Friday, September 14, 2012

The Breakdown

I realize I have not been the best at keeping up with the blog lately (or really ever.)  I blame my slow computer.  Five days now it has been trying to update Facebook (which is why all my Facebook followers have been missing out on all my witty banter and such) and it took almost two weeks to get this page open to write a new blog post then another two days to add links and a picture.  Yes, it's a bit slow at times.  It has also begun to make a strange noise from time to time...

So, last time I told you about my doctor's appointment of awesomeness.  It was so incredibly awesome that I felt a great weight lifted.

Which is why you might have been very surprised to see me the following morning, driving back home after dropping my husband off for work, having a bit of a mental breakdown.

Let's back up a couple of days.  The day before my amazing doctor's appointment of all amazing amazingness, two things happened.

First I was doing dishes.  (I know, I should really learn my lesson!)  And I made a huge watery mess on the floor.  My husband stepped in the puddle and commented on it.  I waved him off and told him I always made a mess doing dishes and it's just water so it will dry.  He brought in a towel and dried it up.  Then I stepped in the puddle that was leaking out of the towel.

Wait, what?

Yes, a giant puddle over and above the water that had now saturated a full size bath towel.  There is no way I made that much of a mess!  We pulled out the contents of under the sink cabinet.  They are currently still scattered across my kitchen counters and floor.  After some investigation we discovered that the garbage disposal is leaking.  Well you probably know by now how much we enjoy plumbing problems around here.  So we decided simply not to use that side of the sink.

During all this craziness the Princess came running in crying.  She was holding her mouth.  Correction, she was holding her tooth.

No one saw her injure herself and the best she can tell me is that it was the rocking chair.  What do you want to bet she wasn't just sitting properly in it?

Ya'll know how I love a good mouth injury!  (Yes, I spell it ya"ll and spell checker has no problem with it so it must be correct.)  So, I calmed her down and hubby washed her mouth out and got the bleeding to stop.  Yes, there is always blood isn't there?  We checked her tooth to see if the gum looked swollen or red and it looked ok.  But I was rather worried about it.  She has caps on her teeth (chalk teeth) and so we have to watch carefully because if she injures the tooth we might not be able to tell under the cap.  Yup, queen of mouth injuries and we have to take her into the dentist any time she injures a tooth.  This is amazingly only the second time in the year since she got the caps put on.  The first time was one week after she had the caps put on.

So, all that craziness happened and then the next day we pretty much put it all out of our minds because we had the doctor's appointment and at first we were all nervous and then we were all relieved and it was all emotional and stuff so I honestly didn't think about any of the other stuff all that day.

Then that night I remembered her tooth and took a look at it to see if there was any redness or swelling.  I didn't see any redness and maybe a tiny bit of swelling but it was hard to tell.  Still, it didn't look quite right...

It took me a minute and suddenly I realized one tooth looked lower than the other.  Now this might not be that big a deal except that I knew for a fact that the caps had been perfectly even.  I reached out and touched her tooth.


I freaked!

Husband came running.

Aaaahhhh!!!  Her tooth!!  It's MOVING!!!!

How did I not notice that the night before?!?!

So, being that it was already night and nothing I could really do about it right away.  I sent her to bed and made plans to take my husband to work the next morning so I could take her to the dentist.

The next morning I dropped him off and called her dentist.  Who as it turned out was already on vacation for Labor Day.  (It was the Friday before.)  The other dentist in the office was also on vacation and neither would be back until Wednesday.  WEDNESDAY!!!  I would have to go another FIVE days stressing out about her dang tooth!!  What would happen?  Would it fall out?!  She hasn't even made it to her 4th birthday and she already has a mouth full of caps AND might be losing a tooth!  I was told to put her on a soft food diet in case it was only loose and hope it would tighten back up.  Really nothing could be done other than x-ray to see if it was a root fracture or not.  There would be no "fixing" it.

Then I had this thought.  "No one is going to believe me."  "People are going to start thinking I am the biggest liar on the planet."

Yes, I had a bit of a Job moment.  "Why is everything happening to me?"  "What are you trying to do to me, God?!"  "This?  This is the STRAW!"  "I must be the worst parent ever.  I can't protect any of my children."

And I drove home with tears streaming, tightly clutching the steering wheel, gritting my teeth and trying with all my power not to snap at my children who were in the back seat of the car, serenading me with a boisterous rendition of the "abcdef TOILET!" song.  (Why?  Why does it always have to be toilets or poop or other such things?)

Why is it that on the day you find yourself crying your eyes out while driving home, all the construction workers have to be out on the side of the road watching you as you slowly drive past in construction traffic??

