I was so looking forward to this morning. I had an appointment with the dermatologist. Really. I love the dermatologist. As one can see, I am clearly lacking any sort of thrill-seeking tendencies that would worry a psychiatrist. Nevertheless, as I travelled down Route 18, the sun was beginning to shine through the dark early morning clouds and I snapped this photo with my iPhone (yes, Geico, while I was stopped at a light …)
I really feel like the sun is starting to shine through the clouds. Max had a terrific morning before school. Chipper, eager for the day, and no anxiety or crying. He even woke up saying, “Aren’t the mornings so much better?” There is something to be said (though I’m not sure what) for an 8-year-old who can first recognize that he is suffering from anxiety and then begin to notice it slowly drifting away.
Last night in the bath, Max was covered in bubbles. He looked down at his legs that were barely visible and said, “Look, I’m wearing casts.” He then began to laugh. If you asked me four months ago if I though that he would ever laugh about his casts, I would have punched you in the nose. He spent the next 15 minutes in a comedic rendering of his entire surgery and recovery. “Remember when I couldn’t walk, and remember when I was screaming in pain? It was so terrible. Oh yeah, yeah, remember the leg immobilizers? Mommy, mommy… and the spasms, they were terrible!” Then, he performed his rendition of what Broadway might call, “Max, the early years,” complete with fake crying and refusing to go to school.
While he does do mean impersonations, I was laughing to cover my tears of joy as I joined him in distancing himself ( and all of us) from the worst of his pain and fears.
I am truly speechless.