I cried this weekend. A lot. I was doing so well, but then … I was in a lot of pain, and nervous about what the week has in store. Because the meds weren’t taking away the pain, WonderDaddy lifted me into a hot steaming bath (because my legs still weren’t working) to relax the muscles. The pain in my legs dissapated a bit, and I began to feel better. Then, after it cooled off, we added baby bath bubbles and a baby. I began to gently wash his back with soapy hands, and he looked up at me and giggled. I giggled back, briefly, and then, as he turned away to splash a bit, it struck me again. This is the baby that we waited for. This is the last baby I’ll ever have. This is the baby that I’m living for. And I began to cry. Great big gobs of tears, actually, and I turned on the water again so no one else in the house would hear it. I’m not good at talking about these feelings, you see, and I really still don’t want to talk about it, but in truth? I am sad. Quite sad, these days, and worried about what’s going to happen next with treatement. Worried about getting to surgery, and then worried about the surgery itself.
That’s it. That’s my truth for the day.
But no, I don’t really want to talk about it. I’d really rather talk about something entirely different.