failure

instead of accepting, sometimes I want to revolt. i see their differences and I want to run. I do not want to be "that momma". yet i am. i am the mom of 3, one who has developmental delays and one who has major reflux and food sensitivities. and the sweet youngest? mostly growing out of his reflux but thriving in determined, tenancious personality that can bring me to my knees, and does daily at least.

but today, it was watching my oldest and how hard life must seem to him. he was trying to race with his friends, accidently veered off course and plowed into his sister by accident. always at the end of the day when the mega thunderstorm rifles through his body. he could not handle her hurt, he could not handle that his last race of the day was messed up. massive tears, massive yelling, massive body out of control. the plan was so crystal clear in his head that he really could not handle that the plan changed. he kept crying and crying about the plan, and the plan was wrecked and how did he do it, why did he do it and it was going to be great and they were all lined up.

and then when finally I had corralled all 3 and we were walking home he says I feel like a failure, then he says i am a failure. the words i have worked so hard and so deep and so long to protect him from. and there they spilled. my throat caught. and the explosion of emotions just kept coming. mine were bubbling and finally maybe an hour later i had to say, enough, momma is overwhelmed, i cannot handle anymore. my body just ached from it all. i do not want to be the momma who has to handle, manage and soothe these meltdowns. i hate being with other moms when it happens. i know they do not judge, but still. i deeply worry - when will his friends' start to not like him because of this or pick on the behavior? what can i do - how do i handle? what do i do? i feel like i need to have more empathy and wrap him in love. but he hurt his sister and she needed me and i had to keep it all in to get us home and get to the dinner table and to bed.

some days i am tired. tired of trying to manage. tired of being their momma with all the quirks. knowing it is different. knowing that sweet #3 pushes my buttons in different ways, ways where i get frustrated or upset, but not where i get hurt on a soul level, not aching from watching their pain, not hating that she hurts, physically hurts from food and even though i have climbed mountains and planets, i still have not been able to heal her completely. yet when i pause and think, i know God sent them to me, me for a reason. he felt they needed me as their mother. and that feels big and sometimes heavy and sometimes grateful.