I wish I was one of those valiant types that got all stoic and strong in the face of adversity. But I'm not. Today is my first day alone with the kids since I found out. Michael happened to be on vacation last week.
This is a hard day.
Incidentally, before I forget -- tomorrow I see surgeon number two, in NYC. If I don't post I'll be sure to on Weds.
Yesterday, for a little while, I was playing with Daniel and making him laugh and he looked at me with a big smile and said, "Mama happy." That is what he wants...no -- more...it is what he needs. He needs me to be happy and calm, or at least to seem that way. If he is to lose so much he needs to at least see his same old Mama, that normal woman of barely more than a month ago.
It's not that my son has never seen me cry, he has and is typically very sweet. But the past month I've cried to varying degrees every day...several times a day. And since the 27th, since my diagnosis, well, I think I've been crying more of the time than not. His Daddy has been home since I found out, so Daniel has felt safe and turned to him. Which is good, truly, but heartbreaking for me...and thus more tears flow.
I also think that my hormones from the weaning process are out of whack...weaning can be a bit like post partum depression from what I've heard.
Anyway, yesterday Daniel was crying because he wanted to go outside but it was raining. I went to comfort him and he wouldn't come near me, he looked at me like he hated me and screamed at me when I asked if I could pick him up. He only wanted Daddy, even though it was actually Daddy that had said no. He wanted no part of me for hours. I crumpled and wept. I even begged him, yes, even tried to bribe him into coming and giving me a hug or sitting next to me. It was not my finest moment motherhood wise, I know. I so desperately needed to feel forgiven by him that I couldn't keep perspective.
I decided a little rain would hurt neither of us compared to the pain we both seemed to be in and so we went outside. He let me carry him because he didn't like the wet grass, let me hold his hand, and let me pick him a dandelion. Later in the day I put on a sock and started doing puppet antics and he giggled...that's when he said, "Mama happy" and it clicked.
Just how much crying is one very little boy supposed to empathise with? He needs me to be happy.
So now instead of coming in the back room here and there throughout the day to write, I come here to cry. Then I go back out and smile at him. Today I am pretending to be happy. I'm pretending my ass off. It is exhausting beyond belief, but it seems to be working. He is happier than I've seen him all week, and he sat on my lap and pet me and told me he loves my "booful hair".
Oh, and I'll be crazy gluing a wig to my head when mine falls out.