These last few days have seemed like walking through waist-high water. It feels like I'm expending a lot of energy to get nowhere.
I've finally purchased some furniture for Thing 2's room, dragged a metric ton of clothes to the Goodwill donation station and procured a gift for the little miss from her new baby brother -- a Mickey and Minnie Mouse watch that plays "You Are My Sunshine."
She and I have finished making a "memory book" for her beloved babysitter, whose last week coincides with the baby's arrival. I've even cleaned the house (and re-cleaned the house) whenever anyone steps foot on the floor.
But since the scary, last-minute news of the potential for health problems, not to mention Down syndrome, I've been feeling as if things are in a state of Limbo. (Too bad Limbo's been scrubbed from dogma ... it's the perfect place for my mind to be floating about right now.)
The doctor I saw today -- my last visit -- couldn't offer any reassurance, either. Turns out the regular ultrasounds done in the office are just for shits and giggles or who knows, maybe just padding their bottom lines as they cover their bottoms. And the quadscreen tests, not terribly reliable. All he could offer was sad eyes and a low, concerned voice, "we'll know on Tuesday."
I don't know how to face the next seven days.
*Time seems to have stopped.
*Eating isn't a priority.
*Writing doesn't matter, and yet it must get done.
There isn't enough food for thought.
All the niceties I contemplated ... birth announcements, phone trees for notification purposes, and other to-dos are at a standstill. The excitement is gone. Again. I am back to feeling like a horrible mother.
How do I move forward until I know what we're dealing with? As I make doctors appointments -- for myself and the newbie -– I envision a new life of trips to medical professionals, fears of being bullied into decisions I don't want to make, having to fight every step of the way.
I am reminded of little essay that parents of special-needs kids get handed pretty routinely by well-meaning folk called "Welcome to Holland," about how having a special-needs child is like planning a special trip to Italy. You learned the language and the customs. You are all set to tour Venice and Florence and Milan, but instead your find yourself landing in Holland.
All I can think is that having a special needs kid is NOT at all like getting rerouted to Holland. It's more like planning a wonderful vacation only to find yourself being sent to a war zone. A place that is frightening, not filled with flowers. Every time a doctor tells you the worst-case scenario, you have only the worst-case scenario.
You have to cover your eyes and plug on as their cover their asses. Hope is something you have to find on your own.
Perhaps in time you'll be taking the pretty photographs, and writing down the tales of all the adventures with an eye towards the comical, but at the moment you're just trying to learn the language, keep your head down and wait.