I slept until 2pm. Which was lovely, except that I still felt tired and worse, it took me until 2am to fall asleep that night, despite being ready to sleep at 10:30pm.
I kept waiting for Finleigh to come padding into my bed. She usually wakes up around 11pm. Then around 1am. Usually. But not last night. Of course not last night. I couldn't relax, waiting for her to come in. Dreading it and wishing for it to happen all at the same time. But it never did. And then I finally fell asleep, in time to be woken up 3 1/2 hours later with a little voice asking if she could watch TV.
Too many thoughts were swirling in my mind. And I was beating myself up about falling behind - already. And then it occurred to me that I must still not be back to my 100%. The tiredness I've felt is that same one I had after Finleigh was diagnosed. When I fell apart. And stopped doing anything.
I must push through. And try harder today to stay awake to get my sleeping pattern back in order.
This is all very fascinating to my readers, I know. My sleep. My thoughts.
But - free therapy. Remember? Free therapy.
This morning, I again looked at my school book and then at the blank screen, then unplugged my laptop and brought it upstairs to blog.
It was a rough morning, as they seem to be these days, and I found myself barking orders more than I like. But all was forgotten as Finleigh walked into her classroom this morning with a little boy - holding hands. My heart melted. MELTED. And then I wondered how long it would last? How long would little boys want to be friends with Finleigh? Or even the little girl in her class that she's best friends with?
"Finleigh's mom…" she says to me every once in awhile, "… can Finleigh and I have a play date?"
"Finleigh's mom… when Finleigh comes over for a playdate, we're going to have cookies that are left over from my party because we have lots left over."
I just want to hug her.
How long until her differences become a hinderance instead of being charming?
Finleigh was in the boot room this morning and had dropped to the floor, ready to yell and scream and kick - for God knows what reason - and the little boy said, "Hey, Finleigh." And then dropped his books right by her head. She started laughing. So did he, and he did it again. "Do you like the way that sounds?"
Finleigh stood up, smiling and he asked her if she'd like to walk to class with him. She said, "Ya" and then he piled his books and lunch bag on one arm and grabbed her hand with the other. And they walked like that until he dropped his adorable monster lunch bag and had to stop and pick it up.
Adorable. Sweet. A memory I will try to treasure, grateful that for now, at least, Finleigh is well loved and accepted by her classmates.