My dad always used to tell me I was too sensitive. Part of me was quite proud of that if I’m honest. it appealed to my angry, angsty, oh-so-misunderstood teenage self. But the days of being a delicate flower are over. I’ll never get through this if I don’t toughen up.
Although it’s getting easier every day, I’m still grieving for what might have been. I can’t take anything as a given and so it’s often the littlest things that set me off. Seeing kids kicking footballs in the park. Watching other people’s babies stuff their fingers in their mouths or pick up a toy.
When I change Ted’s nappy I wonder if I’ll be doing it for the rest of his life. Will I ever hear him say mummy, or watch him toddle off to feed the ducks? More basic than that, will he ever hold a spoon and feed himself? Be able to dress or read a book or spell his name. (At least we gave him a simple one so he stands a better chance!)
The list is pretty much endless and so, in the interests of not spending all day every day in tears or never leaving the house, I really it’s time to develop a thicker skin. I always thought was a fast learner but this has taken 35 years to finally sink in.