Bedtime

 It's 10:21. His bedtime is 9:00. Somehow it takes forever. Every night. Every. Night.

It starts with a shower. He's 10 years old. I sit on the toilet while he's in the tub. I close the shower curtain to give him some privacy, but i"m still in the room with him. Do I have to be? Technically, no. But if I don't, then he doesn't actually wash. Tonight I washed his hair for him and dried him off. Sometimes, being autistic means that by the end of the day he doesn't have it left in his tank to do all the steps of a bath. And deodorant. And brush his teeth. And take off his contacts. 

We pick up his books, make his bed tidy, put away his dirty laundry,  . . . the list goes on. Every night it takes an eternity. but finally he is clean, fresh, calm and happy. His room is neat and tidy, his things where they belong. We spend a few minutes talking, we tell stories, and talk about tomorrow. It always ends with a hug and a promise to 'see you tomorrow, Mommy.'

It takes forever. I'm tired when it starts and tired-er when it ends. I still have to go upstairs and face my own to-do list, whatever work is leftover from the day, my own shower, and finally bedtime. There is never enough hours and always more to do and someone who needs me. I go upstairs to my daughter wanting to play a game, my other daughter wanting to chat, my husband wanting to cuddle, and the cats wanting a pet. The laundry, the bills, the school paperwork, my job, it never ends. 

I got distracted. Literally. I was writing this and then . . . . now I've paid the credit card bill, sent in some school enrollment forms, contacted a person about a work situation, turned in a PTA document, filled out a form for the parents' club at the gym, updated some calendar events for work, and researched a work problem. Then I remembered that I was writing this tonight. Ok, I actually didn't remember. I closed one of my 25 (now 24!) open browser tabs in this window, and guess what! this blog appeared. So I remembered the writing I started and kept going. Now why did I close that tab? . . . . squirrel!

I don't have ADHD. At least I don't have an ADHD diagnosis. And who am I kidding, I don't have the focus to figure out how to obtain one anyway . . . . but I think menopause has the same symptoms as ADHD. I could research that, but honestly, I'm so afraid that if I do that, I might never remember to finish this post!

What I came here to say is that every night I drag myself upstairs after putting him to bed, tired, drained and empty. Then I pour whatever I have left into the rest of my life because during the day I held space for him and mad him a priority. And I wouldn't change those quiet moments with him at bedtime for anything in the world. 

Goodnight. See you tomorrow, - Mommy

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