Emotions of the past....written in the summer of 2010

I'm not sure why I am writing this, or to whom, or what I hope to gain from doing so. But something compelled me get it all out....all of it. After a long week of battling pregnancy hormones and emotions, speech therapy evaluations, and Early Intervention specialists sharing their well-meaning opinions, I was looking forward to the birthday party my friend was having for her one year old son. However, as the day approached, I became anxious. When we arrived at the party, we were greeted by our closest friends, and their thriving children who were enjoying a very kid friendly back yard, complete with a swing set and bounce house to round out the party activities. There was energy in the air, and everyone was glad to be enjoying the day with their families, and celebrating the one year milestone of a very special little boy. As was I.....at first. As the day progressed, and my little man was not participating in any of the activities, or interacting with any of the kids, my mood began to deteriorate. I think I hit the mental wall when I watched her sons one year old grasp his sippy cup of milk, and begin to drink. Why? Because I was shocked to see this for one thing, and secondly, my almost 2 year old son was not only NOT drinking from a sippy cup yet, but would not even hold his own bottle. I began to focus not on the fun of the day, but on the lack of relation I had to any of these parents, who also happened to be my closest friends. I sunk further into my mental hole as I realized that I no longer was going to be able to share in the stories of raising our children, as theirs would be filled with annoyances like their child throwing their spaghetti on the floor, and mine something more like the annoyance of him never holding a spoon, or touching his food with his hands, or self feeding. Perhaps I would talk about the annoyance of sitting in therapy waiting rooms every other day, or specialst appointments every month, and the constant negativity I was spoonfed each evaluation about my sons development and uncertain future, only to be in return, given those sympathetic looks that mean to say, "I cant relate to that, but I feel badly for you." Those looks are too much to bear. Now, my friends are awesome people, and I give them much more credit in real life that what that just sounded like, but mentally, this is where I stand. I stand alone. Alone.

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