Very Wordy Wednesday - Unconditional Love

Monday is the end of an era. And the beginning of a new one.

Monday Bugaboo will be in full-time school. At the age of three.

We are hopeful that this will be the beginning of amazing progress. We are hoping that this will help him learn to communicate. It seems that everything else we have tried has not worked.

I have spent the last six years at home. I have put off plans to finish my Master's. In what, I no longer know, but you can bet it WILL NOT be in special ed, since I no longer have the desire to work in that field. I know I'd burn out, working with those loving but demanding children all day and then having to parent my own children at night. Nope, not gonna do it. Wouldn't be prudent.

Having two children changed my life in ways I never imagined. I cannot even begin to describe the joy of being a mother. Even though I thought I'd be single forever and childless even longer, once I found out I was having Bug Boy it all changed. We spent two weeks in utter shock at the thought of , "Us? Parents? Uhhh...." and then it clicked. We knew it was right for us. We wanted it and we were so overwhelmed with happiness.

Not to say there are not times we'd like to pull our hair out in frustration. Being parents means sacrifices. It means thinking of them before yourself. It means that if there is one serving of potatoes or bread left, they get it before you do. And y'all know how hard that is for me. It also means loving them unconditionally.

So what is this crazy little thing called unconditional love? And what are we supposed to do with it? Patience, I am getting there!

It is accepting the way your spouse/child/relative/friend is made and living with it. It means that if they blow their nose in the shower you just have to ignore it. (Pick your battles on that one, girls! ) It means that if you have two boys and really, really want a girl, but cannot get pregnant or else it could kill you, that you need to accept it and move on. It means that if your children have special needs that they are still loved without batting an eyelash. It means never wishing your life was different somehow, no matter how difficult it becomes. It means never looking at your siblings and wishing that you had what they have (like the bigger house, the husband who makes more money, the nicer car, the newer furniture, the more normal kids). It means accepting that your mother has a mental disorder and that she will never be the kind of mother you always wanted, you know, the one that calls every week and wants to see the kids? It means realizing that Darling will NEVER get me flowers for any holiday or birthday or anniversary, but he WILL get up on Saturday morning with the kids, do all of the dishes, feed them and clothe them and then let me sleep as long as I want.

Side note: This one took the past ten years to get over. For some silly reason I actually was miffed he didn't buy them, especially since he knows I was born a flower person and prefer to be with plants over people. And I even talked him out of waiting until 6pm on Valentine's/birthday/anniversary and driving around to every florist in the tri-state area, looking for yellow roses (which have to be special ordered most of the time), only to find that florists close around 5 or so, and then ending up at the grocery buying half-wilted flowers and dinner getting very cold and wifey getting very Irish while we all sit at home wondering where the heck he is because he never turns on his stinking cell phone.

There now, feeling better?

Moving right along: This unconditional love thing has brought me to the point of accepting the fact that if my child were typical he wouldn't even have started preschool yet, that he'd still be home with me, eating eggs dressed in his jammies while we cuddle and read stories, bundle up to go on long nature walks in our neighborhood, collecting pine cones and acorns to adorn our front porch (since they ain't bringing those nasty things in my clean house, thankyouverymuch!). It has brought me to the point that even though half of my heart goes with him on that bus every morning I think of him the whole time and realize that he is in a place where he will someday learn to WANT to go on walks in our neighborhood collecting pine cones and acorns. Because right now walks in our neighborhood means he goes up to everyone's car and tries to get in (little car obsession there), climbs every porch he sees and tries to get in the house, ignores every neighbor when they smile at him and ask if he is enjoying his walk with mommy and then runs down the sidewalk to avoid having to make the dreaded eye contact with someone.

So, as much as it hurts to send him away everyday to be with people that are NOT his mother, and even though I was programmed at an early age to believe that staying home with Momma until kindergarten is the only way of raising a child, I am now altering my pedagogy, albeit slowly, to believe that there is something better for him out there. That I can only do so much as a parent, especially since I am not his therapist (even though I was trained as one). I am first and foremost a mother. I can be a mother, a good one, and still let go.

That, my friends, is love.