I smell like milk and adrenaline, equal parts baby and traumatic stress. I’ve been coasting on autopilot for over a month, faking it all with aplomb. I’ve been so busy learning everything I can about missing tibia bones and holes in the heart and being hyper-aware of every aspect of him (is there something else wrong?), I haven’t really had time to just be. The last several weeks are catching up with me, I think. No wonder I’m suddenly exhausted.
November was so dramatic, and I felt so out-of-body and numb, I kept saying it was like I was starring in an episode of the most emotionally manipulative medical drama on TV. Planning a homebirth! Oh wait, baby is breech! With severe birth defects! Baby is expected to die! Induced hospital breech birth! Baby Lives! Baby has issues more rare than one in million! Handsome Neonatologist! Nurses swoon and keep reminding us he’s single! (true story.)
And if that wasn’t all enough, we finished the month off with a highwayside tire blow-out (and subsequent unplanned purchase of new tires for my beat-up jalopy of a car) and the surprising death of our dear old cat, Cozy. Just a couple of extra heart-tugging details no discerning viewer would ever believe. Come on, already. Enough is enough!
I was never so happy to flip the page on my calendar.
December will be about being here. I will forgive myself for worrying so hard, I will not jump ahead of myself, I will type with one hand while the baby sucks on the tip of my left pinky finger.
Please know how bolstered I’ve been by the comments, here and elsewhere. It encourages me to know this new baby of mine already has quite a support base. I like to think that so many people are pulling for him, for me, for our whole little family. I want to superimpose the kindness of the words you’ve written across the face of everyone I see, so that I can take him out in public fearlessly.
We even put lights up on the house this year. I personally don’t feel much holiday cheer yet. But we are trying. You have to know that we are really really trying.