Let me translate; please sissy! He looks up to his older sister so much, picks up on everything and mimics all, good & bad. His manners are suburb but the bad habits are surreal. He is a special child, a baby we weren't sure we would be blessed with. He was watched over intensely by many in the womb. He followed 2 baby's that didn't make it, late term traumatizing losses. He will never be viewed as a replacement only a huge life of his own. He gathered all extra energy that was left behind to make it through and now leaves me worn out every day. My love for him is the same as it is for all of my children, I just hold him a little tighter.
I used to write so much more. It used to be so much easier, the words would just come out. Now I read them a couple times and think a few minutes before I put them up there. And press delete a lot. Before I could not read. For many months, maybe a couple years.... I could not successfully comprehend what I was looking at, I was not retaining the information. So I spent my time writing. I know that in no shape or form was the punctuation right, the slang terms used correctly or even with spell check a pile of mistakes, but I wrote. It's a no win situation I enjoy being able to read, but I don't enjoy that I spend all my time reading of disease. I can not help that I constantly catch my face in an article on topics pertaining, to me which now are so much different than a normal woman of 33. I miss entertainment, style, fashion. Color, noise, movement it's all pushed way back, it has to be because now all the space is reserved for health, what I can and can't do, eat, drink. The spot in my brain reserved for reading is always rotated with info on different diseases, clinical trails, doctors names to track down, different side effects to drugs, new symptoms to one of the many diseases. That part of me stays busy. That's why I haven't wrote as much. I'd love to but I'm used up trying to find a cure. Sclaroderma issues |
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