The Life of a Therapy Mom

After school every day, my son and two of his classmates hang out on this poor tree that is barely big enough to hold the three of them. I watch them talk and laugh. I sit there thanking God for my son having friends. It wasn’t long ago that he struggled with making friend and connecting to others.

The other moms and I give countdown warnings to the last minute, and then it happens…talk about extending their time together. “Hey, would your kids like to go get ice cream?” one mom says. “Yes, we would love to, but we can’t we have therapy,” I always reply.

Then, I get to load a screaming child into the car who is upset that he doesn’t get to go. I don’t tell him that I secretly wish for ice cream too.

It takes 30 to 40 minutes for us to get to therapy. Once we are there, a therapist comes to take my child to the back. I know how important every second of his session is, so I always pray for a smooth transition.  In her hand, she holds all of my hopes and dreams of progress to come.

While my child is in therapy, I spend two to three hours in the waiting room. During that time, I will sometimes read, talk to other therapy moms, run a quick errand, or chat with the office staff. My husband often laughs that I call the office staff “my friends”, but they are honestly the people that I talk to most during my week.

Many people ask why I do not go home or do something for me during this time. I do not have time to go home since it is a 30 to 40 minute drive, and I have two children in therapy coming and going from their sessions at different times. Usually one of them will spend one of those two to three therapy hours with me in the waiting room. This is why I always carry a large backpack with snacks, toys, diapers, wipes, changes of clothes, and therapy supplies.

After therapy, I spend time talking to the therapist about the session, and what to continue at home. I share any struggles/ fears and get suggestions. I also try to always express my gratitude for the amazing things they are doing.

When we get home, I begin to cook dinner and the kids have some playtime. We then eat, do homework, and therapy activities before we get ready for bed.

On really special days, magic will happen, and I will see a glimpse of progress. Like the other day when my son skipped for the first time around the kitchen as I cooked. He gleamed with joy and was so proud of mastering this skill after two years of working on it. It is moments like these that make every second worth it.

Worth every therapy bill.

Worth every hour of therapy.

Worth time away from the typical life.

And in those moments, I see hope of one day replying to that mom, “Sure! We can go get ice cream.”