My Little Bundle of…Joy?
It’s been a while since you’ve kept me awake at night, and we both know that when you put the toothpicks to my eyelids and prop them open, I do tend to think of you more, and then of course, I feel the need (or is it desire?) to communicate with you. I’m sitting here with my chin in my hands, slits of eyes..yet, I feel the stinging woodiness of the pointy toothpicks, just wondering why you want to bother me now. It’s so much work to try and deal with you. The efforts I put in are exhaustive. Right now, I don’t have the strength to reach my pinkie over to press the exclamation point. All you’re, gonna, get is dot, dot, dot…
Remember the class in high school? The one that was supposed to teach kids about parenting? You, know the one–theyhad to take care of an egg all weekend, or the allotted time prescribed by a teacher. I was thinking what, would it, be like if I had to physically see you and take care of you for a weekend. What would that be like? I’m thinking that the doctor would present you to me in a little fleece blanket, one that is sky blue with butterflies in pastel colors. I’d pull back one corner of the little blanket to take a peek at you, expecting a smooth cherubic pink (albeit maybe a little chubby) thyroid gland with cute little wings, wriggling and almost hearing a little coo…but what I see is you–a wrinkly, grayish dusky pink with a dull pallor. One of your wings is smaller than the other and the tip is bent and dried up, not unlike an overcooked chicken wing. There’s no wriggling and cooing in you, you’re too busy just trying to breathe, as your little body heaves up and down and I hear a tender sigh. I wonder out loud to myself, “How the hell am I, gonna, take care of this?! (oh..exclamation, point..hey, I did it!) This thing is sickly.” The doctor quickly points out to me that he knows this already, and notes that I am up to the challenge now. Why did he not discuss this with me ahead of time? I had the ultrasound; didn’t it show up? “Oh really??” I ponder as one eyebrow cocks over my wide eyes. Okay, let’s get you, outtahere so we can begin the weekend already. There’s a lot to do if I’m going to take care of you.
It all begins as I try to leave the office. People, see the pretty little blanket and want to take a peek at you. “Oh, poor dear…you’ve, got your hands full,” says one. “It’s so..so..tiny,” says another. I hear their whispers as I go by. “That one’s never, gonna, make it, poor thing,” or, “Did you see how ugly it is? Bleah.” I’m in such a hurry to leave–is it that I don’t want anyone to see my not-so-perfect thyroid? Hey, I’m stuck with you, so let’s go and make the best of it. When we get out into the fresh air, I feel you stir a little under that blanket. Are you cold?, hot? I uncover you a little and you appear to settle..maybe, you were hot, but you gravitate towards the little patches of sunlight. You like that Vitamin D, don’t you? We’ll stay out in the sunshine for a little while. We get you home and into the house, and I put you, blanket and all into a little breadbasket–well, it, looks like a bed, what the heck. I examine you again, and just your color and dried-up bits make me think that you’re dehydrated, so we share a bottle of water. That went down pretty easy…we’ll, have some more later.
Knowing that you’d be arriving soon, and suspecting that you would not be well with all the symptoms I’ve had carrying you for this many years, I’ve been reading up on how to take care of you. I’m just not sure how you will let me know what you need, but, right now, I am so tired. Can we just take a little nap? We fall asleep on the couch, and I awake to your fussing about. You are a fussy little thing, aren’t you? I’m trying to figure out what it is, you’re needing. Some food?Okay…I’d rather be eating cold pizza, but let’s see, I’ve gotten prepared ahead of time for you. How, ’bout some fresh fruit and a little piece of cheese, maybe some, greek yogurt with a drizzle of coconut oil and honey? I eat it. You seem to like it. We’ll have to see how we both react later. My brain is a little fuzzy yet.
Let’s do something. I wrap you up and take you next door to visit my family. At first they’re eager to see you, but when they realize that you’re not perfect, they don’t want to be bothered with you. They’d rather talk about their cooking utensils. Fine. I have to go to work during the weekend, so I bring you along with me. They want to see you too, but just like family, they think that I should just put you on the shelf and forget about you and get on with things. Get the work done. Buck up. I can’t do that…not when you’re right there with me, staring me in the face, especially with that crooked wing.. You’re mine and sometimes you need to come first.
Funny, before all of this and until you came along, I smiled more, had increased energy, and did everything that everyone asked. A yes girl? Maybe… Now, the good happy smiling moments are fewer, and I really have to focus on them and celebrate them. I am a little quicker to stand up for myself and say NO once in awhile. That’s not always a bad thing. Are you teaching me to take care of myself, as I take care of you?
The weekend goes by pretty fast. You keep me up at night. I rub coconut oil on you. Fussy you. Brainfogged, me. We take our vitamins and medicine. We get a little sunshine and nap when we’re tired. I’m learning it’s easier when I really take a look at you and try to figure out what you need and want. It’s coming easier to me. It’s almost time to give you back, but I’m thinking…I’m cancelling the appointment and I’m going to keep you, crooked dried up wing and all.
I love you.