It’s been nine days since the surgery. Nine days of slowly, bit by bit, getting better. I am not able to stand or walk for long at all (seriously, my foot feels like it’s being stabbed while it’s on fire and frozen at the same time)…but I’d still call that a win. This time last week, I wasn’t able to so much as move from my hospital bed to the commode (sorry; that’s probably too much information).
I’m trying to get better, but there’s only so much I can do so soon afterward surgery. My pool of energy drains quickly and frequently; and I no longer cause my children to quake with fear. I’m carrying a cane and wearing what my eldest has appropriately nicknamed a “mindcraft boot”. I am, more or less, a joke. A mockery. Weaker than before.
Children are an awful lot like wild animals; they sense your weaknesses. They feast upon your weaknesses. They are feasting upon mine.
“Mom can’t chase us! Let’s run away from her and start fighting! She won’t be able to see who’s doing what to punish us!”
“Awesome idea! While we’re at it, let’s climb the counters and eat SUGAR out of the sugar bowl! She can’t stop us!”
“Game on! Let’s steal her cane and leave her utterly and completely powerless.”
Basically, the above are literally examples of my children plotting against me yesterday.
Parenting while dealing with chronic pain is easy as pie compared to parenting while recovering from a surgery whilst still having tp deal with chronic pain. And you KNOW that’s saying something, because parenting is hard on all parents…and parenting when you have chronic pain is naturally a thousand times more difficult than regular parenting. Between the actual pain levels and the medication fog, I can scarcely scold adequately. I mostly ramble on endlessly about things that are barely relevant. It’s mortifying.
My children have turned into monsters. They do not act the way they did before I went into the hospital. My children are stellar at misplacing emotion and acting out poorly when things change. They get those charming qualities from me, the lucky bastards. Anyway, I’ve been observing their behavior when help is around and embarrassingly enough, their acting out is not just saved for when daddy gets home. They are being little shits to everyone. It looks like I never instilled the important listening skills and respect of others into their core beings. I know I did..I know that before this ordeal, my children listened, behaved semi-well and were kind – maybe not to each other but definitely to others.
But again – look at me. I hate change unless I fight for it (and I didn’t want these current changes – not even a little. No thank you, sir).
Anyway, I hope that the several fragmented discussions I had with my boys – both last night and this morning – somehow stick with them and help them make better decisions in how they treat others and act.
I also hope that I heal quickly so I can regain my badass mom card and effectively give “The Look” that makes them stop whatever their doing immediately.