I’ve become the thirty-something equivalent of a creepy old crone in a fairy tale. I’m all hunched over and crabby, with stringy hair and buggy sleepless eyes, foreseeing doom and gloom everywhere I look.
I’m basically a Disney witch.
I’ve been so angry that a) Charlie won’t sleep, which means b) I can’t sleep and c) the behavior problems and anxiety for the third child are spinning him (and thus me) like a top.
Sometimes I am so mad at the universe.
I read a post on my Facebook support group feed by a mom who has three children, two with feeding tubes. She is approaching the necessity of her third child getting a feeding tube as well. I felt such fury on behalf of this woman who I don’t even know personally. I wanted to scratch someone’s eyes out and scream that it is so wrong that this mom has such consuming issues with all of her children, that she spends all of her energy handling their feeding/allergy/infection problems, and doesn’t know how she can manage it long term.
Sometimes I feel such blinding rage that TWO OF MY CHILDREN have so many cognitive and behavior problems. And also, life, are you kidding me?!
Oscar Wilde said, “Life is not complex. We are complex. Life is simple, and the simple thing is the right thing.”
It’s a nice sentiment, Mr. Wilde, but it’s wrong.
Life is complex because it is filled with complicated people managing their complicated problems.
If I did have evil supernatural powers, right now I would totally be stirring a giant cauldron in my ragged cloak while cackling beneath a vortex of dark thunderheads, which I had summoned of course. I would start throwing thunderbolts around, scaring the forest animals (and possibly even my children) into obedience. Also, I would be cursing Oscar Wilde.
Life is hard and it isn’t fair.
It just isn’t. It’s life.
And in my experience, the right thing is usually the hard thing.
You are free to disagree, but beware the flying thunderbolts.