back to reality
-Soul II Soul, "Back to Life"
Reality. Is this our new reality now? I am slowly - very slowly - trying to return to some semblance of a routine, a normal life, but it's proving difficult to find any kind of pattern to our days. And that is just part of why it's been so long since I've posted.
I said this to an old friend today (and made myself laugh with it!) so I'm going to use it again here. I feel like I'm supposed to say, "Whew! Sure am glad that near death experience for my child is over. Now I can get back to that pile of dishes I was working on." It's like I'm supposed to just pick up where I left off, like everything is just fine. Truth is, I don't feel fine. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel. I don't know how to describe how I do feel. But "fine" really isn't on the menu.
I'm worried. I go in to check on Jay multiple times every night to see if he's still breathing. I worry he'll fall and have massive, coumadin-induced internal bleeding that I don't even know about. I worry that his heart rhythm isn't right. I worry that I'm pushing him too hard when we practice what he's learning in physical therapy. I worry that he's not eating enough. I worry that the only foods he'll eat are Goldfish, hummus, and whole milk.
And that's just my Jay worries! I worry that Luke STILL isn't over his cough/congestion/sinus infection, even with antibiotics. I worry that he has some undetected heart defect that will pop up at seven months old and steal him from me. I worry that I won't be able to keep up my milk supply and I'll have to serve him beetle-infested formula. (Seriously, did you hear about the formula recall? For beetles?! So gross.) I worry that he isn't getting enough attention and that the only one-on-one time I spend with him with him is feeding him. With one hand. The other hand is busy checking my email on my phone.
Hell, I'm a worry wart. I worry about a million things. Some of my worries are logical. Some, not so much. Some are significant, some so minor they don't deserve the mental energy I give them. But still, I worry.
I'm frustrated. Jay's still a two year old, and they don't call it the "terrible twos" for nothing. He can drive me batty with his whining, demanding that I drop what I'm doing to watch him unscrew a plastic bolt out of a pre-drilled plastic chunk of "wood." For the hundred millionth time. RIGHT NOW.
I'm struggling with guilt. Seven weeks ago, I thought I'd never again see him play with his tools. How can I say no to that adorable little face who simply wants my attention? (Even if he wants ALL of my attention?!) These other things I'm doing - talking to the cardiologist, getting prescriptions refilled, feeding Luke - they can wait, right? I should appreciate every single moment and celebrate his two-year-old-ness, right? Arggghhh!
I'm exhausted. Luke is sleeping through the night more often than not (Hallelujah!) but I'm still struggling to catch up from many sleepless nights. And that exhaustion leads to my short fuse, and I start spinning on the Frustration-Guilt-Exhaustion Wheel, and it's not pretty.
So, I'm sorry if this comes across as whiny and ungrateful. Truly, I am so genuinely and completely happy to have my child happy and healthy. I am so happy to be home that I don't want to leave, even to go to the grocery store. The four of us went for a walk tonight, and I just wanted to freeze that moment in time forever, listening to the magical sound of Jay's laughter. I am blessed beyond words. But I'm still not sure how to reconcile that genuine joy with the grind of daily life. I'm trying to find our normal.