I spent the rest of the day continuing in my depths of despair, woe is me, this is the worst thing that could happen ever, kind of thoughts.  I worried that if she went several years without her front top tooth then her adult tooth wouldn't grow in properly.  Maybe the space would start to close up.  She would have to have braces just to get her front tooth in.  I thought of the pictures we would be taking in the hospital when the baby is born and all I could think about was that the Princess might be missing a tooth.  (Because really, that would just RUIN the pictures... that's sarcasm btw.)

Now, I know exactly what you are all thinking.

Wait a minute.

If she is only three.  Then that tooth.  The one you got all freaked out about and spent the entire day in MISERY over.  That tooth is a baby tooth.  You do realize?  They grow back!

Um, yes.  That realization finally occurred to me when I finally came to my senses and drug myself up out of my little pity party.

In the grand scheme of things.  Wow.  Did I ever overreact!

Also we did take her into the dentist that Wednesday and she was spectacularly uncooperative (the Princess not the dentist) and wouldn't sit still for the x-ray.  So, we think it is a root fracture but the good news is that it hasn't fallen out and the dentist sees no reason to pull it since it's not infected or anything.  I think the tooth has turned black judging by a little sliver I can see at the top but the beauty of the cap is that it covers it up.  Hopefully it will just tighten back up and stay in.  And if it doesn't?  Oh well.  It's a BABY tooth!
As far as braces are concerned, with our family history, the poor child is doomed to have them anyway.  Also, see how nice and straight those caps are?  Her real teeth?  Not so much.

And the garbage disposal?  Well, I guess I just can't do dishes until my dad comes to visit and fixes it for us.  Ahem.  CAN'T do dishes.  Shhhhhh.

I also came to the realization that the reason I was freaking out so much about the tooth is that I was really stressing about other things.

You see, I have entered a new phase of the whole process with the baby.

First we were just going through the whole shock of it all.

Then I entered into research mode which is kind of my strong suit.  I can research all day and all night and I throw myself into it.  Google is my best friend.

Then after our appointment with the Neonatologist that went not so well, I got into my crusade mode.

Suddenly, after our awesomely amazing appointment of all awesomeness, I found myself without a crusade.  Without any more major research to do.  And with the initial shock subsided.

That brought us right into planning and preparation mode.

Planning is not my best friend.

Suddenly, I have to come up with a birth plan.  And it has to be perfect.  (No pressure or anything...)  Because I certainly don't want to look back someday and think, "I should have done this." or "I can't believe I forgot that."

So, I sit with my list and stare at it and try to bring my brain into planning mode while I pack on all this pressure and come up with all my questions and endless possible scenarios.  And we are now officially counting down weeks instead of months.  And when I go in for my doctor visits they tell me my blood pressure is high.  My blood pressure is ALWAYS low.  And I suddenly find myself unable to sleep at night.  Which is unusual for me.  Usually when I get stressed the opposite happens.  My husband is the stressed insomnia person.  When I get stressed my mind just shuts itself off.  I find myself wanting to sleep all the time.  An avoidance reaction.

Now, in addition to the whole third trimester general uncomfortableness tossing and turning, I find myself awake at night playing out the scenarios and trying to plan out how everything will occur when I know I really have no control and all of my planning might not matter anyway.  My biggest fear (you know over and above the fear of losing my son) is that I will get no time with him at all.

And I find myself fighting whenever I say that prayer.  You know the one.  "Thy will be done."  And I have to rush through it to get that Amen in before my heart throws out that cry that it always insists on doing.  "Thywillbedoneamen! (But if you could happen by any chance to make it your will to do what I really want, that would be really awesome!  Amen.")  Because it's really hard not to give God some kind of a time frame.  Not to ask for at least a few hours with my little guy.  I know no matter how long I have it won't be enough and I will find myself begging for more.  I know I will be counting each precious little breath.  Begging him to take another.  And it's really hard to think of the possibility of him not even taking that first one.

Because I really want to hold him.  To hold his little hand and feel his fingers curl around mine.  To look into his eyes.  To get to know him a little and let him get to know me a little.  I want my husband to get that chance.  I've gotten the whole pregnancy to feel him grow and move.  To bond with him and love on him.  To feel him get the hiccups which he seems to be prone to.  I want my husband to have some time with him too.  And I want the kids to get the chance to meet and hold and love their little brother too.  And I want him baptized.  And I would love for our other family members to get the chance to hold him.  And I want more time with him.  And of course I would really love to bring him home...

I mean is that really too much to ask?

And I find myself wishing I could just keep him inside where he is safe and sheltered forever.  I'll deal with the heartburn and the aches and pains.  Just let me keep him safe!  Just let me keep him.  While at the same time I am so eager to meet him.  (The parent's challenge right there, wanting to keep them safe and close but also knowing you need to let them grow.)

I need to let him grow.  I need to let him be who he is meant to be.  And that means I need to be willing to let him go.

"Then Job answered the Lord: 'I know that thou canst do all things, and that no purpose of thine can be thwarted."  Job 42:1-2