How MS Makes You a Mom Boss (or "This part's not very fair, ya'll...")

MS is a disease that is most often diagnosed in young women, when they're in their 20's-30's. We don't really know why this happens, but it does. Oh, they've done research - a lot of it - to try to figure out what causes MS. Because if they could figure out what causes it, they could figure out how to cure it. And we're just not there yet. (Remember those "promising clinical trials" from my last post?)

Anyway, one of the things that seems just a little unfair to me about this whole timeline is the fact that most women in this age range are either thinking of starting families, in the process of starting families, or already have one or two or four little people running around their homes. Women can still get pregnant, and have perfectly healthy babies, even WITH their MS. And, although having a first-degree relative with MS does increase your likelihood of developing the disease, it isn't hereditary. 

But we still have babies to raise...

Corey and I decided, after Eli was born, that we were done having kids. I was very sick, through most of my two pregnancies, and my children were large (8 pounds, 11 ounces and 10 pounds, 4 ounces). When Eli came out, the doctor said "You know, they typically get larger as you go..." as though it was funny to him. Yeah...no thanks. I'll stop while I'm ahead. So, although we're done having kids, I still have two very young ones to raise. I'm looking down the pike at the next several years of getting kids to school, packing lunches, attending school functions, going to the park, giving baths, reading books, and on and on. I'm not doing it alone. I got my main man helping out every day and every night. His mom, who we call "MiMi," came into town last week to surprise me, and she stayed for a week helping us out with kids, errands and housework. It was such an amazing break for me, even though I wish it could have lasted much longer. 

When you're dealing with a disease like MS, there is literally no telling what the next year, month, week, day or hour will bring. I have experienced so many changes since this past summer, and I don't know, from one day to the next, how I'm going to feel when I wake up, when I get to work, when I get home from work...and I usually feel my worst at night, when the kids need me the most. 

There is something that happens to a mother when she knows her children need her...and, to be fair, I believe fathers do this as well. (Note: Contrary to society's claims, not all dads are useless and lazy..many of them are amazing fathers, my husband included.)

We can be absolutely, horribly, utterly exhausted...to the point of near-collapse. Our bodies can be filled with pain, our eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, our minds full of uncertainties and anxieties. Yet when we know our babies need us - something happens. 

Now, I'm not gonna go all crazy and say we get "supernatural energy bursts" or some nonsense..hell, I'm still worn out when I'm giving my son a bath. I don't suddenly get a burst of anything except maybe some extra nerve shocks in my feet and a few more waves of fatigue while I'm making Lily's lunch at night. 

But we get it done. Because that's the only choice we have. Sure, we'll have those nights when we give the reigns to someone else when it's time to read the bedtime story, or we let our kids buy lunch at school because we're just too damn beat to make it at home. But, most of the time, we just shuffle through those rough days and nights, making it work. Or we give them an Amazon Kindle and let them snuggle up next to us for an hour (or two or three) of screen time, much to the pediatrician's chagrin. That's what Eli did today. Then, later, he "cooked" me "dinner," which consisted  of a plate of wooden cakes and a plastic french fry with imaginary ketchup. I was supposed to eat the ketchup first, I think. 

I constantly hope for a good day...or at least for more GOOD days than bad. I work through these symptoms that I deal with every day, trying to figure out how to conserve energy and avoid triggers that make things worse. Thankfully, my husband is almost always there to pick up when I absolutely CAN'T do it. But when he isn't, or when I just don't want to ask...when I want to be the one reading the story, or giving the bath, or making the lunch...then I drag my uncooperative feet across the floor and do it my own damn self. 

Because that's just what we do...