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Dear Loveyboy: As you begin kindergarten tomorrow morning, I am filled with so many emotions. Excitement – We have been talking about this for a long time, you are excited about learning to read and that makes me smile. Fear – Will the other kids be mean to you because you are skinny and wear glasses. Longing – You are my baby boy. Sometimes, I still can’t believe I’m your momma.  Then . . . and
 Now . . . Despite my best efforts, I turned forty (fourty?) shit, who cares. At happy hour that night, someone asked me what I learned in the first 40 years. BIG MISTAKE. 1. Perception is everything. Facts don’t matter nearly as much as how something (a conversation, an incident) makes you feel. Two people can have an interaction and walk away with two completely different perceptions of the ‘reality’ of what occurred. 2. Why yes, I am a master of the obvious. 3. I am good at my job. I actually work for a company that I totally believe in and as a group – we make a difference in the world. Yeah, we have drama and shit. The company was started 20 years ago by a family and lots of family still works there – this equals drama. So what. Of course, they are teaching junior-high kids html and universal usability standards, so, I’m screwed. 4. I still say way too much – I’m talking when I should be shutting up. I may have ‘learned’ this – but I wish I could actually fucking do it. 5. Your boss wants you to handle things on your own without whining and complaining all the time. Accomplish the goals you and your boss have agreed on and deal with all the shit you can. Ask your boss for help only when absolutely necessary to get shit done. 6. “Bad” isn’t always as bad as you think. 7. “Good” isn’t always as good as you think. 8. Buy the damage coverage on your new laptop – you’ll use the shit out of it. 9. Kids grow up. They stop wanting hugs and kisses all the time. Love them and let them go. (okay, I didn’t actually learn this – but, I am aware of the concept and trying to accept it). 10. People aren’t who you think they are. I have to laugh – my mom (bless her heart) was all secretive about the Croquet Set she got for lovey for his upcoming 6th birthday (ok, wtf is croquet anyway and why the hell would a 6-year old care?) – this from the woman who gave my two-year-old daughter monogrammed towels and a towel rack last Christmas!  Monogrammed Towels - What every 2-year-old wants for Christmas! Do you have someone who gives you bizarre gifts? I have a friend who’s grandmother always sent them stange and borderline inappropriate gifts – an “undie” rug to her brother and a map of imagination. My dear mother has always given gifts all year long – she’ll be at Ross or Target and see something and buy it for you – so when birthdays or holidays roll around, all you have left to receive are padded hangers and underwear. When my first child was born, he spent a week in the intermediate-level NICU as a result of aspiration pneumonia. He got stuck in the birth canal and inhaled meconium. When he finally came out, his head was swollen and mushy from all the suction they used to get him out. And – he was struggling to breathe. Seven days later, his bilirubin was low enough to take him home. When we got pregnant again, I thought to myself, “oh, this one will be easy – we’ve seen the worst already.” Famous last words. The pregnancy didn’t feel quite right from the beginning – I was barely nauseous and continued to have the “old blood” discharge. More concerning were the ‘crampy’ feelings that took me by surprise more than i care to admit. I whined all this to my doctor – and he said all of that should be happening (really), nothing to worry about. I went to the ER with bright red blood at 23 weeks – the nurses looked at me and sent me home with a bullshit explanation of broken blood vessels around my cervix. They told me, “you can make this into something it isn’t but there is nothing wrong with you or the baby”. Six days later I was passing blood clots. Back in the ER – the shit hits the fan. I am dilated and leaking amniotic fluid. Well, I guess I’m not an over-dramatic pregnant lady after all. The next 24 hours are a blur of calls to my parents to care for my then 2 year old son, tears, and an ambulance ride to the county hospital – don’t ask me how I ended up at the teaching hospital – I don’t think anyone asked me where I wanted to go. Also made a call to my real estate agent because we were going close on our new house in six days. I was examined at least twice, and they told me I would probably have the baby that day. I knew it was way too soon, I was only 24 weeks along and had rescheduled my ob/gyn appointment because of a work conflict. I spend the first night in the hospital in the ‘labor and delivery’ ward. This is a VERY NOT FUN place to be – the nurses are all rude as hell, the bed is so uncomfortable and the monitor that is telling me babygirl is still alive keeps alarming because she is so small, when she moves, the monitor loses track of her. We get a visit from the NICU attending – they don’t bring good news. They are prepared to care for her – but the potential outcomes are grim. Brain damage, lung immaturity, Cerebral Palsy, blindness and a handful of other heartbreaking possibilities. My husband and I cry and try to comprehend what is happening. I probably don’t need to mention it again, but just in case you didn’t know. I am not a writer. In fact, I started this blog after finding and reading blogs for many months. Blogs are, by their format or nature, totally hilarious, thought-provoking and tragically sad, usually all at the same time. I was so moved by the stories I read, I felt like I owed it to myself and the world to share some of my own stories and random thoughts. I’m not anyone special, at least if I am *special* – then I am the embodiment of the quote “Of course, you’re special, just like everyone else”. (FYI~ my grammar and punctuation sucks as well, so all you imaginary grammar-nazis will find your panties in a twist) Anyway, back to my point. uhhhh, oh yeah. I was talking about the stories. They get to me. They make me sad. Really, really sad. I don’t get wrapped up in everyday sad stories, but there’s something about the stories that I’ve been following over the past six months that have affected me deeply. In therapy, my shrink wants me to try to identify what it is about these particular stories that affect me. Perhaps it’s because I have kids that I worship. Perhaps it’s that I was a NICU mom. Perhaps it’s because I am looking for truth and meaning. I don’t me to be confusing, dear imaginary friends. I was raised Episcopalian, which is basically *Catholic Lite*, half the confession and guilt of regular Catholicism, but all the calories. I have prayed in my life. Pray for my parents, prayed for my children, in fact, up until April, I said a prayer of thanks almost every night for my kids. Up until April, I honestly thought it helped. Now, I’m not so sure. I read these stories about Maddie and Grey and Thalon and I am having a hard time believing there is a benevolent leader of the universe. Why in the world would there be a reason for these precious kids to not be with the parents that adore them? Still adore them – and at the same time, evil people in this world abuse and neglect their kids, don’t care about them – at all. I can’t, no, I WON’T accept the explanation of *The Lord works in mysterious ways*. Just doesn’t wash. More on this later. . . Thanks for listening, dear, sweet imaginary friends! |
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It’s just that I’m not sure I believe in the God that I was raised to follow and believe and trust.
