What's So Bad About This Life?

I will admit that things around here are not always easy. The past week with Bugaboo has certainly tested the limits of my patience. I have yelled at him once or twice and swatted him on the behind this weekend when he wouldn't leave the fireplace alone. I am reaching my boiling point a bit sooner in the evening than I would usually reach it. I have found myself wishing for a weekend away (which, incidentally, is coming up in a few weeks!).

Now, while I complain about how hectic things are and how much I need a break, it really is not all that bad. I have a good life. I have a great husband that works his tail off to support us so that I can stay home and take care of our home and children. I have two amazing little boys who never cease to amaze me. I have a nice place to live in a nice neighborhood. My boys are doing well in school and have great teachers. I am healthy and happy and am typically well-rested (although this week Bugaboo has been difficult to get to bed and wakes up frequently).

When my mother comments about how difficult it is for me to function, I try to tell her that it isn't more difficult than what anyone else goes through. When people tell me that they are sorry I have to go through with this, I tell them that I am glad I am going through it. Now, at three in the morning, when Bugaboo is screaming bloody murder and is completely out of it and he is out of control, I am not exactly thinking about how great my life is. Quite the contrary. Sometimes in my sleep-induced stupor, I tell Bugaboo that I do not like him right then and that I am going to sleep and he can just scream if he wants to. Sometimes I tell my husband I am leaving and never coming back. When he tells me this the next morning I laugh, mostly because I do not remember saying it. The truth is that despite the fact that I constantly wonder how the heck I pull this off everyday, I like my life. No, I LOVE my life.

If someone told me six years ago that I could have my pick between "normal" kids and kids like mine, I have to honestly tell you I'd probably have picked the "normal" ones without hesitation. After working with children with special needs for so long I knew that there wasn't a chance in heck that I'd want that stress and pain in my life. It is more expensive to raise special needs children. They are sick more often. They need more special toys and games and clothing. They require special foods. You have to fight, fight, fight to get the basics. You have to worry about their future much more, because you aren't sure if they will ever be independent. You worry about them running away in the middle of the night. You find yourself hoping they will never be victimized, since it seems so easy.

What I've realized looking back is that I would not trade it for anything. There are no guarantees in life. It was entirely chance, or so I thought. I knew I had to love my children and deal with whatever I got. Somehow I knew when they were born that I would not have an ordinary life. My babies were just different somehow. One never stopped crying and screaming and puking and the other was entirely too complacent. It was a big, fat, red sign of things to come. And I knew it was coming.

So, what's so bad about learning patience in parenting more quickly than others? What's so bad about learning about unconditional love as a parent? Some people go their entire lives without ever figuring it out. I've got everything I need and more. I am truly blessed.