I will try to write these thoughts as quickly as I can. I don't want to stop writing about what we are going through, though now it feels more mundane than the scary stuff we were dealing with in February.
Dean is in his swing, sleeping. Ellie is in her bed, talking/whining/singing to herself. There is a pile of books next to me that we read before bedtime, so so so many dishes in the sink, three piles of clothes to be folded, a load in the dryer, several that already need to be washed, and breast milk thawing for Dean's night time feed. There are things piled next to me on the end tables and still there are things in baskets that need to be put away. I want to sweep, mop, vacuum, clean the fridge, mow and weed eat, organize the garage. I want to deep clean the bathroom, organize the cabinets. I want to make dinner that is not a sandwich one night. The past three days I have left my house, with both kids, and done different things. I have been encouraged and uplifted and praised for "how well" I am doing with my kids.
We get told a lot, "you are doing so well" "I couldn't have done this" "wow you have it down". I love that people want to encourage me, but these things make me laugh.
Dean is still a baby. Bringing him home was much the same as it would have been had we brought him home when he was born. We just have to keep him on his medicine and watch his colors. Sure, I have to feed him most of the time through a tube and I don't like to let him scream for TOO long, but he's still a baby. He still is treated like a baby.
I'm still exhausted. I'm still a mom adjusting to having both my kids. Add in there that Blair had been gone since Saturday and won't be home for a while yet, and yeah, sometimes I wish I could throw one of my kids out the window. Don't judge. If you are mom you'd be lying if you said you had it all together.
Things are hectic. Crazy. I wake up every morning at six to make sure Dean gets his medication. Tomorrow we head back to our favorite place (le hospital uggghhh) for ANOTHER appointment. I will probably regret sitting down to write this because I'll look at the dishes and sigh to myself and then want to cry.
How glorious to be in the mundane. I don't always love it, but today I do. It's wonderful to be in my own chaotic home with my nutso almost two year old and my gimpy heart baby. I love it. In the moments when they are both crying and I have to decide who to go to first, I try very hard to take a deep breathe and remember those lonely nights when I had neither of them close to me. It helps me to be more intentional.
Every day I make an effort to write in my art journal. To work in it in some small way. Blair calls me every night and we talk for a minute. He tells me what he's doing and I tell him about his beautiful babies.
The days are flying by. I'm afraid that I will close my eyes and the next thing I know we will be prepping for the next surgery. I'm afraid I will close my eyes and wake up and Ellie will be 5, 10, 15 and I will regret not picking her up because I was too worried about doing the dishes.
Life is a balance. We must balance being good stewards of what we've been given and making sure we don't pursue the good instead of the best things. FYI, taking care of my house is good, loving on my children is better.
It's easy to forget at four in the morning that I shouldn't have my son. That his life has come at a steep price. It's easy to forget how scary it was to see his chest open, tubes in his body when he won't let me put him down and I need to pump. I remind myself every day, none of us deserve the miracle of the life that we've been given.
Good days and bad days. Days where I can forget the dishes and write a blog post. Days where I can't. Not every day can be the best day and there will be struggle.
But when Ellie gives me kisses and calls for me, when she asks to pray before bed...when Dean smiles at me, his ENTIRE face lit up...these are the moments to remember. Anyway...he's awake now, and any second will realize I'm not holding him.
I'll probably go to sleep with that pile of dishes waiting.
And that's fine with me. It really is.
Addendum: and sometimes, your OCD gets the best of you and you just can't help it and you do the dishes anyways and let the gimpy heart baby scream at you from his swing. He made it this far, he'll survive. ;)
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