The makeup is a little creepy to begin with so it's not like I was
expecting him to be delivering the warmest of welcomes to Orange
County. Still, we are here and Simon is sleeping soundly next to me.
I don't think I've felt this lonely or scared since I was nine years
old and heading off to summer camp for the very first time.
Since that turned out ok (or technically speaking amaze-balls!!!) I am
trying to have faith that this experience could be just as life
changing and transformative.
But, here we at the Ronald McDonald house, a place no parent ever
expects to visit, surrounded by other parents and kids practicing a
different kind of childhood and parenting, getting ready to spend 3
weeks in the hospital working on getting Simon to eat all of his food
via his mouth instead of a surgically placed plastic tube.
Sounds nucking futz when I read it back but the again it's all he and
I have really known.
I'm scared. I'm hopeful. I have no idea what's coming.
We are in a strange place getting ready to do what seems like such a
strange thing with very friendly but very real strangers to us.
And, lying down in the strange bed with Simon, getting nose to nose,
is about just as familiar to me as breathing.
He brings it all home.
I am his anchor.
It was clear to me as he easily slipped into bedtime mode with
familiar requests for getting under the sheets and making a fort, make
believe check-ups and singing along with favorite songs played quietly
on the itouch.
I realized that if I am his anchor, I need to get my crap
together and feel grounded. It's interesting though, the duality of
feeling grounded and present (for Simon) and at the same time feeling
alone, lost, and wondering.
What's coming? How will he respond? How will I? When will we laugh?
When will I pee? Who will be the people that we say Hi to as we make
our way around the hospital?
Who knows?
I guess I'll know a little more tomorrow. Stay tuned.
expecting him to be delivering the warmest of welcomes to Orange
County. Still, we are here and Simon is sleeping soundly next to me.
I don't think I've felt this lonely or scared since I was nine years
old and heading off to summer camp for the very first time.
Since that turned out ok (or technically speaking amaze-balls!!!) I am
trying to have faith that this experience could be just as life
changing and transformative.
But, here we at the Ronald McDonald house, a place no parent ever
expects to visit, surrounded by other parents and kids practicing a
different kind of childhood and parenting, getting ready to spend 3
weeks in the hospital working on getting Simon to eat all of his food
via his mouth instead of a surgically placed plastic tube.
Sounds nucking futz when I read it back but the again it's all he and
I have really known.
I'm scared. I'm hopeful. I have no idea what's coming.
We are in a strange place getting ready to do what seems like such a
strange thing with very friendly but very real strangers to us.
And, lying down in the strange bed with Simon, getting nose to nose,
is about just as familiar to me as breathing.
He brings it all home.
I am his anchor.
It was clear to me as he easily slipped into bedtime mode with
familiar requests for getting under the sheets and making a fort, make
believe check-ups and singing along with favorite songs played quietly
on the itouch.
I realized that if I am his anchor, I need to get my crap
together and feel grounded. It's interesting though, the duality of
feeling grounded and present (for Simon) and at the same time feeling
alone, lost, and wondering.
What's coming? How will he respond? How will I? When will we laugh?
When will I pee? Who will be the people that we say Hi to as we make
our way around the hospital?
Who knows?
I guess I'll know a little more tomorrow. Stay tuned.
7 comments:
3Sounds very, very familiar. I will be thinking positive thoughts for you both over the next three weeks! Here's to a January without tube feeds! Best of luck on this effort!
Laura I'm so excited for you guys! Can't wait to hear more. I don't know any mom more awesome than you. Whatever Simon needs from you...you're already doing it. Love to you all! Michelle
You are amazing: anchor, mom, pillar, beautiful. Wishing you luck and strength on this journey towards no more tubes but plates full of food!
Love,
Sarah
Wishing you courage and strength to fight the fight against tubes. Hoping we can all share plates of food very soon.
Love,
Sarah
Oh, good luck! Hope all goes well. I love the Ronald McDonald house in Boise. There was such a warmth and so much love from the community. Hope you have a good experience.
Jeri
Here's thinking of you two and Jaimie in the next few weeks. The Forest Family is sending good vibes for ease, comfort, learning, healing, rest, and successes.
Those other families staying with you and all of the helpful folks at the hospital will be so happy to hear your laughter. It's contagious! And don't forget... It's Channukah- Miracles are everywhere!
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