‘I love you. I need you. Don’t touch me. Don’t help me. And please, don’t even look at me the wrong way’.
That seems to be the message I’m getting from Miss Riley at the moment. She craves her independence with a fiery passion. And yet, at times she cannot bare to be separate, or on her own. And sometimes her frustration with some of her physical abilities threatens to overwhelm her entire being.
I read this beautiful post by Kelly Diels about how sometimes ‘I’m scared’ really means I need you. And it resonated with me, for where we are at the moment.
She spent all of Sunday rejecting all touches, glances and closeness where I was concerned. It’s not unusual. Whenever Josh gets up with her in the morning, she’s his for the day. Which is lovely. And it’s not personal, she’s just a one person kind of girl. Of course, all bets were off when it came time to sleep. My presence was required. And even when she seemed asleep, she would call out for me to come back in and be with her.
It’s a challenging period of time, for her and for me. On a bad day it feels like she’s screaming blue murder at me all day for trying to help when she wants to go it alone or for not being able to include her in every little thing that I do or just because something falls out of her vice-like grip or . . . and the list goes on. And then in the afternoon and at night she strongly resembles a barnacle. On a bad day, my head hurts from the yelling and screaming and crying.
My solution? Ride it out. It’s worked surprisingly well in the past. And on a good day, we are back to smiles and kisses and new words, giving me just enough strength to withstand the next round.
Today was a good day. Even with a morning of meltdowns. And all it took was her trundling out into the kitchen after her nap – arm’s outstretched – ‘I’m back!’
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My name is Zoey. 






























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