So today she resumed her usual, I'm not doing a thing here stance and the therapist decided we were going to push her limits a bit. Mark went with her and I stayed with the boys and as we rounded the corner for our millionth lap around the building I saw McKenna heading down the hall on her little therapy bike crying her eyes out while pedaling. Now, the rational part of me knows that sooner or later the girl does have to do some work and the therapists push-her-a-bit strategy is necessary but the irrational Mommy of the 2lb. 10oz. preemie who spent the first three months of her life crying in a NICU incubator wanted to give the physical therapist a little push of her own, take that stupid bike helmet off, unstrap her feet from the pedals and head out the door, never to return to that awful place again.
So I'm thinking I have issues (if you know me in real life or have been following me for long I'm sure you are laughing at the fact I'm saying this like it is a new thing) but really, I like her physical therapist and I know she wants the best for McKenna and I know McKenna needs to get stronger, but the minute I hear that little girl crying I flash right back to the days and days and days I spent helplessly watching her fight for her life in the NICU and I start having Ally McBeal-like visions of what should happen to whoever is making her cry. (I hope the one person who watched that show besides me is reading this so 1 someone gets my visual.)
Ms. McKenna's first home
I'm not sure what the point of my ramblings are today other than that there are a lot of levels to being a mom. Whether your kids are sick or healthy or preemies or angels, raising kids is not for the faint of heart or for the mildly delusional.
I am going to have to get myself and my case of post traumatic stress disorder together.
Either that or just go back to school to be a physical and occupational therapist, teacher and pediatrician so that I can get my kids through their first 18 years my way :)