This week marks our two year anniversary in Chicago. I wrote a whole post about the three months leading up to that move and couldn’t come up with a point, other than I believe it would make an excellent Oscar-nominated vehicle for the likes of the next Julia Roberts/Sandra Bullock. Screenwriters, feel free to hit me up once I’ve written the book.
My father said it best, “Adelaide travels like a small rock band”. Which I suppose makes the rest of us her roadies. Whenever possible we load up the minivan and drive to our destination but sometimes you have to fly and, lemme tell ya, there better be a margarita waiting for me on the other side.
Last Friday, I was driving around by myself, attending meetings for CURE, running errands, enjoying seeing the messages of encouragement come through from the latest blog post, and I felt content. No, more than content, I was happy, genuinely happy. My children were stable and I felt productive and fulfilled. Three things I have not experienced at the same time in, well, years. However, almost as soon as I acknowledged my happiness I was racked with guilt and anxiety.
Once upon a time there was a little girl who, every three weeks, for three days in a row, went to the infusion clinic at the hospital for IV immunoglobulin treatments, IVIG for short.
It's taken me a looooong time to get this blog started so I'm going with what's motivating me right now, and that's the perception of life with a special needs kiddo.
