This is what my neighborhood looks like right now...twins are exploding. I give the mamas and some of their single guy friends scraps. I selfishly do this because communing with nature is even better than Effexor! (But not quite as good as Xanax or BudLight.) Over the years of being a trauma mama, I've discovered that any time I can be outside and physically busy, I'm better for it and my family is too.
On Tuesday, the 14th, my son comes before the DRB board again. This is the Dangerous Review Board at the state hospital he's at. The one he was sent to in March of 2010 once he was determined to be "Manifestly Dangerous". He's made a great deal of progress, especially the last few months. Why is it then that while I pray he passes DRB this time, I seem to sink a little at the prospect of that happening. Okay, I'll answer that....because it means change. It means his CPS worker will have to find an RTC willing to take him. It means learning new people...new rules...new procedures. It means telling our story.again.
I miss my son. I miss things for him. Going to the movies. Going out to eat. Choosing when to shower, when to go to bed, what to watch on t.v. I miss the ability to buy him things with alcohol. No, don't worry, not the drinking kind but the kind that you spray on as cologne or rinse with as in mouth wash. I miss being able to buy him cheesey little dollar electronic games that I can't because where he's at, some kids figured out how to harm themselves or get high with the teeny tiny lithium battery. I even miss being able to buy him books because I shop at a place in our area called Half Price Books where I can get used books for a dollar. But that means they didn't come directly from the publisher therefore, I might slip some drugs in between the pages. I miss getting to watch him on Christmas morning even though I know he knows every.single.thing.he.is.getting...because I've told him in order to reduce the anticipation angst.
So, while I hang out with other mamas babies...I worry about my own.