Friday, 19 February 2016

When birthday plans go wrong.

Oh monkeysocks I am so sorry.

If only I could 'manage' everything we would have celebrated your birthday better, but unfortunately I've been coughing my head off for over two weeks and it just downright sucks. I know this is a problem for you, because although you don't yet speak you sign 'stop' like a boss, and you've been 'stopping' me for the duration. And I'm sorry. You should have been front and center all month and here I am making you worry.

I'm sorry I haven't been able to scoop you up and run you around like an airplane and make you laugh til you can't catch your breath. I can't really catch my breath enough to pick you up right now. And dammit you don't 'get it' and it breaks my heart.  You know something isn't right but you're not sure what that is. You are four and you should know but you don't. I can see the upset in your eyes. The confusion. I am supposed to fix everything in your world, yet here you are looking at me knowing I need fixing. And maybe you wish you could fix it. But all you can do is sign 'stop'. Stop. Please stop.

And that's cool and gut wrenching all at once.

I wish I could stop but my lungs aren't cooperating. And every time you want to cuddle, I wrap my arms around you as long as I can hold in the cough and I try desperately to protect you but I know that means it has to be brief and then I have to leave you, leave you reaching out for me and feeling sad about it all and I feel so horrid. Because you don't get it - maybe you think I really want to leave you but I don't. It is your birthday month. I wanted to lift you. To celebrate you. To honor you. And all I can bloody do is cough at you.

I love you and this relentless illness that's taken me over, here in your special month, here when we should be closer than ever, has put a chasm between you and me and my heart is in shreds.

I hope you had a wonderful birthday. In a couple days, we are going to celebrate your birth for the final time on this year number four, this final time with all those wonderful kids you've met at preschool, this final time in this year that I can't do my very best, but only my best possible. I want to be Thor for you. I want to be a wizard, casting spells of magic and wonder and everything should be perfect. Because you to me are perfect.

Sometimes moms get sick on your most special of days. This is the worst possible thing that can happen to a mom - at a time when it's expressly supposed to be entirely about you, to not be physically capable of making it so. To see hurt in your eyes. Now.

No no no.

I am so sorry. I hope you will remember how much I've tried. How much you are my world. My best boy.

There is nothing more that I want then to rub your back til you are asleep, stroke your hair til your breathing tells me you are settled, you no longer need me today and I can go do what mamas do when kiddos are sparko.

I want to pass on the most wonderful things I can to you, not the most dreadful cough. I cannot be near you because my health has currently shackled me elsewhere.

I cannot think of anything more gutwrenching that's happened to us so far in your full four years than this. I hope you know it's not intentional.

My heart is squeezing you tight. Tomorrow you will sign for me to stop. I will try.

More than anything I've ever done, I will try.

No comments:

Post a Comment