I can't change the fact that I'm pumping breastmilk in a hotel room because my son started spontaneously vomiting last night, and you can't be sick at the Ronald McDonald House, but they will be kind enough to put you up in a hotel. Thankfully, he snapped back to normal before we even got to the hotel. It was the weirdest thing I've ever seen. As we drove through the night to the designated hotel, my husband brought up the absurdity of being sent on a vacation because our son was sick. I countered with we should be used to absurdity by now, everything about our life was absurd. Why wouldn't I be driving through the night, in a car packed with bags haphazardly stuffed with clothes and toys, with my arm outstretched to the back seat holding a barf bucket? We dubbed it the Barfcation. In the morning, I took my all-better son exploring the property of the hotel, and it was nice. A moment for just the two of us, which is so rare these days, and soon to be rarer still.
I can't change the fact that Lazlo needed his feeding tube readjusted, and I couldn't make him better when I heard his squeal, so I just covered my ears and ran to the cafeteria so as not to witness it.
I can't change so many things. But somehow, I'm finding my place amongst the chaos. I feel like I'm Dorothy, when her house is being whipped around the tornado on its way to Oz, and I'm past the point of hiding in bed. I'm actually doing OK for myself in my little tornado house, and I'm doing things like finding time in the mornings to do my hair and put on a little make up, while the house goes around and around in circles. I sit down at the checkered kitchen table and slowly sip a cup of coffee and bite into a croissant, while the wind blows my hair around my head. Then, when my house lands on the witch, I get up and stride outside to the Hospital Of Oz to visit my very own munchkins.
It's a little like when I went to rehab, and I came out a completely different person. A stronger person. A person who stood up for herself, and voiced her opinions, and took care of herself. I'm a little like that person, again. The kind of person who knows what's really important, and doesn't take any shit. After spending 11 weeks essentially in isolation in my hospital room by myself, then suddenly being plunged back into family life, motherhood, where so many need so much of me, the temptation to lose myself to the demands of my life is great. It's overwhelming. But, once again, the Universe has taught me that I need to put my own oxygen mask on first. That's the truth about life, and I'm grateful to be reminded of it.
It's important to have fun.
It's important to take care of my own needs.
It's important to remember to laugh. To see the humor in everything, because there is. There really is.
And then, little hints of how difficult my situation can be finds its way through the cracks. Gus was supposed to be released in a few days, and he had a set-back, so now he's not. I didn't handle it well. I forgot about how well he's been doing overall, not a single infection or crisis of any kind. I just cried, because my baby was coming home, and now he's not. He's not coming home yet. And I don't know when he will be. But his bed is here, waiting for him. Empty.
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