43 and worried

I turned 43 yesterday. 

A few weeks ago, I had to get my license renewed. I was feeling okay until I pulled out my old license and went to hold it up against my new license image. Mike caught me doing this, and he said, "NO! Don't do it, Erin!" which made us both laugh until I looked down and was shocked by the contrast.

Four years ago, 20 pounds lighter (at least), smiling, hair perfectly done (or as well as I could do hair which isn't ever that great), I looked at least my age. Mike once remarked that of all the many license pictures he sees, mine was a really great picture. (But I know four years ago, life was no easier than it is now - in some ways it was harder.)

But then the current picture. No life in the eyes or maybe just a lot of sadness, an abundance of wrinkles, hair that was out of place, and attempt at a half-hearted smile and a few additional chins. Haggard is the word that came to mind. Stress has not been kind to my appearance.

I mentioned this to my friends this weekend, and one reminded me that we have all lived a lot of life and had a lot going on in four years so its no wonder we all look different, and she was right. For me, I have lost two grandparents, put Grayson into therapy, went back to work after 10 years of being a stay at home mom (thank heavens for work for keeping me somewhat grounded), received a diagnosis that put the rest of my life into some perspective, I have written a book and many more things.

So now I am 43.

I felt every second of 43 years old running on about 3 hours of sleep today, as I was up nearly all night - changing Grayson, getting him fresh blankets and cajoling him back to bed, getting kicked out of my bed by two different kids, battling indigestion because I ate dinner way too late last night. (What an old person thing to say but it's true.)

I felt every second of 43 years old when I met with Easton's team today, and we discussed fifth grade and if a placement change to another school would be in his best interest due to some issues he's having.

I felt every second of 43 years old when I met with a provider, who after I shared some of Grayson's behaviors, told me that no one on her team has the capability of caring for Grayson due to those behaviors. I said, "But there are people who are like him. Where do they go?" And she said very plainly, "To a home." Okay. Point taken. I bawled in my car after that conversation.

(I actually think that conversation aged me about 10 years.)

I felt every second of 43 years old as Grayson pounded on the walls yesterday and I texted my dear friend Jenny to see if I could meet her at church with Jovie so she could deliver her to my parents who were attending Sunday services with Easton. I was worried Jovie would be Gray's next target. After Jovie went happily hand-in-hand into the church with Jenny, I took Grayson for a long drive and he settled down. 

I felt every second of 43 years old when Summer also had a terrible seizure and peed all over my couch, so I was tearing apart couch cushions and cleaning up a huge mess at 3:30 am.

I felt every second of 43 years old when Mike called from work on his day off. His schedule this week has been particularly difficult as it has upended every single plan I had made for the next week.

As I folded laundry, changed sheets, refilled Grayson and Easton's meds for the week, reviewed a very busy calendar and then finally got to lay down for a nap that felt like two minutes but it was actually a couple of hours (when Mike got home and could take over Grayson-watch), I felt every second of 43 years old.

I sound like I am complaining, and maybe I am.

But I am 43 now, and I still have nothing figured out. I am so worried about the future. On my birthday, 13 years ago, I saw Grayson for the first time on an ultrasound, and I witnessed his little heart beating. It was a miracle. He is a miracle. But we have a lot to figure out for his care, because Mike and I won't be here forever - and I will get quite panicky and anxious if I dwell on that for too long. Being 43 reminds me that time is ticking. 

In a few years, I will look back and wonder why 43 felt so old, because it's actually not. Maybe I will have a better perspective in a few years. Maybe we will have more things buttoned up for Grayson's long term care at that point.

If this is going to be 43, I think we are off to a rocky start. I hope I am wrong. I think I am just dealing with caregiver burnout.

But these things make life better: a dinner out with some friends, delicious pretzel bites made by my neighbors, flowers dropped off at my doorstep, Easton picking out Town House crackers as my birthday gift from him and then sending me funny texts on Grandma's phone to cheer me up, Jovie's constant snuggles and goofy antics making me laugh, Grayson;s giggling, a great meal with my parents that my mom made just for me, a delicious cake from Mike and kind text messages from my most favorite people. 

These are the things I will hold most dear when 43 feels scary like it does tonight.