I don't think there's been a day since the infamous six-month checkup that I haven't cried. Quiet often, I cry hard, but somehow I always seem to cry the hardest on Sundays. Maybe because after a week of struggling with Houdini to eat and having each feeding start and end with a sinking feeling, I get to Sunday and feel that I can't possibly, that we can't possibly go through all that again.
I think Lemel wishes he could get it all out of his system by crying--not that you really do, but at least it's the physical outlet least likely to physically hurt you or anyone. I am sorry that Ie ver doubted whether he felt as anxious, stressed, sad, powerless, angry, depressed...as I do. When we pulled into the driveway from our trip to Babies'R'Us--a harder and harder trip to make these days when all I can do is compare Houdini to babies his age and even younger and see how much thinner he is--and I sat sobbing in the back seat, holding on to Houdini's hand as he slept, Lemel came around to the back of the van, climbed in and then put his head in my lap and just held me tight. It wasn't a hug meant to comfort--it was a hug asking for comfort and, for the first time in a long time, I felt overwhelmingly protective of him. It pains me terribly--almost as much as when Houdini refuses to eat--to see Lemel with the wind knocked out of his sails. He is the optimist, the emotionally stoic one, and to see him with an almost despairing look in his eyes scares me more than anything.
It gets me to step up emotionally and take charge in that aspect, for a while, though, and he needs that. At least I get a break of sorts at work, because worrying from afar the days I am not home is nothing like worrying in person when you're experiencing the futility of fulfilling you child's most basic need. (Yes, Houdini's lack of appetite is not really our doing--unless it's genetically our fault-- but nothing anyone can say can convince us otherwise. Though it's not like anyone is rushing to assure us we're not somehow to blame, anyway.)
At the end of it all, we have each other, even though I sometimes forget that. I mustn't, though, because this is the hardest thing I have ever gone through and it's not even been a month since it started, and we have a long, long road ahead of us, even with the best of results.
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Has it really only been 4 weeks since the doctor's visit? God, it feels like so much longer. I guess time does fly when you are having fun. Here's another reason why I feel bad for Lemel: except for the first week of his leave, his entire time off, meant to be spent in care-free joy with his son, has been one big ball of anxiety and stress (can I use those words any more? Why, yes, I can.)
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Turns out I am not the only person who thinks the Perfect Hideaway is in a corner of our leather sectional couch and the microfiber blanket thrown over the back. When Lemel had to take a mental timeout today, that's exactly where he ended up.
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Some day I hope to have something upbeat written here. A small part of me thinks I am just writing that for melodramatic effect, but the bigger part of me doesn't believe that will come to pass, despite desperately wishing it and melodrama be damned.
