Maybe

Sorry it’s been quiet of late. Truth is life’s fair taking it out of me. The harder things get the harder it is to see the light, the positive, the things that keep you going. The temptation is there to focus on the difficult things, the stuff that makes you sad or, in my case, to feel yourself coming to something of a grinding standstill. Not happy, not sad, just suspended.

We do our stuff every day. Sometimes that means a heart wrenching nursery drop off, sometimes a fraught trip into town, other times it’ll mean staying home because today it’s just easier that way. I don’t know if it’s his unpredictability that ruins me the most. The energy he takes from me he can have. He always has.

So I sit down and think, I know, I’ll blog about this, get it out there, read it through. So I write some stuff and then I stop. Partly cos I’m not sure how to say it, partly because I don’t know what to say and partly because I don’t want people to read it. It sounds so utterly boring that I cant imagine anyone would want to read it. Or it sounds so very self indulgent, so ‘woe is me’ that I can’t stand myself. So I leave the few lines I’ve written in drafts, then worry because I haven’t written anything for a while.

I wonder if it’s his DLA form that’s causing such a blockage? It sits there on my desktop, half done. Every time I do a bit more I feel like I’m betraying him, talking only about the bad stuff. There’s no question that says “And what did the child do today that made you insanely happy?” or “How often does he ask you to jump on the trampoline with him?” It drains your soul. Is that what I have to give, in return for an allowance that enables him to live a life parallel to his peers?

Maybe once it’s finished and sent off I can stop feeling like I’ve forgotten to do something. Like I feel like I can’t move forward, stuck in this treacle of bureaucracy. But that’s asking a lot of one little form (it’s not little, it’s bloody huge!) Maybe it’s not that.

Maybe I’ll feel the weight lift when I work out how to get his hair cut. So he can watch TV without having to tilt his head back, his fringe is so thick.

Maybe it’ll be when I start losing weight again and stop feeling awful every time I look in the mirror.

Maybe it’ll be when I start getting some proper time to myself (two hours twice a week really isn’t cutting the mustard) and maybe it’ll be when his nursery sorts out his plan for next year.

Maybe it’ll be when he starts his speech therapy and maybe it’ll be when he calls me mama.

Something’s pulling me down.

I’ve got a feeling it’s called life.