i did one of those mom moves this morning — the one where absolute chaos is going on around her and all senses are overstimulated and if there were outsiders, they would just see a swirling cloud of a loud mess,

but in the center, i just stood.

phone ringing. message after message, who do we owe more? but one call that particularly stands out is from the speciality pharmacy.

since our insurance changed in the beginning of the year, we haven’t been able to get M’s super expensive medicine. she nebulizes something called, pulmozyme, every evening. it’s a mucolytic agent, which thins her mucous to help her body to get rid of it easier in conjunction with her cpt or chest therapy. it comes refrigerated with reusable ice packs and all.
fancy.
so the stress of our dwindling monthly supply, as it nears the end with no reorder in sight, is mounting.

the machine we use daily to sterilize the nebulizer parts is humming away on the counter, and at this particular moment, unbeknownst to me, is leaking.
all over the counter and floor.

while paw patrol plays in the background, my son is begging me to check the email for the tracking of his pocket racers, but they are on backorder.
awesome.
he has now loudly proclaimed that i’m not paying any attention to him, that i do not love him and that i love M, more.

my email is pinging away with hot bookings from one of my agents. this is fabulous, but being that i can’t even go potty without two crying kids following me around, sending emails back to them is impossible.

my text messages are ringing, it’s my mom asking me about babysitting or gymnastics drop off, i can’t remember which, to be honest.

M is screaming horrible dramatics because she wants a popsicle or a “nee nee.” whatever she can get. both, to which i am adamantly saying “no.” this has brought her to the point of pulling down my yoga pants.

i want to pull my hair out and scream.
or bang it against a wall — i am not picky.

but i simply eat the last remains of a  bowl of warm, soggy cheerios and slowly, and purposely, enjoy each honey-laden, almondy bite. (dairy aversions call for almond milk)

all i hear is the plastic menchies spoon scraping against the elmo bowl. i even found a piece of a sweetened, delicious strawberry at the bottom.

i don’t hear the cries, the whines, the rings and dings. the dripping from the wabi sounds like a waterfall one would hear at a spa, while getting a luxurious massage. a tornado of activity and stress around me like a swirl and i was the eye of the storm. calm and cool.

who is this girl??

my mom just bought me a bracelet this week. i’ve been begging her, or C, for it. a mantra band, actually. i asked for “choose love” to be printed on it. a reminder for myself, that in these exact times of frustration, of trying my absolute hardest and still drowning in life’s stresses, to choose love.

ha! for what? for whom? geeze, i actually argued with my own brain in this moment. choose love for wanting to scream my head off?
choose love for wanting to run away?
choose love for hating this disease my child so unfairly has?

i know most of this craziness is typical mom life stuff.
i’m not special.
we all deal with this. though, maybe we all need to talk about it more instead of “pinterest-ing” our lives as such perfectness…but the added challenges with CF tick me off! they make me go off the handle.

tick tick…boom!

but before i let my emotions heighten, i  am reminded by my husband’s gentle text from the night before when i had a previous freak out,

“have you looked at your bracelet today?”

so i looked down and saw the words.

choose love.

choose. love. 

so i chose to love those soggy cheerios and i chose to love myself.

i ignored everything around me. i gave myself a gift of 60 seconds and focused on one thing.

the rest can wait.
i love these kids so much, that i won’t let this overwhelm me.

i am better than this.

then, like that;  i was snapped back to reality.

a huge puddle of the floor from the sterilizer and silence from the living room — our cable has been turned off from lack of payment.

and i still had crying children.

so i sunk down to the floor, to my knees, and hugged my kids.

…in the longest, loving hug i have ever given. and i got in return not one, but two amazing hugs that i have ever received.

the rest can wait.

 

3 thoughts on “momma always told me there’d be days like these. 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s