Ug. I hate posts that talk about how crappy I am.
But here gooooeessss.
I’m tired. My body is tired. My bones are tired. My intestines are tired (and that HURTS). I think the events of last week are starting to set in. I can’t stop thinking about it. There are a couple of things that catch me at the oddest times. Like walking into the house and seeing Abby limp with her hands and feet blue.
Or how the doctor doing rounds said, “The next time you’re at a Children’s Hospital….” what? The NEXT time? No. No. No. NO. Or when they called me a “Seasoned Hospital Mom.” That, I am not. I know of some SHM’s. I am not in that club. I’m not that tough. Nor do I want to prove that I am. I’m VERY comfortable in saying that I could not be one of those moms. Three days and my bones feel like they’re mushy. 3 months? Where would I be then? I think about Misty’s friends who have the little boy with brain cancer. Saying that my three days there puts me in any way the same club as them is probably insulting to them. They are superheroes.
But that we’ll probably be back to the Children’s hospital. Not even probably. We will. Maybe you think that’s me having little faith, but I think it’s me just being real. If the common cold won Abby a life flight, what’s going to happen if she gets something more serious? I thought that with summer being here she wouldn’t be so fragile. That I could take her out and let people love on her the way SHE LOVES so much. But I can’t. Back to being autistic and staying away from people (which is funny, because my autistic child LOVES people. Too much. We’re now teaching him that instead of grabbing boobs, high fives are good as well. Okay, I’m teaching him that. His dad want’s nothing to do with such a sentiment. ). I don’t mind it so much, because I’m a hermit . But Abby LOVES people. LOVES them. It’s going to piss her off something fierce to not go to church on Sunday. Pam’s going to have to come over and rock her for a while. And while she’s at it, me, too. (does anyone have that picture when things got really late at E’s house and Pam rocked me like a baby? It’s awesome).
Abby just had one of her check ups and is looking fine. They can’t explain why she woke up choking on her own vomit last night, which makes for some more fun sleepless nights. It scares me to death. When Carter was born he was really sick. He had to be on a ventilator and then on oxygen for a month (to which Melissa or Misty says, “BAH! That’s NOTHING!” Okay, just kidding. Both of those ladies are too nice to ever be like that. To my face anyways.) When we gave back the cursed (they’re the worse things in the world) pulse oximeter I was scared. I was scared that he’d stop breathing during the night and I wouldn’t know. Lance told me something then that applies now, “If he stops breathing and he’s supposed to live, the Spirit will move us to act.” There’s a lot to take in in such a sentence. It’s the same with Abby. The Spirit will act. Just like it did to get me back into that room when Abby was starting to have problems.
But I guess I don’t have enough faith. I’m still scared. I’m still thinking about the “if” in that sentence and not that the Spirit will act in accordance to God’s will. Ug. It’s too hard to think that it would ever be God’s will to take a child away from a parent, but it happens. It happens too much.
I’m not supermom. I didn’t get up today when the kids did. I didn’t make them a healthy breakfast. In fact, Peyton had Fruit Loops mixed with Cinnamon Toast Crunch and Grape Crush on the side. No one bathed. I started to clean the house, but then Casey crushed a bunch of egg shells on the ground (we like to put the empty egg shells back into the container after we use them instead of walking the extra foot to put them right in the garbage. Then, even if there’s nothing left in any of them, we still store the empty ones in the fridge) and took the sharp edge of some scissors along my wall. I sat on the floor and held Abby. She’s getting so damn spoiled. I watched what I wanted to until it served me better to put on a show for the kids. I just feel like the fight is gone inside of me right now. I have so much to do, but no will to do it. I wish I was a supermom. I wish I could just move on and let last week go. I wish I could not worry and have enough faith to know that everything is going to be all right. But I don’t.
I’m too tired for it.