Yesterday A. turned twenty months old. She’s having a bad night tonight, I can tell because her Baby Dragon acid breath is particularly potent. Seeing her so uncomfortable makes me run down the list of things I ate and things she ate in my mind, wondering which is to blame. Was it the rice after all? We’ve reintroduced it recently, thinking it may have been a cross-reaction like we suspected. Or maybe it’s the fatty meat she ate for dinner just aggravating her reflux? The guessing game is on again. And the blame game too. I should know… I shouldn’t have eaten [x] and she would be OK. I don’t know that for sure, but I suspect. But last night was great; she slept for 4 or 5 hours without crying, a record this month. And I ate hot Indian food, so why tonight is a bad night?
I also would like to take stock of the impact A.’s illness has had on our health, our social life, our finances and our plans for the future… She rocked our world in so many ways.
“I think we're lucky that A.'s such a good natured kid, she really is a trooper, so happy and positive during the day. She's almost never whiny or cranky, even with the sleep deprivation and discomfort. Yes, she's doing amazingly well despite all that. And I know I whine a lot. It's just frustrating not to be able to just wave a magic wand and make it go away. I hate being all doom and gloom all the time. I know I've been negative, and it's wearing me out and probably makes me a drag to be around. I never used to be one for the pity party thing.”
And it struck me that part of the reason I haven’t asked for MORE help, is because I feel embarrassed about the fact that I am struggling. I was always the “go to” person for all my friends. Everyone came to me with their problems, and I would wisely nod my head, listen and give them my two or three cents worth of advice. And often it was **** good advice. And then there was my professional life, which required a lot of fast thinking and strategizing and implementation of complex solutions… And I was a pretty darn good sales and marketing executive. I kicked *** at my job. So I was told. I was organized and helped other organize. And organize their ideas too. So to have become this tired, fuzzy-brained, barely able to communicate coherently, forgetful, disorganized, flaky woman feels like a defeat. Bottom line, I feel like a loser and when talking to my friends – especially those who knew me in my past life – I feel like I have a big “L” branded on my forehead. I feel ashamed when I run into prior co-workers. I get this feeling that they pity me. I don’t want to be pitied. I am too proud for anyone to feel sorry for me. I am the indestructible one, right? I mean, after all I am a survivor. I survived rape. I survived an abusive relationship. I survived two miscarriages. I survived months of failed attempts to conceive. But then the baby we had waited for such a long time enters our lives and she cries and hurts, night after night. And we just hold her, helpless and frustrated, often unable to soothe her much. It's a very disempowering feeling.
