Patience

On any given day my patience is seriously put to the test.  Usually it's our button pushing D who propels me firmly over the I'm losing my patience line.  M is definitely a close second.

As I reported in my last post, M broke a bone in her hand and she had to have a few pins put in to secure the bone so it will heal properly.  It's her right hand and I've had to do everything for her...bra, hair, etc.  It's been annoying, but frankly part of the mom gig.  We've had our share of broken bones in this house and I go pretty quickly into nurse mommy/aunt.

The hard thing with M has been her anxiety and overall attitude with this injury.  She has been insufferable.  Moaning and complaining.  Panic attacks (which aren't her fault given her mental illness) but OMG!!! trying to rationalize with the crazy has been exhausting.  The constant comparison with other people is out of control. She keeps pointing out how her injury is soooo much worse than anyone else.  At a low point on Friday night on the floor of the bathroom with her screaming and crying she declared that her hand was worse than childbirth and I've never had any injuries as bad.  I burst out laughing which caused more crying.

She complains that her current splint/cast is too big and looks silly and nobody will know anything is wrong with her like somehow a regular cast equals "really bad injury."

She's panicking about school, but refuses to do the homework she can do.

She gets mad at me for making her get up and do the things that she can do and when I point out that she broke a bone in her hand not her legs, I get the eye roll, nasty looks and more moans of "my hand, my hand, my hand!!"

The "it's not fair" complaining is getting really old.  I don't mean to sound unfeeling, but it's really hard to sympathize with somebody complaining about her cast not looking serious enough or refusing to take the medicine to take the pain away, but then moaning dramatically on the couch that her hand is killing her.  She has cried wolf so many times with her fake illnesses and injuries that her over drama comes off as insincere and just annoying.  The boys, especially A, are actually avoiding her.  After her really bad panic attack Friday night, L slept in our room.

Part of my problem is that I'm used to A (our primary injury boy).  He broke his ankle, cried and thirty minutes later was planning the things he "could" do during our upcoming beach vacation.

Not to sound like an uncaring evil aunt, I am obviously taking care of her.  I'm doing all that she can't do on her own with a smile, encouragement and joke to lighten the mood.  I got her prizes to help with the surgery day.  I'm giving lots of hugs and have sat with her through the panic attacks and crying fits.  It's been very tiring.

K and I have said multiple times that last few days that the girls are just hard to understand and difficult to parent.  The trauma of losing their parents has impacted their ability to see anyone or anything outside of themselves.  Nobody has suffered a loss worse in their eyes and, therefore, nobody can ever have anything as bad as them--whether it's simply a bad day or broken bone.  If anyone around them has something good, they are jealous and then act in ways to demand more attention (complaining, fake injuries, or in E's case grandiose exaggerations of her achievements or intelligence). 

Somehow we have to teach them that that cannot be defined by the accident.  Somehow we have to teach them empathy and help them recognize how their actions affect all of those around them.

Somehow all five of us have to find an unlimited supply of patience to get there.