Being a mother to a child who is the true definition of a miracle is rewarding. I love my son so much it hurts. I never ever stop thinking about him. I worry all day, every day. I worry that he is in pain. I worry that he is having seizures that I cannot detect, yet. I worry that he is thirsty. I worry that he is hungry. I worry that he needs more stimulation. I worry that he is over stimulated. I worry that he feels scared. I worry that he wants less or more time with me. I worry that I didn’t do enough stretches with him that day. I worry that he has a headache. I worry about how many calories he has had that day. I worry that he is uncomfortable and needs to be moved into a different position. Worry, worry, worry.
I have spent a lot of time worrying for over 2 and 1/2 years and I know that it will never stop. I worry for the future every day. Equipment, medications, transition into kindy and school, birthdays, surgeries, countless appointments, possible hospitalisations. It never stops.
I spend so much time worrying about my son that I forget about me.
I forgot about ‘me’ once Thomas was born. This, I am sure, is similar for most parents. I forgot to look after myself. For the first year or more I was isolated. I had moved away from our town, my job that I adored, and friends. I had family visit every now and then when they could. The husband at work. But mostly, it was Thomas and I. I don’t know how I got through it for so long, so alone. Respite has been a wonderful thing, but by the time that commenced, I was already living in a cave on my own. Inside my head, lost.
How did I get so lost? I know my fellow mummies like me will completely understand this. How you can be surrounded by a group of people but yet feel so alone. Like you feel out of place, not fitting in. But longing to fit in. Longing to relate to others. Wanting to worry less. Wanting to feel like you still have an identity, as a person. Not just a stay at home mum. But a person who, every now and then, would like to feel included, invited, considered for who they are.
Not just a mother. A former work colleague, friend, Aunty, daughter, or sister. What ever it may be that applies to you.