Contradictions

It's been a month since Dean's second heart surgery and we have been home almost a month. I have contemplated what to write and argued with myself about writing. Mainly because there is always so much to do. As I sit here, with Dean and Ellie both snuggled up in their beds (Hallelujah they are starting to go to bed around the same time together!) I look around and there is a pile of dishes in my sink, three piles of folded clothes, the trash needs to go out, and the play room is a war zone. And Blair and I have not spent much time alone. It feels selfish to sit and write when I could be snuggled up next to him. Or taking care of my house. Or sleeping.

I've been hesitant to write whats on my heart. I'm not sure I can articulate this well enough for people to understand.

We get asked a lot "How's it going, Dean being home?" I pause when asked that. The long and short of the answer is that it is both good and bad. It is both wonderful and terrifying. Beautiful and painful. An amazing blessing and absolute chaos.

I love our son. He has gone through so much and come out beautifully. His smiles warm my heart and he responds to me in the most amazing ways. Yet he is very very different from his sister. He is all my baby. He does not like most other people, he can tolerate them for a short time, but at the end of that time he makes it known that he wants to be back with me. It's almost like no one knows how to hold him as well as I can hold him. The closest person who's been able to calmly talk to him when he gets fussy has been my Mom. Go figure. I'm a lot like her.

The few times that I've left Dean with Blair, I have come home to either to the craziness of Dean crying or Blair pacing back and forth with him, because if he sits down, Dean screams at him. His face gets red, and goes from red to blue and he has actual literal tears in his eyes until I sit with him or rock him.

I love that he is calmed by me. I am terrified about the prospect of not ever being able to be alone.

I think I had some expectations about what life would be like after we got home this last time, and the reality of what we can home to was much different than I thought it'd be. It's summer time and I will not be going to the Beach, I will probably not be going swimming. I will not be going for long walks, and I will not be sitting in the back yard with my kids, playing in the grass. Dean doesn't like being outside. And one of his medications cause him to be sun sensitive. Ellie likes to go go go, I'm afraid of trying to coral them both, keep him from crying and keep her from running into the road. Even going to the Library (which I miss terribly) seems like too big of a expedition.

Part of this is the very real struggle of going from one kid to two kids. Truly it is hard. Everything is divided and harder and more. Almost every day, at some point, I have to rock Dean, talk to Ellie and listen to Blair. And I must make it all happen. I am a champion multi-tasker. Most moms are. Most women are.

Add to this the realization of how unhealthy my relationship with food had become and what it was starting to do to me physically and emotionally and my mind has been racing racing racing these past few weeks.

I am simultaneously praising God for the blessing of my children and husband and life and mourning the things I have given up. Desperately wishing for an hour to sit by myself and pretend that I can dwaddle and not think about anyone.  I mourn the loss of another summer. I mourn the loss of being outside. I mourn the loss of Dean's baby hood. I mourn the loss of friends who don't come see us because they are sick (which I love that they think of Dean first, but it makes me so sad for Ellie). I mourn the loss of just packing up and going places to visit people.

If we go anywhere we have to think about how long we will be gone and when we will be coming back. We pack medications and feeds and I'm worried that at some point I will say Peace Out because my son can't handle it. Or perhaps I won't be able to handle it.

This feels so isolating. I've entered into this world of Special Needs Momhood and it's a rough place to be man. It's lonely. And I hesitate to talk about it because everyone wants to tell me how grateful I should be that he's here still. Do you think I forget that? Do you think I don't know how much his life cost? Listen the other night I remembered what it was like when he was intubated but off the paralytics and he would cry silently. I had to grab Blair's hand and breathe slowly to calm myself down. Swallowing back tears. I have to remember how much it hurts him when I give him his shots, or that when he cries for me, it's because for so long we were apart. I know.

It does not diminish the fact that our day to day life is still hard. That I am still struggling. In part because I think my son is just a colicky baby. He's particular. He's stubborn. I love these parts of him. I know they are part of the reason he was ok after two open heart surgeries. I know he is strong.

And I know that I am tired. I know that I am constantly on. I know that my attention is drawn every which way. I know that "me" time, though important, most days has to wait. I know that at any given point in my day I will need to drop what I am doing to go "save" him. Or to keep Ellie from accidentally stepping on his head. I know that this has been a strain, even more, on my relationship with my husband who does everything he can to help me. He's literally doing the dishes as I type this. He's done the dishes about fifty million times today. He will continue to do them because he knows that that is a tangible way to show me love. Do you know what I would give for an hour truly alone with him? We'd probably nap...we did today. The four of us all curled in our beds as a celebration of our Independence Day.

Friends, why must we tell mothers that they must be grateful when they are trying to bare their hearts with others? Why must we tell them what to do or how to do it? Don't you think they are trying? Don't you think they look at their children with such joy already?

Those things never make motherhood less hard.

Until you do it, you have no idea.

It is the daily living. The day in and day out. The constant diapers and crying and trying to get the baby to nap so you can shower that make some days feel like too much. Add to this that our son is still recovering and has a very particular personality and man...we just don't know what the hell we are doing.

So this is where we are now. Surviving each day. Doing what we can when we can. Working as a team. Praying that we get through this year. Reminding one another, this is not forever.

This is not forever.

And yes, we will miss the time that our babies are this small, yes, we will miss their tiny fingers and toes. But I will be honest, I look forward to the day when I can send them out to play and fold laundry by myself. I look forward to the day when they go to the bathroom on their own. I will celebrate the day that both go bed at the same time and I all I have to do is kiss them and tell them I love them. When I can drop them off at a game or play or after school program and read a book by myself in the car. When I can go back to work.

Maybe those things make me selfish. But they're true.

Until then, I will survive. They will survive. And I will do whatever I have to do to get through each day, hoping and praying that my kids know that I love them. Even when I lose patience. Even when I get frustrated. Even when I yell at them. Even when I have to lock myself in the bathroom and put my head between my knees. Even when people want to remind me how grateful I should be.

If there has one thing I have learned from the past year, it's that the most contradictory emotions can exist at the same time. Joy can live with fear. Love can live with frustration. Thankfulness can live with the desire and need to have five minutes without someone touching me.

I mean, c'mon guys, have you seen Inside Out?

This is pretty much an accurate representation of my year thus far.