From the moment I first saw you on that screen, I knew. Perfect.
The first time the sound of your heartbeat filled a room, I knew. Perfect.
When I first held you in my arms, I was certain. Perfect.
My dream come true. Perfectly.
Then the day came when I knew. Something was wrong.
Everyone told me not to worry. Some told me that I was wrong. But I knew.
I tried to believe them. I stifled my doubts, pushed them aside. But I still knew.
It wasn’t long after you started day care before someone else knew, too.
The past two months have been rough for our little family. I’m afraid I haven’t handled any of it very gracefully. There have been a lot of tears shed. Tears of confusion. Tears of frustration. And sometimes, I confess, tears of anger. Mostly, the tears come at night, as I lay in bed, my mind racing. Sometimes, though, they stream down my face in the brightness of our sun-filled living room while I watch you happily bounce from toy to toy, always so busy. And, sometimes, you notice those tears. And you climb up into my lap, asking what’s wrong. Offering the kind of hugs only my sweet little boy can give.
I worry about the example that I set for you when those tears start to fall. I want to teach you strength. For you to know that you can pick yourself up, brush yourself off, and face life’s obstacles with a smile on your face and determination in you heart. I want you to know that nothing can drag you down, unless you allow it to. My grandma used to tell me all the time that, while we can’t always control what happens to us in life, we are always in control of what we let it make of us. I want to be a living, breathing example of that lesson for you.
I don’t know what I’m doing. How to navigate through all of this.
I’m terrified that it shows. That I’m failing you with every tear I shed.
My momma heart aches as my mind whirls through a never-ending list of what-if’s and fears of what’s to come. So many people have told me that everything is going to be fine. They tell me this is a tough time that we’ll work our way through and that we’ll come out the other side with little trace of the obstacles we currently face.
I look into their eyes, and I know that they believe that.
I wish that I could believe it, too.
My greatest fear of all came to life last week. And today, I was left searching for the right words to answer you with when you asked to go play with your friends. “I don’t know, Baby,” I whispered softly as you asked me why we couldn’t. Because I don’t. I don’t understand their momma’s decision not to let you be around them.
I can’t stand the thought of anyone treating you differently.
Still, I fear that even I treat you differently sometimes.
I don’t know what the future holds…
With everything that I have, I pray for the best.
I’m terrified of the worst.
I wish desperately for the answers to the questions. Now.
I’m afraid I won’t be able to handle them when they come.
I want to fix this.
I hate knowing that I can’t.
I know that we’ll get through this, that we’ll find our way.
I just wish that I could feel more confident in the path we’re taking to get there.
But there is one thing I do know…
I love you. More than life itself. More than I knew it was possible to love.
You are my shining star. My light in the dark. Perfect in everyway. Just the way you are.
This blog post is part of the 2012 Summer Blog Challenge: 31 posts in 31 days. For more blogging awesomeness, check out some of my fellow bloggers:
Zita at The Dulock Diaries
April at This Mom’s Got Something To Say
Natasha at Natural Urban Mamas
Meaghan at Magz D Life
Tammy at Tam I Am
Liam at In the Now
Cliff at Peer Pressure Works
Peter at Crazy Wookie Cookies
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