Today was a gorgeous day. After months of being indoors, and spending too much time in front of the television, I was eager to get the kids outside. With Tessie, this is easy. I tell her to go play outside, and she does. She runs around the yard, she climbs on her play structure, and she throws stones in the river. I watch her from the kitchen window while I load the dishes, or from the living room while I'm picking up toys. It is what is supposed to happen. With Christian it is a whole other ball game.
My need for Christian to be outside is even stronger than with his sister. He has spent way too much of his nearly three years in front of the television, and I just want him to be digging in the dirt. This is much easier said than done. Last summer, Christian was happy to sit in the grass, or in my lap, and be an observer. This year, he wants to move. He wants to run around the yard, explore, go fishing, play in the sandbox, go down the slide, and swing. And he wants to do it all at once, not unlike most boys his age. The problem is that he can't. He isn't physically capable of doing any of those things on his own, I am his means to any end, and it is incredibly frustrating for both of us.
After being outside for ten minutes this morning, he was already getting mad because I wasn't keeping up with his two year old whims, my back was killing me from hunching over to help him walk around, and a resentment was building inside of me that made me feel like a terrible mother. Nick came outside, and I asked if he would take over while I ran to the bathroom. Before I was even halfway up the stairs to my bathroom, tears were streaming down my face. I sat down on the toilet lid, and sobbed. My body shook with enough hurt and frustration for both my son and myself. I couldn't stop the sorrow from overflowing, and I had to let it run it's course. I finally gasped for air, my grief spent, and I wiped the residual tears from my eyes before heading back outside.
Every once in a while the unfairness of this situation and the impact it has on our lives hit me all at once. I see Christian's friends running around, as carefree as an almost three year old boy should be, and I have to choke down the anger bubbling up inside of me. I just want to see my son doing the same thing, that's all.
Later on in the day, Christian asked his dad if he could go fishing. Nick took him down to the river to get set up, and I wandered down to join them after a while. I found Christian sitting in his sled, holding his Dad's fly rod, and grinning with unbridled pleasure. He was fishing his heart out, albeit without a hook, and having the time of his life. He didn't need to be standing, or walking for that matter. He didn't care that this wasn't how other kids his age fish, this was what he knew and it was absolutely alright with him. In that moment, I was reminded not to put my expectations of happiness on my son. What I think
should be happening and what
is happening might be two very different things, but I can't compare them constantly. I will only be setting myself up for misery. I need to be reminded of this occasionally, and see that Christian's life, although hard in some ways, is actually incredibly beautiful.
