I'm sitting on top of 2 mattress pads, a plastic sheet, regular sheets and 3 towels. Getting ready to make Etienne's bed for the third time since last night. I'm bitter. I'm grumpy. I have him in diapers because I can't keep up on his laundry.
As I sit here, the television babysitting my children, I'm thinking about how unfair it is that after 3 years, we still have this crap (excuse my french). I'm noticing the teeth marks on his once beautiful bunk bed purchased by friends that prayed him home to me. I've got a lot of anger tonight. His behavior today has led to Zeke screaming and crying about underwear, a meltdown about his waistband and sobs about the seat belt. It makes me angry, mad, grumpy. Ugly. Sometimes I really stink at this.
So I lied down in Etienne's bed and decided to pray for my heart. I really didn't have words but God knows. In between my tears, He heard me.
In the midst of my melting anger and sniffling I heard this voice whisper "it's not fair for Etienne."
It's not for that Etienne wasn't nursed and nurtured by me as a baby.
It's not fair that Etienne doesn't cry when his finger is caught in the door because he's been conditioned to believe that no one cares about his pain.
It is not fair that when I ask my son who loves him, he says "I don't know."
It isn't fair that I found lots and lots of crackers between his pillow and the wall. He is unsure that he will have a meal when he needs one.
I'm putting his sheets back on and I'm returning the crackers to the pantry. On the way back I'm going to give him the Sam's Club sized bag of baby carrots. Don't let me fool you. I'm not up for doing some attachment, snuggling wear-your-kid response. But God has renewed my strength to at least put the sheets back on the bed and tuck my son into them once again.