. . . I went to a hospital for the second time after being sent home by a man who said my baby was "sick, but not critically ill".
. . . my 9-month old experienced the first of two surgeries he would have before the age of 14 months.
. . . I typed a long blog post detailing the events of the previous few days.
. . . I had to hold down my baby while doctors tried to help him.
. . . I pumped as my baby was beginning his surgery, and felt an overwhelming feeling of peace.
. . . I was right to feel that everything was going to be ok.
These Days . . .
. . . I remember exactly what it felt like to see him wake up the next morning.
. . . I remember exactly how his little face looked at me to rescue him while the doctors tried to help.
. . . I cry when I re-read the blog post I wrote.
. . . I laugh when I re-read this post, about a large headed baseball man and his really bad timing.
. . . my son is anxiously awaiting the arrival of his little brother. And also his birthday, which to him seem to coincide.
. . . I lay down with him until he falls asleep, every single night.
. . . I argue with him for 20 minutes about brushing his teeth.
. . . I negotiate my way out of Target with $.99 stickers as opposed to a $44.99 Lego set.
. . . he has mastered the potty, with an occasional accident here and there.
. . . I smell his hair and breathe him in and remember how I felt 2 years ago tomorrow.
. . . I promise again to never take a moment with him for granted. . .even the hard ones.
. . . he loves to show off his scar, just like my dad predicted he would.
I must say, it looks much better than I imagined it would 2 years ago!