**Written as part of Testosterhome's Ten Minute Tuesday. But, of course, I didn't get it posted until Wednesday. Such is my life.**
Today is a "woe is me" kind of day. Not because things are going badly, per se, but because I'm wondering just how many more things I can pile on top of my list of "things to do" and "things to worry about" and "things I should be doing" and "things that are keeping me up at night," etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
We sold our car on Saturday. We bought our new car on Monday. Yay! More details on that later. But those things are, you know, stressful. Even when they do turn out for the best, as was the case in our situation.
Then there's our trip to Boston that's coming up tomorrow. (Tomorrow!) Don't get me wrong, I'm so excited to get away for a few days with my love. But why is there always that tinge of regret leading up to the actual departure? Like, why did I get myself into this? Is it really worth it? (Answer: Yes. Or at least that's what I keep telling myself.) My mom, Queen of Kid-Watching Wonderfulness, is coming to stay at our house. There will be no problems. Of this I'm sure. But there's still the planning and the transferring of knowledge and the worry that something will go wrong. But, of course, it won't. It never does.
But Katherine has a cold. So then I go back to worrying that something will go wrong. Like that she'll be up all night allowing my poor mom no sleep. Or that it will turn into a raging ear infection. Please, Baby Katherine, get better soon. Like, today, please.
And then there's the biggie. The news we learned yesterday. That our Lucy Girl will need another head surgery. You know how as a mom you know stuff about your kids? Like, really know stuff? But you don't argue for what you already know to be true because you, lowly mom, are not a doctor.
That's where I'm at. For at least a year I've known that Lucy will need this second repair surgery. That the three depressions on the top of her head were not filling in like they were supposed to. But the doctors kept saying no. That chances are it's not what I think because that's not common.
Then the doctor walks in the room with her CT scan and says, "Much to my surprise..."
I wasn't surprised at all.
Thankfully this surgery is much less of an ordeal than the first one. But, surgery nonetheless. Anesthesia. Incisions. IVs. A hospital stay. None of these should be on a three-year-old's to-do list.
I thought I had a good handle on the situation. I didn't cry. I didn't get upset. We even made light of the news by tenderly teasing Lucy that we always knew she would be our problem child.
But then I lay in bed. Darkness all around me save for the red digital clock staring me down. And I kept thinking about it. And thinking, and thinking, and thinking.
And then there was nothing left to do except offer it up. And go to sleep.
Today is a "woe is me" kind of day. Not because things are going badly, per se, but because I'm wondering just how many more things I can pile on top of my list of "things to do" and "things to worry about" and "things I should be doing" and "things that are keeping me up at night," etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
We sold our car on Saturday. We bought our new car on Monday. Yay! More details on that later. But those things are, you know, stressful. Even when they do turn out for the best, as was the case in our situation.
Then there's our trip to Boston that's coming up tomorrow. (Tomorrow!) Don't get me wrong, I'm so excited to get away for a few days with my love. But why is there always that tinge of regret leading up to the actual departure? Like, why did I get myself into this? Is it really worth it? (Answer: Yes. Or at least that's what I keep telling myself.) My mom, Queen of Kid-Watching Wonderfulness, is coming to stay at our house. There will be no problems. Of this I'm sure. But there's still the planning and the transferring of knowledge and the worry that something will go wrong. But, of course, it won't. It never does.
But Katherine has a cold. So then I go back to worrying that something will go wrong. Like that she'll be up all night allowing my poor mom no sleep. Or that it will turn into a raging ear infection. Please, Baby Katherine, get better soon. Like, today, please.
And then there's the biggie. The news we learned yesterday. That our Lucy Girl will need another head surgery. You know how as a mom you know stuff about your kids? Like, really know stuff? But you don't argue for what you already know to be true because you, lowly mom, are not a doctor.
That's where I'm at. For at least a year I've known that Lucy will need this second repair surgery. That the three depressions on the top of her head were not filling in like they were supposed to. But the doctors kept saying no. That chances are it's not what I think because that's not common.
Then the doctor walks in the room with her CT scan and says, "Much to my surprise..."
I wasn't surprised at all.
 |
| Charmer of all Doctors & Nurses |
I thought I had a good handle on the situation. I didn't cry. I didn't get upset. We even made light of the news by tenderly teasing Lucy that we always knew she would be our problem child.
But then I lay in bed. Darkness all around me save for the red digital clock staring me down. And I kept thinking about it. And thinking, and thinking, and thinking.
And then there was nothing left to do except offer it up. And go to sleep.
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