So much happened yesterday. I'm still actually trying to process it....
When I was leaving Williamsburg to go back to the Lower East Side I noticed that quite literally no two people on my subway car were the same. No two same race & religion. Hassidic man, Latin American Woman, Asian girl... you get the idea. And at the risk of sounding trite and cheesy.... well... it kinda made me feel good. And I remembered back in NYC when they were having the riots in LA. They thought we would have them here in NYC, too. My office actually closed early, to let us get home to be "safe". I remember we didn't take subways... we walked. I remember telling some friends of mine who lived in walk up apartments.... "Come sleep at my house. I'm in a big building. I have a doorman."
We left work early and did what most young single people do when let out early from work on a nice warm day.... went to a bar. Stayed out pretty much all night. Not too smart if there were going to be riots. But there weren't.
And we all thought and talked about it the next day.. and realized that the big difference between NYC and LA is the subway. We're all together. Quite literally bodies pressed against bodies. Our heads droop on each other's shoulders when we nod off, our bags poke each other, we see each other tired at the beginning and end of work days... and that all really builds community. As strange as that seems.
So. I thought about that.
And I thought about how X actually finally realized that I did/do something. While walking to the subway yesterday, on my way home to take Max to the ER I called X to tell him. I lost it. I asked him if he knew how difficult this has been, and what he experiences is a fraction of what I experience. He said: "I know." "I don't know how you do it."
NevereverevereverevereverEVER has X realized what I do. NEVER.
Later he thanked me for taking Max to the ER. Thanked me It was strange to be thanked for taking care of my son... so I'm actually not really sure where to go with that one.
When I talk to J about all this Max stuff he always says we should do this for him, or we could take him to that doctor.. We. A small word. But I notice it. I totally notice it. It's like it's in boldface. It's not you. It's we. (Just to... you know... drive home that point. We.) And. Well. Wow. I'm obviously having a very difficult time accepting this. (As evidenced by Heidi's comment in my previous post. She's right.) I can't really digest the "we" thing. I think... not in the true sense of the word.
Gotta sort that all out, because he is so obviously very there for me... and it's not wrong to need somebody. To need help. And of course I wouldn't think twice about doing the same for him...
Today I kinda got a slap upside my head. I was talking to one of the child therapists & telling him about Max. How he yells in pain. And the therapist kept saying "That poor boy." And my brain flipped. I had been feeling so beleaguered. So overwhelmed. So annoyed. So ... well... so damn sick of his yelling - that I kind of lost track of WHY he was yelling. Even if it's not pain in the physical sense... something is hurting him. For real.
So when I came home today & the sitter told me he was fine all day.. and he starts yelling and moaning that his stomach hurts. As if on cue. I tried. I really truly tried. Then I told him to go in his room and yell. Such a good, kind, social worker mom.
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