It’s not you, it’s me.
If I don’t exchange in small talk outside the preschool at pick up, it’s not because I’m standoffish.
If I don’t return your phone call or respond to one of the 500 e-mails in my inbox, it’s not because I don’t want to talk with you.
If I say no to the playdate or birthday party, it’s not because we don’t like you.
If I say yes to the playdate or birthday party and we’re 30 minutes late, it’s not because I’m rude.
If I forget to send the thank you note, it’s not because I’m ungrateful.
If I haven’t read or commented on your most recent blog post, it’s not because I don’t care.
I just don’t have it in me right now. I can’t do the small talk. I can’t respond to the e-mails outside of the most urgent. I can’t get anywhere on time, mail anything on time, or read the articles I want to read.
There’s too much noise going on inside my head.
I’m thinking about my friends who have been without power for more than 9 days, and about how their kids’ lives have been in chaos since the crisis began.
I’m thinking about my amazing friend who just ran her first marathon in New York today. Running with my kids’ names on her back. How proud I am of her and how honored I was to have my kids with her.
I’m thinking about members of my family who are too young to be in a battle for their lives.
I’m thinking about the instant changes we’ve seen in Howie’s plan for school since my presentation. I’m so happy that things are better but know that it shouldn’t be this hard.
I’m thinking about the moms and dads that wake up every morning, wondering if this will be the day when their child will talk.
I’m thinking about my friend who husband is home on leave from Afghanistan, and how happy and rested she looks. I’m thinking about how to support her when he returns to his base.
I’m wondering how I’ll get through the next day, let alone the next week or two.
I’m missing my dad.
I’m struggling with the fact that I’m seeing the “autism” more and more in my two youngest, and I don’t know what that means for them. I’m also wondering if we’ll be adding another diagnosis to the mix for my oldest sometime soon.
I’m looking ahead to January, when all three kids have appointments with developmental specialists.
I’m terrified of not being here for my kids, so much so that it paralyzes me. I don’t like to travel far from them without them in case something happens.
When I am in chaos – when my brain is overloaded – I retreat. I wall myself in and protect myself from what I can’t be right now. For better or worse, I need to keep my kids close to keep me from breaking down.
You have to understand that there are times that I want to be like you. I want to be able to chat about the weather and make playdates on the fly and comment on every awesome blog post that I see.
There are times when I want to be you.
I’m thinking that the best sound is my three boys laughing together. Their sweet voices complement each other in perfect harmony. And I hold on to that for dear life, praying it will never change.
And that’s when I just want to be me.
So please remember:
It’s not you. It really is me.
“Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup,
They slither while they pass they slip away across the universe
Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my opened mind,
Possessing and caressing me.
Jai guru deva, om
Nothing’s gonna change my world,
Nothing’s gonna change my world.
Nothing’s gonna change my world.
Nothing’s gonna change my world.” – Across the Universe by The Beatles