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Ok, let me set the scene for you: I’m in the grocery store checkout line with ds10 & ds12, and dd9. If you’re a mom, you probably already know where this is going. Did I mention my dd9 has bipolar disorder, ADHD, and ODD? If you’re a mom raising a child with emotional disabilities, you feel my pain already. I have to watch dd9 like a hawk. At 9 years old she is a runner. At 30, I am not.
And then I see it. The look. The “I-just-spotted-the-one-thing-in-the-checkout-line-I-can’t-live-without” look. It doesn’t matter that we’ve already had the “I’m not buying anything extra. /Yes, mommy, I understand.” talk. There’s a storm brewing and I have knots in my stomach.
“Mo-om?” Crap.” Can I, please get (Insert any item here, because, who are we kidding? It doesn’t matter what it is.)? Please, I asked nicely.”
“No.” I answer nicely, like that’s really going to matter, and then I wait. Next comes the begging, to which I calmly reply ‘No’. Then comes negotiating. (I don’t know about you, but I do not negotiate after ‘no’.) I proceed to remind her that we are not buying anything extra, and explain why, if applicable (like, moms broke). And then? The dreaded meltdown. Only for us, this is a daily occurrence.
I’m going to pause in my POV here, because as we speak, Supermom two lanes over, is giving me that look. You know the one. The “can’t-you-control-your-kid-some-people-shouldn’t-be-allowed-to-procreate” look. I have a few choice words in mind for her, but I stop and think. Ok, from her point of view, how does this look? What is she really seeing? A (not so little) girl throwing a (pretty loud and heartbreaking) tantrum. A (obviously way too young (o; ) mom, barely paying attention, giving said child seemingly vague responses, at irregular intervals. Two bored looking siblings, tagging along and apparently oblivious to their little sister’s fit.
Ok, back to my POV (because truly Supermom can bite me). I know that, by following this routine (that we do almost daily) she will be sniffling as we leave the line (and will ask for a hug or other tactile affection) and she will be calm by the time we reach the car. Our ride home will be peaceful and she won’t even remember what she asked for. (Yes, this last part totally confounds me, but, whatever)
Now, if I decided that appeasing Supermom with my totally awesome mood adjusting powers was my first priority, all hell would break lose. Think I’m kidding? She has to work through her desires and emotions just like the above scenario. If I were to try and intervene in any other way, or heaven forbid, use my “I’m The Boss Of You” voice, she would, at the very least, run away from me (I sooo do not enjoy that game). Worst case scenario? Let’s just say “You break it, you buy it”. And then, the ride home? Yeah, there’s goes my daily ration of sanity (and did I just hear cracking??).
So, Supermom, while I can totally see things from your point of view, mine just makes more sense. And, until you’ve been in my shoes, Don’t Judge Me.
Slightly diabolical, sometimes snarky, always mostly honest mother of 3 (one with special needs) and wife to one lucky SOB.