So I finally fell apart. My mom said she was wondering how long it would take me to crack. When we started this adventure, I flipped into crisis autopilot mode. I get up and deal with what is in front of me, crash in bed, and do it again the next day. I don't worry too much about feeling - there is too much to do. It's only after I give a talk in front of an audience that I get hand-clammy nervous. It's after I pull the child out of the street that I feel panicky. It's after we come home from the hospital that I feel sad and discouraged.
There is a lot of "overwhelmed" in there. In the hospital, I could depend on the nurses and doctors to be making the right decisions for my little girl, and caring for her properly. At home, I'm it. It's my job to make sure she gets enough rest. It's my job to make sure she gets proper nutrition. It's my job to make she she stays hydrated. It's my job to make sure her incision heals correctly, that she wears her helmet, that she doesn't fall, that she doesn't pick at her scabs, that she gets good practice moving correctly, that she doesn't get overstimulated... that she stays safe and healthy and happy. Oh, and I should be taking good care of my other children, and my sweet husband, and laundry and meals and cleaning. And preserving the produce from the garden! And chaperoning the field trip! And parent-teacher conference! And getting the boys to scouts on time! And I might need to sleep too! And I should probably be scrapbooking something. And so I fell apart.
A person all wrapped up in their own problems makes a mighty small package. I got all worried about what I needed to do, and how was I going to survive, and what I'm feeling and me, me, me. I forgot for a moment that the neighbor ladies were bringing in meals, the boys keep the house tidy, the neighbor guys were taking care of the yard, and my sisters-in-law and the grandmas were helping me with the little ones during the day. And I forgot for a moment that I really didn't need to do everything.
I feel bad, sometimes, that I haven't been able to do all the chores I normally do. I hate asking for help to do things I know I can do. I can do the laundry. I mean, I know how. It really doesn't take that long, and it's not difficult. But it's so nice when someone comes over and folds the pile of clean laundry that has been collecting dust on the couch. Or when someone takes our icky Mount Washmore pile away and brings back a basket full of neatly-folded, sweet-smelling clothes. Or when someone mucks out the stinky bathroom I've been meaning to clean, but just haven't gotten around to.
It took a while, and a very patient husband, to pull me out of my pity party. I'm feeling better now. I can keep going now. I think we all fall apart sometimes, don't we? I guess the trick is to remember, and be thankful for, all the good things we do have. I would never make it without the help I have from Christ. I need the hope He gives. I need the love from my family. I need the help from our good neighbor friends. I'm so glad I have it. And one day, I want to be the giver!