I'm having a rough day.
Still don't feel well and I'm conflicted. I still am not 100% sure I have an infection, and though I don't feel TONS better, I feel a hair better than yesterday and still wonder if I really need the antibiotic. So, I haven't taken it and I hate not being sure. Most days, "Better safe than sorry," is my mantra, but I don't necessarily know which is the 'safe' and which is the 'sorry'. Medicine we don't need vs. not taking medicine that we *may* need.
I'm not sleeping. That's not unusual, but at least when John is home, I sort of get forced to try. I didn't go to bed until close to 4 am and was back up at 9 for the cable guy.
Which brings me to the next frustration. He came, he did stuff, he said he needed to send someone else out tomorrow (but I don't need to be here), he left, cable is still all jacked up (with the possibility of the internet being lost looming). I talked to the cable company for an hour (and ran back and forth between THREE different tvs on THREE different levels of my house) and was given the resolution of: They'll squeeze me in tomorrow, but I'll have to be here after all and because they are squeezing me in, they can't give me a time frame. Not 9-1, not 1-5....ALL FLIPPING DAY. Good grief.
Mostly, though, my heart aches.
Eight months ago, my perfect and precious little boy was born. As time goes on, I have so many regrets. I regret that I had some of the medicine I did when I was in labor because I think that is sort of what made the time after Matthew was born a bit fuzzy and hours seem like minutes. I wish I had made better use of the time that I could have had with him before he was taken to Georgetown. I only got to touch a sweet little cheek and shoulder...never even got to see his face full-on.
I could not STAND the mess my office has become so, to combat insomnia, I tore it apart and cleaned it up in a major way. I came across the fetal heartrate strips of Matthew's when I was in labor. They broke my heart as I got closer to the end and saw how erratic they were....I'm not and never have been one to put a lot of 'feeling' on a newborn. That's just me, but I really feel like at those stages, it's all instinct and God sort of just leading the way for them...I don't believe there's much cognizance of what is happening in their world, but more reacting.
I deviated from that, though, when I saw those strips for a minute. I just cried and cried thinking about what must have been going through his head those last few minutes...when his heartrate was crazy...then nothing...then back, but so weak...I saw those heartate variations and for just a minute, wondered if he was scared or suffering.
I can't get that out of my head.
Eight months. Time has just gone by in a way I cannot even fathom, yet it still seems so frozen. Flashbacks are still so vivid, and come without any warning or trigger.
I should be taking a picture of him with a sweet little 8 months sign. I should be posting about how he's pulling himself up in the crib and doesn't like rice but loves bananas. I should be taking him to the beach and cleaning sand out of poopy diapers.
Like I said, mostly, my heart just aches.
We wrapped up our Anchored By Hope Bible Study on Sunday and shared our memorials. It was hard to do one for you...so soon after you've left us, but even still, so soon after I did the last one. This time, I just wrote a letter to Matthew with some pictures and Katy did a lovely job putting it in video.
I think it says a lot about where I've been and to where I've come...but leaves me longing still for where he is.
Of course, it also leaves me longing more for where He is, so I continue to cling.