I feel that there are a whole lot of dishonest, sanctimonious people out there in the blogging world. Every time I read wonderful, heartfelt, honest, and brave blog posts like this one here, I also have to read negative comments from people who simply cannot allow their online personas to reveal that they are, in fact, actual human beings. I have to endure people telling me exactly how I should feel – happy, positive, joyful, whatever. It’s okay to admit that some of this “journey” kind of blows. It’s okay. It really is okay.
All I can say is, I am trying. I used to be so much worse. I used to be angry and impatient. I used to feel very sad about our situation. Why the f&^k did this happen to me? Yes, dear audience, I once dared to wallow in self-pity. And you know what? I still do, only slightly less. Let me put it this way – I wallow just enough to feel sad – but not enough to make vodka smoothies in the morning. I have only been doing this mom thing for 3.5 years. I have changed my views and opinions on everything and anything numerous times. I have gone back and looked at things I wrote 18 months ago and thought – holy moly, that’s a terrible thing to say! But I’ve left these things alone and unedited for people to read. We curate so much of our lives; I think I’m brave enough now to just leave my messy stuff out there.
Sometimes, I wonder if living in a protective positivity bubble all the time would actually be easier. I would love, maybe just for a day, to be the sort of person who can rise to the occasion, and feel really, truly, 100% honestly happy every time someone tells me about something awesome that happened to them. I wish I could make statements like – “all moms have it equally hard.” It simply isn’t as hard for everyone.
|Oh go away, rainbow|
We are in the process of deciding what to do about Kindergarten, which Branko is eligible to attend in September 2015. Unless his medical situation changes dramatically, we are assuming that he is still going to be under quarantine, which means no school. It’s going to be hard to see all the pictures of his peers on that very special first day, all the adorable backpacks and lunchboxes, and all the beaming faces of kids who can walk and who don’t have to carry around oxygen tanks. I know I’m going to oscillate between that lovely part of me that’s happy, the part that’s in the minority, and this huge part of me that’s still very sad. In the meantime, I’m going to continue feeling just a bit broken and just a bit happy. And I’m not going to pretend that it’s easy.