I have come to the realization that parenting in the post modern, imperialist, consumption-crazy part of the world in which my family and I live, with a special needs child, whilst juggling a demanding professional job and another sensitive child whose needs may or may not be getting met… is lonely.
So, so lonely.
I had to call 911 again yesterday when the dozen plus people (and me, and Miracle #1) could not find Baby A (who just turned 4). He was found, afraid and red hot, buried underneath a big bean bag chair where I can only assume he was hiding initially to be playful but which ultimately almost became suffocating (and yet he doesn’t regulate himself enough to just get out from under it).
But until then – until he was found, almost an hour later – it was heart stopping.
He has been approved for one on one child care subsidy at his daycare. But they haven’t hired anyone yet.
The bean bag and suffocation hazards did not feature much on my radar before last night. Now fear and the scope of potential sources of suffocation for a sensory kid who loves compression and small spaces into which to cram his lean frame feels overwhelming. I feel the panic rising and an anxiety attack gurgling up just writing about it.
I was not alone when this happened. Other parents, their children – all of whom know Azulito and that he is special in his own way – and some of the daycare staff were there and were helpful. Some were simply amazing.
But the LP wasn’t there and I never did reach him. And when he came home late I didnt even want to talk about it. What for?
What I feel – beyond fear and the tidal wave of anxiety yesterday’s madness has evoked – is lonely.
So, so lonely.
I’ve said it before. It bears repeating. Parenting is hard. Parenting special kids is hard.
So, so hard.