My like is just one big accommodation lately. I have 3 kids and am finding that I have been accommodating each one of them in new and different ways. Now the reasons are all very good, but I am weary of accommodating.
As I type, I am sitting outside the youngest child's room in an attempt to re-train her out of some bad bedtime habits (i.e. - we screwed up trying to do the right things and now the therapist says we have to do things differently). This is after an hour-long homework routine with said child and the Autistic child and the homework plan we have for each of them. "Why are you working on homework so late?" you may ask. I'll be happy to tell you. This afternoon was spent getting an OT evaluation for youngest and a GI specialist appointment for eldest, so we didn't get home until dinner. Net result of said afternoon? Eldest apparently needs Cognitive Behavioral Therapy for recurrent stomach pain. Fancy talk for eldest needs therapy because she stresses out. Congrats kids - all 3 of you inherited anxiety from the family gene pool.
I try not to feel guilty for being the one to pass on the bad side of the gene pool, but it's to no avail. Their dad has no clue what anxiety is like - but he's super supportive, so that's good. However, not only do I understand, but because I am home in the afternoons, I get to live it out in bright, bold technicolor ways with the children all while squashing my own anxiety down in an attempt to keep my stuff together for just a few moments longer.
That's it. No bang! ending - I'm too tired from all my accommodating.
