It's either amnesia or age that I am afflicted with. For obvious reasons, I'm going with the self-diagnosis of amnesia.
"Mom, do you remember my first word?" Uh, no... not without that baby book that I kinda sorta never made....
"Mom, do you remember what it was like when I was a baby?" Geez.... sleep deprived? Yes, that's my final answer.
What's the saying? Time heals all wounds. I have found that its power extends beyond the broken hearted. It can erase the memories that would be too overwhelming to re-visit.
Today I wanted to bang my head against something. The reason was quite small but the scope was not. I was making Sean's lunch this morning, marveling how much my little - though growing - boy could eat in such a short time. With the new appliance/retainer, I have often been questioning his likes and dislikes, easy and not so easy to eat, food choices.
"Sean, how's lunch going?"
"Well.... great if I had enough time to eat it."
"But honey, you come home with an empty lunch bag every day. Aren't you eating it all?"
"What do you do with the leftovers?"
I know what's coming next. And I know it's minor compared to the world's problems but it is absolutely going to cause me to freak out inside.
"Well.... I throw them out."'
Where's the wall? Where's the cement ground? Where can I bang my head out of frustration?
I'm frustrated not due to the waste of food or the money, although that does drive me a bit nuts. It's frustration in myself because I didn't see it. I should have known. I should have caught it and I didn't.
Sean used to bang his head...yes, even on the cement ground. I know he used to do it alot but time has let me forget all memories of it except one.
We were outside playing on the driveway. Sean must have been 2 or 3 years old. He started to have a meltdown. By now I knew what was coming. He threw himself down. You hear that first sickening crack of his head on the cement. You just die inside but you have to be calm. You throw yourself down and cup your hands behind his head and let your fingers take a beating until you compose yourself enough to scoop him off to safety.
And then afterwards you sit and cry.
Sean has since stopped banging his head. But when will I? When the last painful memory has been eradicated by the pounding? When I become "Super Mom" and never make a misstep, never miss a thing, with regards to raising Sean and his sisters?
Then again, maybe time has given me a gift by not letting age or amnesia erase this memory. Maybe I'm supposed to remember so I can look back and see how far he's come and how far I've come from those days where I would sit motionless at the kitchen table with tears streaming down my face.
Maybe those moments remain so I can say, "Hey, remember when....?" and know that those days are over and now it's just food.
It's just food......
I think it's time to take off the helmet. But I'll keep the cape on.