23 minutes ago
Friday, July 6, 2012
Fifty Shades Of Grey: Special Needs Moms Edition
I scowl at myself in the mirror; I haven't had time to color my hair, between all my son's therapy appointments. Well, there's nothing I can do, I must be off to get ravaged. I jump into my Beetle.
I arrive at the penthouse, and C. answers. Before I know it, he's got both of my hands in a steel grip above my head.
All I can think is, I am so not looking forward to the IEP this week. Is my child going to get the extra therapy he needs? Am I in for a battle?
Suddenly I am a quivering mess. I can only imagine what lies ahead. I want those physical therapy sessions, bad.
His long fingers stroke my neck.
My head swims uncomfortably. Stay calm, I tell myself, you've been through IEPs before, you will get what you need.
He is massaging my right shoulder, relentlessly.
My mind is awhirl: Did I re-order the anti-seizure meds? I hope so, because I'm not sure there's enough to get through the weekend.
Now he is massaging my left shoulder, intensely. Slowly the excitement builds, for I have realized that soon the update for the iPad speech app is coming out! How delicious will that be!
His hand grabs my hair.
Did I fill out the health forms for camp?
I writhe as I picture my inner goddess at a desk in front of an endless pile of papers. I close my eyes, feeling the buildup pushing me higher to more anxiety.
Whipping! Yes, yes, yes: My anxiety must be whipped into submission.
"Look at me," C. says, insistently. I stare into his smoldering gaze. "Have you worked out four times this week?"
"No," I admit, breathlessly. "I haven't had time because I've spent hours on the phone with the insurance company trying to sort out the unpaid claims."
"Have you been snacking between meals?" he asks, demandingly.
"Well, uh, there were some Cheetos in the cupboard that the speech therapist was using for oral-motor therapy, and I've been nibbling on them. I am such a naughty girl."
His expression pulls at that dark, anxious part of me.
"It is so difficult juggling it all," I sigh, breathily. "I am 50 shades of freaked!"
Throbbing. My head is throbbing.
Boldly, he spins me toward the wall. He strikes my bottom, hitting a large bulge.
"What is that?" he asks, throatily.
"Oh! Those are the new cushioned socks I got for my son's foot braces, I meant to put them on him this morning!" I exclaim. "Tee hee!"
I glance at the clock. Oh no!
"You beguile me," I say, "But I have to be going, because I have a conference call with our district special-ed liaison."
I extract myself from his grasp. "So long, for now," I whisper, and dash out the door.
Posted by Ellen Seidman at 6:44 AM