. All it means is that you are human and that you have feelings. Don’t beat yourself up. Just ride it out. Imagine, when something good happens, how strongly you will feel that joy. I would argue, more strongly than that mom would have felt had her kid done marvelously at the piano.

    Reply
    1. mrboosmum Post author

      You are so very right. The high points are so much higher than I could imagine. Thanks so much for reading and commenting. It’s taken a while to reply, but each and every comment means a good deal to me.

      Reply
    1. mrboosmum Post author

      Thanks so much. It’s taken me a while to get round to replying to comments on this post, but I’m in a better place this week and better equipped to deal with it, I think.

      Reply
  5. Stephanie

    I understand. All my friends are talking of kindergarden (public and homeschool) while I know that my daughter isn’t near kindergarden even though she’s 5. She’s not even at a preschool level. But I wouldn’t trade her for the smartest kid in the world. (((hugs)))

    Reply
    1. mrboosmum Post author

      Thank you for reading the post and for the lovely comment, not least because it now means I have found your wonderful blog. It’s hard to explain to people who don’t understand sometimes. If I experience envy it’s not that I would replace Boo for anyone else. He is perfect in my eyes. I just wish for his sake that things came a little easier for him. Thanks again!

      Reply
  6. Mummy Tries

    When life throws you lemons go and make a G&T. Sounds like you cope amazingly well most of the time, and you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself for the days where a bit of self pity is essential. Hope things improve real soon for you #PoCoLo

    Reply
  7. Verily Victoria Vocalises

    Bless you. It is so hard coping let alone coping with a child with difficulties. I’ve had days where I feel I have far bigger problems than everyone else but then I have to remember other peoples problems are big because they are their problems. You are doing an amazing job. Thank you for linking to PoCoLo x

    Reply
  8. carolinecameron

    I think your post is just honest, and I think you are doing the best you can, which is all anyone can ask of us. I try to remember that none of us know what anyone else is going through at any time, but I’m sure I’ve been insensitive to others frequently, without meaning to as others have to me. I’m sure it all balances out. You should use your blog to record these things – you’ve probably helped someone else by sharing, or made someone else see their problems are perhaps not as monumental as they first thought…….

    Reply
  9. lydiaunicorn

    To be honest, I was reluctant to read this one at first. But I’m glad I did and am right there with you. It IS hard to hear the ‘woes’ of other parents and not scream. But most of all I appreciate how you end by talking about how his smile makes you feel. Tough but worth it.

    Reply
  10. P

    As always so poignant and beautifully written. Thank you for offering your experience and words to help me work through the mess that’s in my head!

    Reply

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