I’ve been confined to the upstairs of my house. My bedroom and bathroom are here. There is a hallway and an “art loft” that overlooks our living room. These are the only areas I can be without assistance.Back surgery is tough. Everything else is downstairs and I have absolutely no control over what is happening there. So far I’ve made it down twice. Once with my paramedic husband, and once with my in-home physical therapist. Hooray for me.
I have a snazzy new walker that is sure to be the envy of every other 35-year-old mom. I use it every so often to do some laps upstairs. (Impressive, I know) If I’m lucky my hubby will help me get into my shower seat with the grip bar on the side of the tub. Then I can shower with the removable shower head he gives me. Yeah, this is the life. Glamourous, I know.
The rest of the time I am sitting on my bed with the special wedge pillow my nurse got for me. I read books or magazines or I watch TV. Visiting nurses, Occupational Therapists, and Physical Therapists come to work with me. The rest of my time I spend wondering about my family. Is Luke Ok? Does he have too much to do? How can he possibly juggle having me relatively immobile, Mary in the hospital, and Carl in Lacrosse? Impossible, right?
Wrong. He’s got it covered. He has stepped up his game like a boss. He organizes offers from friends and church members to provide dinner for us. He tries to do the laundry but he gave in and let a friend from church come to clean our house. He organized his time and gets Carlos to Lacrosse games, even when Luke is working. I haven’t had to plan a thing.
Believe it or not, the family didn’t fall apart without me. If Luke works the night shift, he arranges a sleepover for Carl with Nana and Papa or with friends. We have so much support from my parents. The kids’ godparents have helped out. No one has died. No one has been left neglected. In fact, as far as I can tell, the world is still spinning without all of my frantic planning and intervention.
We moms work ourselves into sort of a frantic pace of action that barely allows us time to breathe. And for what? Things will still continue all of our planning and listing and intervening. It may not all be perfect or perfectly planned, but who cares? When was perfection ever a goal anyone could achieve?
I’ve been so wrong. Silly me. Carl cuddles up next to me and put our favorite TV show on, “Fresh Off the Boat.” We snuggle and binge-watch a few episodes. Then he turns to me and says, “You’re the best mommy. I love you.”
“But why?” I ask him. “I haven’t done anything this week.”
“You’ve been my mom. You’ve been loving me and you’re right here,” he says slowly, as if talking to a very dim-witted adult. “Plus, you adopted me.”
Oh. Well if that’s all it takes then I guess I’m mom of the week. Yes, I am the mom that stuck around and yes, I am loving him. I’ll concentrate on my recovery. I’ll let Luke do all the planning. I will stay in my small upstairs area.
And I will have faith. I will have faith in this little family we created through adoption. Maybe I don’t need any more than that in my world right now. Maybe that is enough.
**Names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.