Bubbles don't last

Can you see the bubbles? They were beautiful bubbles. That was just 4 days ago but it always seems like another life when we are at Grandma's house. She was happy at this particular moment but the day before she was regretting being there, having the house, pretty much being alive.  And the coffee is never weak enough or hot enough or strong enough or sweet enough.  My eldest is too slow and the youngest too loud and the other two too away. I know her pain is bad.  And it has to be hard to be so dependent when you prided yourself on your independence etc etc etc. I just can't "go there" any more. I can't try to feel like I'm 94 too. I remember the day I realized I couldn't live my life in constant empathy with my first born. Or rather I couldn't live always feeling guilty for not being able to empathise, for enjoying a working body. I shouldn't mention this in all probability but it improved relations with my husband enormously. That is as in relations  because in retrospect I realized that nothing* quite kills the mood like saying, "honey do you think those new orthotics are really going to help the baby walk?"  

 

But that mood was beside the point. That day I knew, in fact the heavens seemed to pretty much open up and shout it at me,  that being miserable for my child would do him absolutely no good. And God wasn't offering me a trade. I don't have CP or a shunt, or seizures and if I did he'd still have his. It was clear and it freed me up alot.

 It just doesn't seem so clear with my mom because I'm not always sure it is so clear to her. I'm not sure she's not mad sometimes because I'm "still young" and because when we're in pain we don't make alot of sense. I'm going to write myself a note and give it to my children in 20 or 30 years. "Hey guys, don't feel bad about being able to get around easily. I had my turn." Oh, except I won't give the note to my eldest. He still hasn't had his turn.

* except discussion of one's mother's colostomy - that'll bury a mood pretty good.