It’s official.
It’s official. I have lost 35 pounds in two weeks. Well, only 32 since people have been bringing us meals. 
Laelie gained her required eight ounces plus five more to show off for her doctor’s appointment. She showed her disdain for the scale, though, by promptly peeing all over everything… twice. Little imp.
…
I’m still having the nightmares. The memories of them are worse since I have to wake up every two and a half hours to feed my daughter. So I have clear images still bursting in my head as I’m tending to her. Lots of the dreams revolve around Laelie being tortured or starved. The first is a fear in line with her condition, and the second, a fear in line with being a new mom and having the ‘is-she-getting-enough?’ thoughts after each breast feeding. Her weight is showing she’s getting enough and I just have to tell myself that my fear is normal but false.
However, the nightmares where she’s being tortured are more real. They aren’t normal. They aren’t false. That’s her future.
I see the pictures on this site and am reminded of a happy couple anticipating the arrival of their first baby. Psalm 126:3 says, “The Lord has done amazing things for us! What joy!” (NLT) That’s the way I thought I would feel when she came into the world. It feels like the joy got robbed from us. I wonder when I can join the psalmist in his exclamation. Will I be able to before she’s too much older?
Charley still answers the phone saying, “Hi,… Good, how are you?…” and I hate it because we’re so far away from doing “good.” Of course Charley is already moving over this bump in the road so often I’m left alone in my grief. He’s already in a mood to do parenty things like talking about what school she’ll go to and getting her a gmail account (he was so mad when Laelia@gmail.com was not available :)). I’m not there yet. He’s talking about where to go for holidays and going on dates with me again while a babysitter watches her. I’m *definitely* not there yet. I was invited to the Halloween party at work and Thanksgiving dinner at home (in Placerville), but I’m just not ready. Maybe I will want to leave the house someday and be happy to leave my little daughter with a friend, but that day is far away.
My grandfather had a stroke today. They found out later that it was a minor one and are testing him for clues to a major one coming. I admit I panicked at the overwhelming need to drive up there and the impossibility of doing it with a daughter whose car seat was meant for someone with legs that could bend to allow for the belt. I was frightened at the thought of leaving my house with a tiny, breakable child.
I know I need to let her spread her wings and climb trees and explore her world. I can’t be the overprotective beast of a mother who raises a dependent weakling. I keep thinking everything is going to hurt her and everything is painful for her. Charley laughed at me when I freaked out over the thought of her getting a cold. I tried to explain that because she was special, she just shouldn’t have to suffer anything extra like a cold, a bad haircut, a broken heart or growing pains. He told me I can’t deprive her of life just because she’s special. He’s right. I have no respect for that kind of botched parenting.
Charley’s always gentle with me when I go crazy. And he’s always making me laugh. I want my daughter to have a husband like him. I want her to feel attractive.
I have a hard time living from day to day. I am constantly jumping twenty years into the future and then crying my eyes out at the picture I see. Then on the flip side, I keep wishing it was twenty years in the future so my daughter could have already lived through most of the pain. Why can’t I just enjoy my baby? Well if joy comes in the morning I’d better get to bed and wait it out. The rest of my family is asleep on the couch.
