It's the end of the night, the end of Mother's Day.
Lot's of things got done and lots more were left to another day.
Mother's Day or not, the peed in bed still got stripped and washed and remade. I still ran the errand trip to Sam's.
I made the dinner, but it was the dinner of my choice and my family indulged me by enjoying along with me.
Flower seeds got planted at my request and someone else cleaned the dog poo off the carpet today.
The dishes are still in the sink, but the lunch boxes are filled and in the fridge.
I am almost mentally prepared for the stuff in the coming days.
Almost, only because no one can really be fully prepared for this kind of junk.
I spent most of my day doing a kind of parenting that wouldn't make sense to most.
You take a grown-ish child out of trauma and treat them in certain ways that are more appropriate for an infant.
You do that stuff and you build your walls. You close your doors and let your phone ring. Your focus becomes protection, nurture and hope.
Sometimes you pray simply for hope. Hope enough to keep trying for the next moment. Hope enough to believe that a breakthrough will happen or that love will be enough or just even that there will be some glimmer of something good to come.
Then you carry them to bed.