Best of Times, Worst of Times

About two months ago I had lunch with an expectant mom who'd confirmed via amnio that her little one had an extra chromosome.  I don't wish to violate her privacy but I think I can share in true narcissistic blogger fashion how very, very odd that conversation was for me.  I had this sensation of looking at my life through a shop window and judging.  Did I seem happy?  Anxious?  Frazzled?  She had this URL so I went back thru my posts to make sure I hadn't been in a blue streak.  I evaluated the cuteness level of my kids' photos (extra adorable, as usual).  I suddenly felt this great weight of representing The Future and couldn't decide how to condense our entire lives into one hour over salads.

At the time I was also driving around with a big piece of poster board in my truck because I'd fully intended to waive my no-self portraits rule for this project.  But I could not think of a single damn thing to say.  Every empty platitude I'd ever heard crowded my head and mocked me.  Special kids for special parents?  Welcome to Holland?  Iraq?  Sub-Saharan African?  It'll be fine?  No one should ever ever say this to a new parent.  My first son was stillborn at 37 weeks because of a freak cord accident.  My daughter was given an extra chromosome and a wonky heart.  You cannot make that promise.

Recognizing my dark tendencies, what I really wanted to do was direct that new mom over to some Happy Pretty Blogs where there is no fretting about anesthesia for my 3 year old's 4th surgery (even if 3 were "minor") or struggling to get 40 hours in at work when the day care keeps calling because I fed my child too much fruit.  I ended up chatting about how cute my girl was, how much she loved her dogs and her brother, I downplayed some of my concerns ("we're doing a little private speech therapy on the side"), and I said that parenting any child can be hard.

Though facile, I really do believe that.  My son had endless screaming colic for 9 months straight, shellacked his entire room once with Desitin, had his forehead stitched up, and his hand superglued back together.  My daughter needed to be fed 16 hours a day for the first three months of her life because we were too stubborn to rely on the feeding tube (because we'd read something about palate formation in kids with Ds), she recently doused the living room in syrup, and she had stitches in her forehead, in almost the exact same spot as her brother.  And after they fixed her heart, they superglued her chest back together.

Yes, I know our front door needs to painted. 

Money's always an issue but that's because we didn't cut fast or hard enough when we went from DINKs (double income, no kids) to TKO (two kids, one income), and Matt's fledgling work from home gig selling large expensive industrial things coincided perfectly with the economy crashing.  The medical bills, therapy, & life insurance don't help though.  Really don't help.  But I don't like mentioning it because I don't want anyone to think my little girl brought me to the hand wringing, hair pulling state I was in over recent car repairs.  Not when there are trolls out there who believe she's a burden on society.

I wonder what a random person would see reading this.  A "typical" family's jumbled roller coaster of good days, birthday cakes, & vomiting flu?  Or "OMG - Train Wreck!  (same breath) do you know about their daughter...?"  I wonder what my family thinks?

There is so much joy and love.  So many snuggles, movie nights, and giggles.  Such a long list of favorite games, bedtime stories, and songs.  I like to post pictures from the park and birthday parties but I'll admit I use this space to vent.  If the latter has taken up too much space here, then the failure is mine.  These are the very best days.