I’ve been up since 3 am (It’s 6:27 pm right now). If you regularly follow this blog, you will know that I do not sleep. The Boy does not let me. But this last week has been out of control. Every single night, he’s been up at 3 in the morning – dumping out Lego’s, turning on lights, ransacking the kitchen.
I’m TIRED. And maybe it’s my fault. Maybe instead of staying up until 11 o’clock watching The Food Network, I should have been asleep. (Damn you Guy Fieri & The Best Thing I Ever Ate!)
So this morning as I stood waiting with The Boy for the school bus (that came 15 minutes late), I burst into tears. For no reason other than sheer exhaustion.
And then there were train delays.
And then I got to work and just had a bad day.
And then there was a torrential downpour. And I had no umbrella. So I took an alternate route and met The Husband at work so he could drive me home.
And in my alternate route, I yelled at a lady sitting next to me on the train. (Because I’m tired and cranky.) In my defense she was drenched from the rain and brushing the mud and other god awful city debris off of her – in my direction!
And then while driving home with The Husband – there’s traffic. Due to the torrential downpour.
And then I get criticized about how I make chicken by my mother. Who also wants to criticize the new OT therapist but I had to cut her short. Because I’ve decided, she just doesn’t like male therapists.
But all through this crappy day, I kept thinking about The Boy.
As I lay in his bed last night/early this morning, with one eye open I heard him playing. Pretend playing, using his imagination, creating a dialogue. And then he’s standing beside me, singing “If you’re happy and you know it…”He sang the whole song. Clapping his hands. Stomping his feet. Saying “hooray.”
And even at 4 am, in my sleep deprived state, I appreciate it.
I remembered when we first started teaching him that song, 3 years ago – when he first started ABA therapy. At the time he had no language, so we sang the song for him. We had to hold his hands to make him clap. We had to move his legs up and down so he could stomp. We had to lift up his arms and say “hooray.”
I was so tired, trying to sleep with one eye open, I can’t remember whether or not I said, “good job.”
I’ve been thinking about how far The Boy’s come in the last three years – all day long. I’ve been thinking about how he resisted his hands being clapped. I’ve been thinking about how stiff his little legs were, as we tried to move them up and down. I’ve been thinking about how heavy his arms were as we said “hooray.” I’ve been thinking about how as he developed language, the words and movements were difficult for him to do simultaneously.
As I write this, I realize how silly this may sound to some parents. How some parents may be so sick of hearing or singing – “If you’re happy and you know it…”
But I’ll never get tired of it, no matter how tired I am. And while I’m happy I can appreciate The Boy’s achievements, I just wish that I didn’t have to appreciate them at 4 in the morning.
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