As I stood, stirring the milk into chocolate, a sudden feeling of weight sits on my shoulders. The color darkens into perfect color spectrum and taste. Just right. Not too dark, not too light. Not too sugary, not too chocolaty. Haunting chocolate bunny smiles at me with mocha eyes…again. Make it just right, just right.
Today, the weight of being an SPD Mom hits hard. Just right. Perfect. Consistent.
How on earth could another person come and fill my shoes? They could never get the chocolate milk just right. It’s always wrong when a stranger does it. It’s always wrong in the restaurants. It’s wrong with Grandma and Grandpa. It’s wrong with even…Daddy, who happens to have less experience. I am a one-woman show. This is an impossible act to follow. And no, it’s not a compliment. It does not make me feel better. I am terribly alone.
How do I begin to explain the weightiness of “just right” in a world of flexibility and change? How do I begin to relate to other Mom’s whose children don’t care what chocolate milk tastes like, looks like, or how full the cup is? To them, they pour, they stir, they offer and it gets drunk…every time. I wince when I see the inconsistency. I never used to see it. I never used to care. Today I want easy. I don’t want to see children delighted by inconsistent offerings of chocolate milk. One cup, dark brown as mud, the next, almost white with a hint of sweet. Blessed happy children ready to slurp down whatever you offer their little mouths. That would be Heaven to me today.
Still stirring on that bitter note, I think of the doctors appointment looming and the thought of chocolate bunnies and milk sit horribly in a pit in my stomach. The unknown worries me. I am a one-woman show. Who could possibly come and fill my shoes if…?