Story by Renee Dzieciolowski
He is my son. He doesn’t listen. He runs wild. He never stops talking. He has one volume: loud. He is constantly getting into things.
If he’s quiet, the outcome likely isn’t good. He asks lots and lots of questions. He needs me. All of me. All the time.
But some days I’m too tired. Too frustrated. Too irritated. Too mentally and emotionally exhausted. But maybe some days he is too.
He’s too tired so he acts out. He’s too frustrated so he yells. He’s too irritated so he hits. He’s too mentally and emotionally exhausted so he completely melts down.
He is my son. He loves with all of his heart. He lights up the room with his smile. He makes me belly laugh. He gives the best hugs. He tries really, really hard.
He’s like a puzzle. Pieces are still being put together. Some pieces are missing that we’re trying to find and understand where they went. Some pieces might need to be adjusted or completely replaced.
He won’t ever be perfect but no one is. He is my son. And I love him more than anything.
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