Sometimes I get so wrapped up in what needs to be done, what the end result has to be, that I forget about the process. I’m looking so far ahead that I lose sight of where my feet are planted on the ground, and I trip and fall on my face. Those are the times that I break down and bawl my eyes out. I know that I have portrayed this tough, go-getter, never-doubted-my-decision-once, kick-ass-forget-the-names-’cause-they’re-not-important-anyway kind of mom (because that’s who I WISH I was) but I’m really NOT. No matter what I let people see, I am falling apart on the inside. This “put together” facade that I am showing the world and my family and my friends is just that–a facade. If you find yourself in the same boat that I happen to be rocking right now, you have to know that that is okay. I started this blog for myself–I wanted to be able to show my baby one day that he/she was ALWAYS wanted from the start. That we fought like Hellcats to get him/her here. And if the worst happens, I need to REMEMBER this. I need to be able to look back and say that YES, I did every single thing that I could. I left no stone unturned. But it has turned into so much more. This has turned into I guess some sort of inspirational story–people tell me that they are reading my blog every day and that AMAZES me. What started out as something of a diary for myself has turned into so much more. But I feel like I am almost lying. I feel like there are things that I can’t (or shouldn’t) put in my letters to the baby. So I feel like, to “keep it real,” I need to inject a little realism here.
I cry every single day. This hasn’t been a walk in the park. This isn’t as easy on me as I let people believe. Every single day I try to balance being a good mother to the kids that are already here with what could kill the baby I am carrying. Every single day I wake up, take my temperature, check the (copious) amount of fluid that comes out of me for color and smell. I use my fetal doppler to check the baby’s heartbeat. And then I give myself a shot in the stomach. And I usually cry before, during, and after the shot. It HURTS LIKE HELL. I have to stick myself in the stomach, and the medicine itself burns like the Hell Fires of Hades are under my skin. I get those shots twice a day until I deliver. And I do it because I refuse to give up on this baby. I do it because I refuse to give in, give up, or give out. But believe me, it’s wearing me down.
After my morning shot, I get up, take my prenatal vitamin, make sure Jeremy changes Cayce and walks Beau, give Cayce her breakfast (usually a banana and applesauce, her two favorite foods in the world). I look around at my house (which is a horrible mess and I am embarrassed at its current state) and feel helpless. This usually prompts my second breakdown of the day. I want to do my dishes (that are so stacked up I can’t even see the bottom) I want to do my laundry pile (that is probably approaching critical mass) I want to scrub my floors (which could probably feature in a laboratory for new and unusual diseases) but I can’t. I guess hypothetically I could, but it was be to the serious detriment of this baby’s health. And that makes me feel helpless.
This isn’t the only thing going on in my life. My daughter, Cayce, was diagnosed with a heart condition. She has a large Atrial Septal Defect (a hole in her heart) with Pulmonic Valve Stenosis (meaning that too much blood is flooding her lungs and could permanently damage them) and Aortic Stenosis (meaning that the biggest artery in her body is getting hardened). This is going to require surgery, but she’s too little to do the surgery right now–if they did the surgery NOW it would have to be open heart surgery. They want to let it go until she is five years old and do the surgery through the artery in her leg (femoral artery). My husband needs me too. Everyone apologizes to me. Everyone asks me how I am doing. Nobody ever thinks about him. He is going through the same things that I am going through. He may not be physically going through them as I am, but his emotional involvement is the same. At the same time that I am trying to deal with my problems and sort out my feelings, I feel like I should be there for him too.
Plus, I hate my mom. I don’t have a very good familial relationship with…well, really with any of my family. There are some family members that I dislike less than others, but as far as my family goes, it is the picture of dysfunction. I don’t trust my mother, most of all though. I feel like the one person that should always be there for a child is the mother. And I feel like my mother has betrayed me more than anyone else in my life. She has hurt me more than any other one person in my entire life. I think that her horrible parenting has guided how I parent. I may not be the softest mom around (I yell at my kids, I do spank, I don’t believe in this new parenting crap) but by God, my children will always KNOW beyond a SHADOW OF A DOUBT that I have their back. The whole world may be against you, but I have your back. I didn’t have that from my parents (either one of them) and I feel like that is why it is so important for me to give it to my children. I feel like even if I am not the perfect mom, the one thing that is the most vital piece of parenting is that they know they always have someone to lean on and someone that they can trust. My mother was the absolute definition of a mother. She gave birth to me. (moth·er ˈməT͟Hər/ noun: a woman in relation to a child or children to whom she has given birth.) I am a MOMMY. I kiss boo-boos. I clean up puke and crap and pee. I wipe tears. I do the inglorious jobs. I don’t just swoop in when all of the hard work has already been done and say, “Ta-Da! I’m here to be your Mother!” I don’t turn my back on my children when they need me. But I digress…
After I break down for the second time, I usually settle in to write my blog for the day. It’s (almost) always a letter to the baby. I feel like this is important. Then, Cayce is usually ready to get down. I let her down. I can’t really pick her up much right now, but I can get down on the floor and show her different toys and I can watch her and enjoy her playing. Around lunch time, I generally forage something for me and Cayce to eat. Usually, she eats a healthier lunch than I do. I generally just snack on carrots or something, because at lunch, Jeremy is at school and not home to make me eat. After Jeremy gets home, I am able to relax a little bit. I help with homework, I talk to my kids, I do Mommy stuff. After the kids go to bed it is time for my second shot of the day. This is usually breakdown number three of the day. I hate these shots. They hurt. They hurt like there are little miniature people inside of my stomach lighting my skin on fire from the inside.
Some days there are more break downs than others. Some days I spend most of the day crying. So if you are reading my blog, thinking how strong I am…don’t. I’m not strong. I’m just as weak as you are. I just might happen to lie better than you do. I don’t wear mascara because it would be a tell tale sign that I am not “dealing” as well as I like people to believe. If you are going through this (or anything else for that matter) and you are wishing that you were as “strong” as I am…don’t. Because I am NOT strong. I am determined. But I feel like the determination was more of a coping mechanism than anything else. Like I can’t accept the fact that anything bad can possibly happen because to do so would BREAK me. That doesn’t mean that I believe it any less NOW than I did at the beginning of all of this. I just means that I have a little more perspective now. We’re still going to make it. We’re still going to go all the way. And I feel that DEEP in my bones, in my GUT, in my HEART. But at least now I have more of an idea of WHERE that determination came from.
I feel like this post is completely disorganized and I feel like I rambled on and on about the same thing over and over. But…it’s HONEST. And that is what I needed to get across. Thank you all for reading this very long, very unorganized post.