Today I became very frustrated with you. I was so excited to show you the awesome coloring books and stickers I bought for you while you were at school. I thought for sure it would bring a huge smile to your face. I got frustrated with you because you weren't able to peel the paper off the back of the stickers. I got frustrated because you didn't understand that the sticky side had to be face-down on the paper. I got frustrated because you wouldn't accept my help. Once I realized I was frustrated with you, though, I became angry. Angry because you weren't able to enjoy the things I thought for sure would bring you joy. Angry because I was mad at you. Angry at myself for letting me be mad at you. Angry because inside I knew that you wanted so badly to be able to peel the paper off the back of the stickers yourself, and here I was getting frustrated with you because you couldn't. I saw you watching Riley do it effortlessly and I can only assume you were wondering why it was so much more difficult for you. I was mad that I had spent money on something you didn't seem to care about. I was just plain fed up with it all.
But then all of that frustration and anger turned into tears. I was embarrassed that you saw me cry but thankful that you didn't know the reason behind those tears. What kind of mom am I to lose control in front of you? What if you did know that I was crying because I hate the fact that you are disabled? I don't ever want you to know that I sometimes get sad when I think about why God made you the way that He did.
I wish I could stop time because I'm realizing that as you get older, you too are realizing your differences. You get frustrated easier and are harder to make happy. My little boy who screamed in delight over a simple sticker is slowly disappearing. How do I get you back? I would do anything to get you back.
I hate that you asked to take a nap instead of play with your coloring book. Since when did sleeping become more fun than playing? I hate that you shook your head when I asked if I could read you a book before nap time. I hate that my attitude reflected my frustration.
I felt guilty as soon as I put you in your bed and you told me that you loved me. Today I was not worthy of your love. I wish you knew how much I loved you and that I would do anything and everything to make life easier for you. You're only three years old and already you've faced more challenges than I have in my twenty-five years of life.
I hate that.
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