Ugh. I have so many things I want to write about and no time to do it right now! Niksdad is still home on school break (one more week) and we’ve been doing things like renovating our laundry room (well, closet really) from floor to ceiling, catching up on finances (fun, fun, fun), and trying to make some order out of the chaos that has been our loft/office for more than two years. Toss into the mix all the usual therapy appointments, the holidays, etc. and —Voila! No time to blog.
I thought I would catch up tonight and write all sorts of wonderful things about Nik’s new orientation and mobility teacher. Or brag about the progress Nik’s making in feeding therapy —and the latest explosion of emerging communication skills. Or maybe share a bit about some of Nik’s funny new play routines —including pictures and video. Yes, I could even write about how Nik’s getting sick again and is having more episodes. Or how we’re waiting to schedule an in-patient multi-day video EEG to rule out new/different seizure activity as a cause of the ongoing mysterious pain.
That was before the phone rang mid-morning; it was my in-laws calling to tell us they were coming to visit —tonight. Unlike some people, I do not have the most warm and loving feelings for my MIL. I respect her because she is my husband’s mother and gave him life; the rest —the wonderful human being he is today? All his own hard work; he overcame his childhood to be the man he is now instead of the screwed up guy he could have been.
If I sound bitter —well, I am. This is the same woman who didn’t acknowledge the birth of her only grandchild until he was four months old —even then, we had to send out birth announcements to force her hand. The same woman who, shortly after our engagement, said to Niksdad, “Well, you know, everyone is talking about what a huge mistake you’re making.” And the same woman who hasn’t seen her grandson but three times in nearly three years; the last time was 18 months ago. They only live three hours away.
Every time they talk, my MIL has something to say to Niksdad about Nik’s autism or his not eating —none of it supportive or even well-informed. She reads something in a magazine or sees something on television and becomes the instant expert, ready and willing to tell us what we are doing wrong. “Have you tried…?” or “Well, why don’t you just…?”
She does not see the magnificence that is Nikolas —right here and now —through her denial-colored glasses. He doesn’t quite know it yet —and for that I am exceedingly grateful. But the day will come, probably sooner than I am ready for it, when Nik will feel her distaste, her disappointment, her uncomfortableness with who he is. It makes me angry and sad —and brings out the fiercely protective mama bear in me. “Don’t f*ck with my kid, lady!”
They will stay at a hotel because my MIL smokes like a chimney and Nik cannot be around that; they will breeze in and breeze out in roughly twenty-four hours —like an emotional hurricane leaving a path of destruction and disruption in its wake. Meanwhile, I already feel like I am under siege and they haven’t even arrived.
So, if you don’t hear from me for a while it’s because I’m either recovering from Hurricane In-Laws —or I’m hiding from law enforcement! I’m just kidding about that one! I’d never act on it but dammit that woman makes me so mad I could spit!
I try to be zen; I really do. But some things are just hard-wired; protecting my family is one of them.