I am so glad my little guy is such as good listener. He LOVES when we talk to him, read to him, make goofy noises at him. You’d think doing it all the time would make it less exciting, but that is not the case at all. Today he became a 7-month-old.
A bittersweet milestone for me. He is beginning to sit up by himself, rocking on all fours, about to explore his world in entirely new ways. In a few months we will learn how to walk together. His growth is incredible and exciting to me.
But with each month that passes it means I have hurt that much longer. I wish I could be proud of pushing through as long as I have. But I’m upset with myself for being stubborn — or too obedient. I made the call for a referral to an orthopedic specialist after four months. THREE MORE MONTHS — 12 weeks — have passed. That means if I had sought help sooner I could be at the physical therapy stage now.
My son doesn’t care. He would never consider the possibility that I screwed up. He just smiles and coos and lets me know that I am the sun in his sky.
As I put him into his pajamas tonight I told him things I want him always to remember. Things I wrote in the letter I hope he never sees. He smiled and cooed, even nodded. He stopped cooing and furrowed his brow when he realized I was crying. But I pulled myself together and we laughed some more. I sang him all five verses of Amazing Grace that my favorite great aunt used to sing to me and he fell asleep in my arms.
Now that he is sleeping I’m staring at the half-packed apartment. I can’t really do much. I am tired and sore and I know if I over do it my husband will feel guilty for going to the concert. That is the last thing I want. He deserves to have fun. Phish is his FAVORITE band. He’s seen them before, even have the ticket to his first show framed with a concert tour postcard. One of their songs was the recessional at our wedding. We had planned to go together, to have a great night before things get crazy with his work schedule. (We’re a week from the first home football game!) The tickets were bought and paid for months ago. Then life happened and I started feeling worse, started needing the walker again. There is a lot of walking at the outdoor venue and it just didn’t seem like a good idea.
He texted me from the show: “U coulda made it. They had golf carts giving rides to ada peeps.”
In the last six weeks I have learned to consider it an honor to be one of the “ada peeps”. Every second of every day I am grateful that my condition is temporary. But I have a new appreciation for how difficult the tasks I took for granted have become. There are a whole new batch of adjectives that describe me now: Tenacious, dogged, single-minded even.
Those are good words to describe a reporter, too. For eight years I was persistent and serious about my work. But I was not forceful or aggressive with my sources like so many of the best are. I was best at telling the stories of people and their experiences, not at the gottcha stuff. Maybe this journey will make me better at that stuff, too.
Time will tell.
Separated at Birth 