The always

Someone once asked me what was the hardest thing about being Poss’ mum. It was part of a bigger conversation. It wasn’t a stand alone question. That would have been weird. It was more like like a continuance of inquisitiveness. Gently picking away for no other reason than to see what was underneath.

People are like that. I’ve learned over the years that very few actually care about the answers you give them. Most are interested in the gossip, some are curious and some just want to feel better about their own lives. Only a handful actually care.

That’s ok. I’m not offended by it. I figure the more I talk about Autism, the more that it gets talked about. And talking about it is good. Because the more we talk, the more we share, the more we know. Or something like that. Plus, sometimes it’s just good to talk.

Anyway, back to the question. The hardest bit. It’s not hard to answer and maybe it’s not surprising: it’s quite simply the constant, ongoing, always, perpetual-ness of it. And that’s totally a thing.

For every time you think you’ve nailed it, this parenting thing, something else comes up. We’re always ‘dealing’ (and god, I’ve come to loathe that word) with something. Anything. Everything. Dreading the call from the school, the email from the teacher, the request for a meeting, the tears after school, the therapists, the reviews, the simple, ongoing, relentlessness.

And I get that parenting is this. This exact thing. The every day, every thing-ness.

What I struggle with though, is the overwhelming scale. A simple argument over homework results in actions, therapists and scaffolded learning plans to try and get measurable results. It sometimes feels as nothing just is.

And conversely, it feels like I’m always looking for more, trying to dig deeper to understand and get some sort of insight into how we can make her world right. Easier. Better.

There’s always something.

Thankfully, to balance this, there’s always Poss; a smile as she tells me about bunsen burners and science class, explaining how an experiment to melt sugar ended up not with toffee, as she predicted, but a sticky mess.

The pride that bursts out of her smile as she tells me how she can do a handspring now. Or how she ran four laps of the oval. Or watching her cross a finish line, achieving more in a morning than I ever could.

Or how she quietly asks me about my day, and then stops, waiting for my response. Sharing a two way conversation with me, even just for a moment.

And that always, the always-ness of Poss, more than makes up for anything and everything else.