Dear Random Mom

Dear Random Mom I've Never Met,

Kudos to you. Seriously. I don't know how you do it. I have one child with special needs. One. And I can barely do it. You have at least four kids, two of them with special needs, and two of them toddlers. (And let's face it.......toddlers aren't always a walk in the park......) 

And I watched you in the waiting room as our kids were in the back getting occupational therapy. I watched you chase and cuddle and scold and wipe your brow and sweat and wipe noses and request words instead of screams and pick up keys that had been thrown at somebody's head and scold again and hold a sobbing toddler and find shoes and pick up the contents of your purse and sigh and laugh and look embarrassed and apologize profusely and I knew: Your life is so so hard. HARD. And I wanted to give you a hug and a cup of coffee or maybe a glass of wine. Instead while you were trying to listen to the therapist and your toddler was climbing up the bookcase, I put down my kindle, scooped him up and read books with him. And he was a delight. I'm guessing 18 months of all boy with chubby cheeks and a snotty nose and a smile that wouldn't quit when we got to the page with the zebras on it.

And we kept reading as you gathered your things, tried to put shoes back on one child, and searched for lost keys. We kept reading as frustration built up in your face. And I watched as you announced to the waiting room that you were going to have to figure out a different way to do therapy, apologized again, thanked me, grabbed your toddler and sprinted to the safety of your twelve passenger van.

And now I can't stop thinking about you. I wish I knew your name or where you lived. I wish I could send you a card and tell you what an amazing job you're doing. You are a warrior mom.

And you don't owe anyone an apology, especially the parents in waiting rooms at therapies. We get it. We've been there. We get it and we applaud your efforts. Waiting rooms suck. Waiting room with special kids and toddlers? It can be a personal version of hell on earth. So next time, when you exit, do it proudly, knowing you just survived another 45 minutes of hell on earth. And you did it for your kid that needs help. You're a warrior.

So as Glennon Melton would say, "Carry On, Warrior."

Carry On.

Sincerely,

A Mom in Awe of You