The last few months have been more than a bit overwhelming, to the point that I've had multiple doctors make sure that I was on anti-depressants or anxiety medicine just because of what they heard was going on with my kids. I even had one doctor look at me and shake his head and say, "I honestly have no clue how you do it." At times like this I recall to mind what a cousin with an autistic son once posted on Facebook, "I didn't know there was a choice."
But, with the help of a lot of Santas' little elves who are making a Christmas happen that seriously would not otherwise happen, I've been reminded again why I care so much about my kids (even on the beyond hard days). It took me six years to have Rose. Six years of tests, treatments, and tears (not including all the shots multiple times a day and all the various medication I had to take to get pregnant and stay pregnant). I signed up to be a mom. With all its glorious poopy diapers, vomit encrusted pillows, hugs, laughter and twinkling eyes.
Yesterday was an extremely difficult day for me. I've had insomnia the last several nights and I was dealing with a massive migraine, my ACL joint is out of whack for a week now, my own sensory overload, and I have to wait until the new year kicks off before I can see the chiropractor again about my collar bone being dislocated thanks to maxed out insurance. My kids were literally bouncing off the walls and each other. Then, as the kids were being corralled up to bed full of tears, screams and tantrums, some amazing people came by to make sure we were going to have a Christmas. And they weren't the only ones. Through the last few weeks I've had people take me aside to make sure that we were okay and that the kids would have something to open Christmas Day. I even ran out of wrapping paper yesterday trying to wrap the two gifts we were able to get the kids ourselves. And by the end of the night we heard a knock on the door. I ran downstairs to find a roll of wrapping paper left by a friend and her family wishing us Happy Wrapping.
I sat down multiple times last night and cried. We are watched over. We are cared for. There are angels all around us. And its good to remember that I have three little angels with halos sometimes a skewed living right upstairs. I wanted them in my life and I went through hell to get them here. So like Bing Crosby in the movie White Christmas I started counting my blessings. Counting all the smiles, hugs, laughter and twinkling eyes that I've been blessed with over the last six and a half years. I wanted these children with all my heart, and I still do. They are my miracles, even when holidays mess with their routines and throw them out of sync.
And I'm grateful for all the wonderful friends, family, angels, and secret Santas in my life that make sure I remember the whys behind my life.
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