A Ton of Bricks.

I stumbled onto a special needs blog, Love that Max.
She had a list of 20 reasons moms of special needs children "rock". I listed a few of my favorites.

6. Because we gracefully handle the stares, the comments, the rude remarks. Well, mostly gracefully.

9. Because we aren’t just moms, wives, cooks, cleaners, chauffeurs, women who work. We are moms, wives, cooks, cleaners, chauffeurs, women who work, physical therapists, speech therapists, occupational therapists, teachers, researchers, nurses, coaches, and cheerleaders. Whew.

11. Because we also worry overtime, but we work it through. Or we eat chocolate or Pirate's Booty or gourmet cheese, which aren't reimbursable by insurance as mental-health necessities but should be

18. Because just when it seems like things are going OK, they're suddenly not OK, but we deal. Somehow, we always deal, even when it seems like our heads or hearts might explode.

source

As I realized that I related to about 90% of her list, the realization smacked me in the head like the cliched "ton of bricks." I am a special needs mom. My daughter has special needs. After this week, my daughter will be considered "medically fragile." If this had all happened a year ago, they wouldn't have called me for Carlee. We aren't "medically fragile" or "therapeutic" trained or approved. Our home wouldn't have been chosen for her. We wouldn't have been the best match. And yet, here we are. Three days away from a surgery that will flip our lives. Our daughter has officially been ours for just over a month. God's timing was rather perfect. She's ours and no surgeries or new titles or labels can take her away. I really have no idea what I'm doing. I read, and read, and read all I can about her issues, but they are so unique. I research therapies and surgeries and toys until my eyes and head hurt. We go to appointment after appointment. I've gotten really good at knowing which doctors have the least wait time, and how to get in when we need to be seen. And it dawns on me, it's just starting. She's three years old. She's dealt with more in the those three years than most people deal with in a lifetime. Her trauma and her medical issues, I've had my gall bladder out, that's it. Her needs outweigh everything I've known. And anything I ever thought I'd be dealing with.

I'm about to get down to business. Two boys go off to camp this week. I'll have a day and half to whip this house into order, throw some freezer meals in the deep freeze, and get the laundry done. When we come home from the hospital, it's all going to be different. It's a surgery I've wanted her to have for a long time. Something she desperately needs. But I'm nervous. It's all new terrain for us. We will still be heading to Baltimore for yet more ways to help her. Maybe the tube will get to come out. Maybe it won't. Maybe she'll talk someday. Maybe she won't. I'll never stop hoping for her, pushing her, or praying for her. So this becomes our new normal. Heh, who said normal was fun anyway!