Saying nothing is the absolute worst. It’s okay to acknowledge that this is awful for us. It’s okay to tell my kids that you’re scared for them. They’re scared too. They need permission to show it.
What you say may not be just what we need to hear. Nothing is going to be. I love to hear that you’re thinking about us though, that you’re praying for, or sending good thoughts, to our Dolly. I need that. It makes me feel less alone. Because I do feel alone, a lot of the time. I hate that other parents must feel that way too. If you’re out there, worrying about your child this way, feel free to email.
You’re not alone.
I told Dolly’s pediatrician that I oscillate from this awful dark place of being sure that everything is too perfect, that her adoption went too well, that the trip to get her was everything I had ever hoped, that she is so easy to love, that she is perfect, so that must mean we’re going to lose her, to this place of feeling like well, that child survived so much worse, our baby will surely live through this. It’s an awful place to be. I spent most of the car ride home from Florida feeling this huge weight on my heart.
Yesterday was better. We got back into our routine. I focused on the positive.
Today, I’m back there again. Today I think about how I’ll be alone, two hours from home, waiting for news all alone. My mind goes to that worst case scenario again, and I think about what I would do if the worst happened, how would I walk out of that hospital without her?
I can’t go there. I shouldn’t go there.
I think every parent in this situation does to some extent. It’s probably normal.
Even knowing that, it still feels so wrong.
who needs to go and clean something to ease the tension. See, there are positives to be had in all this. My home has never looked better.