I’m pregnant. Tired. So tired. In the marrow of my bones tired. Trying to help two little girls with extreme challenges. Aubree had been escalating for quite some time. Her therapist kept telling us to consider Residential. I couldn’t do it. Every time I even thought about dropping her off and walking away my heart ripped in a million pieces. “No,” I thought, “we’ll get through this. We just have to keep trying.” The episodes were getting worse. More violent. I couldn’t keep Sophie safe. Or myself. I didn’t have the physical energy to restrain her. And she knew it. She took advantage. Always landing blows to my stomach.
Little did I know I was about to be put on bed rest. I thought my exhaustion was normal due to the extreme demands of my children and the mixture of being pregnant. But it wasn’t. It was a bit more and taking its toll.
The tipping point came when I was driving home. I was so close, but couldn’t make it. Aubree was trying to escape. To run away. To jump out the moving car. I pulled over and locked it down, again. She turned on me, kicking my stomach over and over. I was either battling to keep her inside. Or protecting myself and Sophie from her advances. I just couldn’t do it anymore. My whole body shook from exhaustion.
A few people stopped. They could see what was happening. Did I need any help, they asked? But I had already called for reinforcements. The police came. Not convinced that she needed their assistance. It only took a few minutes to change their minds and they were already less patient with her than me. We were taken to the hospital while my sister came to pick up Soph. And that’s when I surrendered. When I knew that no matter how gut wrenchingly hard it would be, she needed it. We all needed it.