Don't hang your head in sorrow, and please don't cry.
I've sat and wondered what I should write...when I was thinking about the story of Cooper's diagnosis and birth, it was so easy. It was all pent up inside and I wanted people to know, and so it just spilled forth. Now that its all out, I'm sort of at a loss. My life is blissfully normal. Aside from Occupational Therapy visits every other week, nothing is terribly exciting. Don't get me wrong; I'm glad! Anyway, it has left me with a wicked case of writer's block. But, I'm going to do what I did on this blog in the beginning and write from my heart and let my thoughts flow.
I can't help but think of who I was last year. That girl...she seems like she was from a different lifetime. She was so sad, so despondent...lost and hurting. I think of her often; I feel sorry for her, but at the same time I find her almost comical. "Oh the sorrow! I'm going to have an adorable kid who is insanely well behaved and has slept through the night almost since birth! Woe! Sadness!" Okay, I kid, but I wish I could go back and hug that girl, tell her it would be okay. I'm not sure she would believe me in her state of mind, and besides, she doesn't know what I know. I wish I could explain it better, but it is borderline ridiculous, almost laughable in fact now, to think that this beautiful little creature, the one who has my whole heart, who I can't imagine trying to live life without, was associated with such sorrow and hurt. My precious source of joy, a source of pain?
This face + sadness? Not so much!
I don't mean to make light of that difficult time, because it was so hard and it was real. It's easy when you're not there to imagine how you'd handle it, and let me tell ya...your imagination always paints a prettier picture than reality produces. You'd be sad too...you'd mourn for that baby you thought was on its way and if you say you wouldn't, then you're aspiring to be Cleopatra sister, 'cause you're the queen of denial! Of course I know it wasn't really Cooper who brought all that pain. It was a diagnosis, it was fear, it was the unknown. It was finding out that most of what you had thought and pictured was wrong. It was thinking that what society deemed normal and acceptable wasn't part of your equation. I still see it in people's eyes you know. Pity, I mean. They look at Cooper and remark about how cute he is (and dang, is that kid ever cute!), but when they look at me, they feel sorry for me. That poor girl, her baby is sick (except, not really!) and has that syndrome. They feel sorry for me, but at the same time they are relieved it's me and not them. And you know what? That's okay. The difference in me now and that girl from last year is that I've crossed over. I'm on the other side of the diagnosis. I feel like I have a secret that they don't know about. I get to be Cooper's mother. I get to enjoy this magical little being everyday of my life. I get to feel his little snuggly body melt against me when I pick him up out of his bed. I get to inhale his sweet baby scent, and I get to watch his little brow furrow in concentration while he notices or tries something new. I'm not sorrowful, I'm not regretful, I'm not morose or despondent, or any other adjective you can think of that means sad. I'm not bogged down by endless therapy sessions or caring for my ailing child. In fact, he is healthy (Praise God!) and pretty happy to boot. You might be wondering by now: the point to this rambling? Don't feel sorry for me! I am so happy, and no it isn't because I'm in denial. I have this beautiful boy and like I would've told the me from a year ago, "It really is okay..."
Okay, had to get that out. Next post, I am going to talk more about those [not so] good ol' NICU days ;)
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