Jealousy

I owe you an apology.

Larry said my last post was sad and emphasized our challenges, not our celebrations.  He has a point and it was well received, so I'm sorry.

Over the past few weeks, I stepped away from writing and work to focus on embracing our normal, the one I keep talking about, yet never describe.  The problem is, I didn't know what do or where to start.  I began organizing everything in the house, which Larry will tell you, is quite different than cleaning everything in the house.  On any given day, the contents of every kitchen cabinet were moved, closets were cleaned and furniture rearranged.  I've been volunteering in Liv's class, the beds are made, the laundry is done, and dinner is waiting on the table every evening when Larry gets home from work.

I. Am. Unstoppable.

...And insatiable.  None of these activities have thoroughly filled the void left by juggling life, work, marriage, kids, and Ari's medical challenges for so long.

Why can't I just relax and enjoy this time?  I'm trying... I really am.  A fun 4 day weekend in Sandestin, FL with 30 girlfriends helped, as did this past weekend, where we celebrated Larry's birthday with a group of close friends.  I even sat in a lounge chair on the driveway for a hour yesterday, soaking in the afternoon sun and watching the kids play.  The guilt that I should be doing something else is slowly being ebbed out by the knowledge that I have an opportunity to enjoy my family.  I'm making progress indeed. 

From a health perspective, Ari is doing really well.  He hasn't choked at all since his last emergency procedure.  I wonder how much of it has to do with me watching every single bite he takes, constantly reminding him to chew, swallow and drink.  Maybe he's just growing up...  I stare at him in awe of how he's now a young boy, no longer a toddler.   I try to remember his milestones, but I can't.  I don't know when he rolled over, crawled, walked, or what his first words were.  The realization makes me feel a sadness deep in the pit of my stomach.

My thoughts switch to Liv.  I remember everything- from the moment she was born to her first step... even the cute little songs she performed in preschool.  Why is it so different?

Liv recently broke her foot and is in a boot for the third time this year.  I can't help but wonder if this would be a bigger deal to us if our perspective was not so screwed up.  A broken bone is low on our radar, yet should be relatively important.  She's not phased by it at all and even managed to win the limbo and hula hoop contest at school today.  That's my girl... always strong, always competitive.

Her school work in another story altogether.  If I was not as distracted by Ari's medical issues, could I have provided her with a stronger academic foundation?  The answer is most definitely yes.  So not only am I playing catch up as a domestic goddess, I'm also trying to make up for lost time with both kids, in all aspects of their lives.

At this point, my biggest challenge is, quite frankly, myself.  Now that I have more time on my hands, my thoughts are spinning.  I keep thinking and over-thinking, begrudgingly allowing guilt, sadness, and anger to creep in.  "GO AWAY!!" I want to yell, but that would be like telling one's reflection to stop looking back at you in a mirror.  It's time to deal with it, and last night was an unexpected revelation of the true cause for some of these feelings.

It was a happy occasion... a bris and baby naming for the second son of family friends whom I've know my entire life.  My OBGYN was the mohel.  "You look good"  he said before asking me about Ari.  He used to say that to me in the same tone of voice at each prenatal check-up.  He's the doctor that admitted me to the high risk floor when pregnant with Ari and the one who delivered Liv... again, something I remember clearly.

As the doctor prepared for the bris, I couldn't take my eyes off the baby.  My mind was racing and I didn't like the direction it was heading.  A lump formed in my throat and it was all I could do to stand there, bracing myself on the back of the sofa.  I was so jealous of my friends, close enough to be family.  I didn't get to hold my baby.  I didn't get to bring him home.  I didn't get to have a bris... or a baby naming, I don't even remember what he looked like at 8 days old.  I didn't know how he smelled how he felt snuggled in my arms or what his cries meant.  He has no cries... he was on a ventilator.  He would look like he was crying, but no sound could come out, the tube in his mouth suctioning his saliva from the pouch that should have been his esophagus vibrating and clogging, causing him to choke and stop breathing.

"No... not here", I begged myself.  "Now is not the time for this."  "SELFISH!! This is not about me, this is not about me, this is not about me."  I eyed the door, wishing I could run.  I may have slipped out politely had I not arrived with my parents.  I wanted to give in to the welling emotions.

"Can you watch?" another family friend asked, referring to the circumcision about to happen and oblivious to the internal battle I was fighting.  "Yes" was all I could muster, and I didn't take my eyes off the doctor as he clamped, cut and dressed him.  The baby was handed back to his parents and he received all of the snuggles he needed to forget the brief trauma.  Again, my head was swirling with thoughts and emotions.  I didn't get to hold Ari at all as a baby, we never bonded the way mothers and newborns are supposed to.  Even when we brought him home, he stiffened at my attempts to cuddle.  During his brief experience in life, touch meant procedures, surgeries... pain.  It took a long time for him to want to be touched or held.

I long to have another baby so I can have a chance to experience the pregnancy and newborn stage again, but it's never going to happen.  When things were really difficult with Ari, we knew our marriage and sanity would not have survived a third child, so Larry had a vasectomy.  Short of paying an extensive amount to have it reversed, we're done.  The realization is a sad one.  We talked about it last night and Larry shares the same feelings and regret, but what's done is done.

I was grateful my parents were there, but did not want to broach the subject with too much weight  for fear of an emotional collapse. In the car on the way back, I casually touched on my feelings. "Well, " my mom said, "Shit happens and it happened to Ari." I love, love love that woman. She knew where I was headed and provided the necessary detour. "Yes it did." I said laughing out loud and catching a glimpse of my dad in the rear view mirror, tears welled up in his eyes, mixed with surprise at her response. Yes... they knew.  I imagine a conversation took place once we were no longer together.  The ride back was peaceful as we all reflected on the sanctity of lifelong friends.

Maybe this time off is therapy for the whole family.  It's allowing us to identify our emotions and challenge ourselves to get past them. Our whole family seems closer and we're sharing more laughs than sorrows.  Even when Ari flushed an inflated balloon down the toilet on Saturday, I was laughing (on the inside!) and grateful was for this opportunity to face my reflection head on... and accept it.