Another Day In Paradise

Well, today was what I view as a good day. There was no eating of non-food items, no pooing in the pants, no peeing in the trash can. I did not have to pick her dinner out of her hair. Just the usual incessant and unintelligible babbling that makes my eardrums numb. Now don't get me wrong, I love her dearly, so much so that I have sacrificed the nice, quiet life I used to have in order to give her a home. But that doesn't mean I have unending patience. It doesn't mean I love cleaning up disgusting messes. It doesn't mean I don't long for a night out with my husband once a year. I am tired of hearing what a saint I am for raising her. I am tired of people touting the joys of raising disabled children. I know that I can't be the only one who is willing to tell the truth, who needs to tell the truth. I can't be the only one who just gets sick and tired of the messes, the problems, the financial strain, the strain on my marriage, the depression. I wouldn't have made my choices any differently, but I need to shout it from the rooftops, "This stinks!', and I want you to be able to do that here. When I read others' comments about raising a disabled child, I usually get a mental image of Donna Reed singing as she cleans poop off the walls. This is not reality, people, so start shouting and we'll start listening and supporting one another.