This weekend was pretty typical for us now: playground, grocery store, assorted errands, etc etc etc. My husband wanted to do some work around the house including painting, so to make sure we didn’t end up with a paint-covered toddler, I took my daughter to Target.
This was my grocery list:
1. Lactaid pills
2. t-shirts for my husband
3. galloshes for my daughter
This is what we bought:
1. beanbag chair
2. chip & dip container
3. bottle of dishwashing detergent
Hmm. So, wasn’t exactly what I expected. We had fun though – trying out the beanbag chairs, playing with the rubber balls, swinging on the porch swing in the outdoor furniture department, and of course throwing a tantrum in the checkout line.
On the drive home I realized I’d done something to hurt my wrist, and immediately the fear that my Crohn’s is kicking in put me in a mood that can only be described as super-foul. It’s that feeling that I’m somehow broken. Something is wrong with me, there is no denying it, and that something is messing up my life in both little and big ways. I hated that I couldn’t lift my daughter from the car because my wrist hurt so bad. Luckily I became aware of the way it was affecting my mood, and kind of caught myself before I started snapping at her and my husband. (And even luckier than that, I realized later that I had done something to my wrist earlier and that’s why it hurt, not because of my Crohn’s. But anyway.)
And that’s where the real unexpected part of life is for me. It’s one thing to go to Target looking for Lactaid pills and come home with a beanbag chair – it’s quite another to go out happy and feeling good, and come home hurting and defeated. But both can have the same results: I didn’t get what I intended. But here is what I do have: a beautiful daughter; a doting husband; a lovely home; a great life. I hurt. I can’t get rid of my stupid Crohn’s. But I’m working on that. I’m working on healing. I’m working on feeling good, physically. And in the meantime, life is good. I am holding on to that tightly.