It’s been a rough couple of weeks.
Bea’s been whiny. She hasn’t been sleeping, eating, or wanting to do anything other than hold my hand. Solly has been cheerful as always, yet somehow not acting himself – running a little warm, not eating great, just a little off. I’ve been exhausted. More so than usual. We’ve been struggling to get anything done other than keeping ourselves fed, staying cool in the summer humidity, and getting in bed at a reasonable hour.
Something just hasn’t been right.
Then, last Monday, Bea started sticking her fingers in her ears. She was jumpy at any noise, crying unusually hard when Solly spoke too loudly or when the dogs barked. She threw a fit – a full-on two year-old’s meltdown at only 16 months old – immediately when she didn’t get her way.
Something wasn’t right. Continue reading
Today, though, we’re reworking that tune for someone else in our family: Mike, aka Dada. The truth is, as it is in many special needs families, Mike doesn’t get the credit he deserves. Most of the time readers hear about Solly, who works his tail off at everything he does, or about me since I’m the one who takes him to his doctors appointments, equipment fittings, and therapies, and deals with all the daily emotions of those appointments. But, in the background, there’s Mike (known to Solly and Bea as Dada), who, since the day he became the sole breadwinner of the household, has been working his tail off at the office, where his career has taken off, earning him a major promotion in the last year, all to make sure he takes care of his family.
