Will had a seizure tonight. Not a big one, thank goodness. Didn’t last long. Thanks to the nice dosage of valium I give him when shit like this happens.
He’s sleeping soundly. Has been for a few hours. Stretched out and snoring. Peaceful. Deservedly so, after undergoing such internal turmoil. I cannot even imagine what that experience must be like for him. My poor baby.
And the post-trauma has now set in for me. Tears are falling like raindrops. I hate this. You’d think that I’d be used to this scenario by now. But I’m not. I don’t think I ever will be. Part of being a parent, I suppose.
My heart aches for my child. Why can’t anything be easy or smooth for him. Why does everything have to be a struggle. He works so hard to achieve every accomplishment. And I am achingly proud of him. My exhaustion tempered with fury. I wish something anything would come easily for him. I wish I could take away his hindrances and make everything right and well and simple. Natural. Like standard issue kids.
This sucks. I hate it. I am helpless and anxious and frustrated and angry and tired and guilty and spent. And by tomorrow morning, I must put all these things away so when I hear his little voice declaring that we all live in a yellow submarine I can be the mama he needs and deserves.
Without hindrances myself.
That’s something I can control.