Being a parent is hard AF.
It’s not even the disciplining, or the sleeplessness, or the trying to keep them occupied with Pinterest-worthy activities, or the laundry/lunch making/ constant mess cleaning that’s the hardest part; the LOVE is the hardest part. We love our parents and we love our siblings, and our partners and our friends, but the love we feel for our kids is one that is so big, it could completely crush us at any minute.
Yesterday, I got crushed. Just fucking smashed to useless bits, and I’m still picking up the pieces.
I’m an anxious person naturally, we all know this, I’ve survived umpteen panic attacks, but yesterday was by far the most anxious I’ve ever felt. Really, the actual trauma only lasted 15 minutes in the tiny, make-shift Emerge room, but it’s something written on my heart for the rest of time. I know that it could have been worse, I know that shit like this is basically a right of passage for kids, and I know that there are parents (fucking bless their souls) who have to deal with terrifying medical incidents with their kids on a regular basis...but it was enough to break me. I can admit that!
I proclaimed that I was dealing with some sort of parental-PTSD, today; I cried when Boden woke me up this morning, I cried when he came back and sat in bed and we discussed what happened (he thought it hurt so much because they were cutting his head..he didn’t realize they were sewing it, but is pleased it’s blue thread), I even cried when I sat at my little work desk again, because that’s where I was when the principal called me, yesterday morning. Just thinking about it, whenever someone kindly checks in or asks what happened, I cry. And I can’t stop thinking about it. I am empathetic to a fault, really, and his face when I rushed into the office at school...so fucking stoic, and trembling while I told him that it was ok to let his tears out. That face just fucking kills me, and it’s all I can see, today. And all I can hear are those screams, to stop and to be let go, while he’s stuck, swaddled on a bed and some stranger is hurting him.
That’s the other part, lol; those mama bear instincts that hit you out of nowhere. It was exhausting, swallowing all the things I wanted to scream at that doctor! ‘Why does it still hurt so much?! What the fuck is taking to long?!’ He was doing exactly what he was supposed to do, and I wanted to punch him in the fucking face.
I passed out, twice. Which I hate myself for, so that’s another thing I’m dealing with. I stood right by his face, telling him just to look at mommy, and that he was ok, and it was almost over...then I don’t know if it was all the blood, or all of MY anxiety that had been MOUNTING during the 3 hours we were in the waiting room, finally coming to a head, but the room started to spin. The first time I sat on the floor and sobbed silently for a second, and I could hear Boden asking where I was. Which of course made it worse. Then I got up in time for the next stitch, and less then a minute later I knew I was going to fall over. Nolan said that was the worst part, lol, the way I changed color.
I’m not even a squeamish person, I don’t mind blood and guts and gross stuff...if it was any other human being on the planet, I would have been fine standing there holding their hand, and even watching it all. But it was my kid, the one I made. And he was scared, and he was hurting, and it broke me. Maybe all parents have to see their children suffer, at some point, to better understand the depths of our love for them. Maybe I’m just a huge fucking baby, being very over dramatic. But, it’s how I feel, so go fuck yourself.
When he was all done, and unwrapped, they sat him up, and demanded I sit with him before I threw up everywhere. I got an ice pack for my sudden sweats, and we both got popsicles, and then he was fine. At what point do they/we stop being so goddamn resilient?
A friend pointed out that what I’m feeling is less PTSD (though it was of course a traumatic experience), and more the fact that as parents we naturally swallow all of our own fears and emotions when our children are in need, and today mine are finally coming out. And they should come out!
We took the day off from school, and he was pretty excited about that. It was a big day, and we needed to recover a little. Also, I’m now slightly more terrified of him being away from me, of course. I hate that he hurt himself and didn’t have his mommy there with him for the first 15-20 minutes. It’s unavoidable, I KNOW, but I hate that part.
I am thankful, though, that he has SUCH caring teachers. I’m thankful my dad hadn’t left for work yet, and could come to the school with me. I’m thankful it wasn’t any worse. And I’m thankful for the hospital staff that bought coloring books over, and the ladies who switched waiting room seats with us, so I could plug his iPad in. I’m thankful for the remarkably calm doctors who did their jobs, even though I know that they know, that in that room we hated their guts. And I’m very thankful Boden has a daddy who is far more mentally stable then his mother, and could be there for the both of us.
And I’m thankful it’s all over now.
