My limits...

Ugh. Sigh. Great. Big. Fat. SIGH.

It's been a rough few weeks and BLOGGER ISN'T HELPING. I keep trying to post but my linking stuff doesn't work - nor do any other things like bold or italics. **sigh**

Between my sciatic nerve being pinched (!) or something (?), and Daddy-O being on the last one (nerve) I have, B complaining of earaches, knees hurting and his most recent "it hurts my heart when I take a deep breath" almost constantly, and D making mower-blower-weedeater-vacuum noises continuously I am ready to scream. Or cry. Take your pick, because I could really go either way right now.

I have officially reached my limit.

Stop #1 on the Roadtrip to MY LIMIT:

Almost 2 weeks ago D decided he didn't want his diaper changed. Of course, he chose to show his rebellion by kicking and twisting and thrusting just as I bent over to pick him off the ground. Good-bye lower back. Hello slow torture and burning that runs from my lower back, around my hip to my groin and also down the back of my leg just for good measure. Fast forward past six (!) trips to the chiropractor, each requiring 2 hours off work, and I don't really feel any better (though much poorer, thank you very much) yet.

Stop #2:

While men can fool around with sciatica if they have an accomidating partner - women CAN NOT. Please tell Daddy-O.

Stop #3:

Wonder Sitter called in sick two days in a row. Bless her for deserving time off to be ill herself when she's a God send for my own ill kids. No begrudging here. Just another stop in the journey.

Stop#4:

D has a videoed playdate yesterday that plainly illustrates that I have NOT been imagining the "is he autistic?, Nah, he isn't." behavior. Concensus from TWO therapists... Perhaps the Autism Diagnostic Center in Fresno might be a good side trip on this little road I'm on. Also, I got to hear a word I'd never heard before used no less than four times in relation to my son. PERSEVERATING. Contrary to popular opinion of therapists who shall remain nameless, this is NOT a blindism.

Stop #5:

B's routine (I thought) appointment for chest pain that I wrote off as growing pains ended in lab work & chest x-rays for anemia, & perhaps Mono & just to "rule out any bone things..." Gah!

Stop #6:

Daddy-O called to ask (none to kindly) why the baseball uniform wasn't washed and I am still at work when B has a ball game.

Screach! Skid! Crash!

Limit reached.