The impossible travels with the lists and videos, the exercises, the tools, the balls, the brushes, the activities, the reminders, the signing, the devices, and most importantly the son who is the sun for them all. My fourth child Amos is entirely delectable, diagnosis unknown with needs as vast and wide as the ocean that has been my daily friend these last two months. The impossible is what I am to provide for him, to him, on him, with him and near him each and every day; some things once a day, some things three or four times per day, some things every two hours for the next six weeks.

It’s a schedule that leaves me tired in just the pondering alone and I think of the many families like my own, the many many parents that have it much harder than my own and I wonder how they do it all. I really try but I could try harder. My other children pull me away from the son that needs and deserves my best efforts. My own self is selfish with time and bucks against the constraints that limit my intrinsic desire to be independent of a schedule or mandatory tasks. How I long to be free again and yet, that life is no longer. It’s hard to admit that I feel guilty to complain but I do, simultaneously feel guilty and utter the complaints within the safety of my own mind.

I make light of my mothering and the things I do not do, things I used to do pretty well and things that I once attempted to do, though not recently. Once upon a time I read books to my children every night and we watched more movies together and planned more creative adventures. These days I feel like I’m just trying to survive; the days are filled with joy but that is all I can muster. Sometimes I neglect my special need mothering duties in an effort to maintain a philosophy that is essential for my survival. I’m not justifying but just explaining, if only to reassure myself. I desire no recognition and need no assurances, I just must be true to me.

I am a bit jaded truthfully. I can’t help but think of the hours of speech therapy visits that were likely in vain once we realized his tongue was locked to the floor of his mouth. I made the effort to rouse my sleeping toddler morning after morning on cold gray days, often arriving at the hospital’s therapy center before 8am. Progress seemed real some days and yet, real progress seemed not quite close enough to grasp. Nearly two years of an exhaustive routine and yet, was it worth it? Taking a summer off seemed like a good idea but I was left gasping for air when the hopeful gap of freedom surprisingly filled up so quickly. I had envisioned a summer free of commitment and yet, I felt more strapped than ever. Perhaps the third birthday looming has affected my psyche as it feels like time is running out and I’m running low of the fuel needed to complete the journey.

I won’t quit though. I won’t give up on the tiring schedule that may or may not help my darling son. I may miss a session here and there, concede defeat every so often, but I shall persevere. What is the choice? I have nothing left to lose except nothing, only the words of a beautiful boy to gain. I have thrown my pride to the wind and that omission from my soul has been so uplifting that surely I can continue to soar, if only for a bit longer.