Respect

I have such a huge respect for parents.

I never knew the weight of the world was on parents’ shoulders, but here I am in the thick of it and truly feeling the weight of all life is.

But I guess in every stage, the world is heavy.

You just take it and you deal with it (or you don’t), and you learn it is what it is.

I just have experienced so many emotions I never knew I could feel ever since becoming a mother. It’s truly opened my eyes to another universe of emotion, thoughts, love…it’s insane. And you don’t know unless you know.

I wrote in my last blog how Remi needed two staples in his head, but on Saturday he had to have them removed.

It was a billion times worse than the actual fall, which is saying a ton.

It took three different doctors trying, and two nurses, to try and hold him down and get the staples out. They had got embedded in his skin slightly, even though we were there in the time frame the ER said to be…

And yet, they were stuck.

I don’t know how to explain how much it hurts to watch somebody you love so fucking much suffer a great amount of pain firsthand, but fuck.

My mind wanders to my best friend, Marta, who watched her husband become somebody else entirely as cancer ate away at his mind and body for a year bef0re eventually taking his life.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

They had to dig into scar tissue to fish out these staples, and it killed me to see. Absolutely killed me. Just thinking about it makes me start shaking.

It reminded me of when I was in the hospital with Ryder when he had RSV, and they couldn’t get an IV in correctly. They tried so many times, and left him screaming bloody murder while I held him…

And yet, here we were again.

Remi was screaming, crying, begging us to stop. Told us we were smushing him. Asked us why we were hurting him. Screamed how he just wanted to go home. As the nurse held down his head to try and hold him still, he stared into my eyes with his cheeks beet red and I truly thought he was going to pass out.

Fuck.

I just hate it. I hate it so much my insides coil at the memory. It feels like I’m reliving the nightmare again, which immediately makes me want to vomit. It also makes me think how if I have this negative attachment to the memory how HE must feel.

UGH.

I took him to Target afterward and let him pick out whichever toy he wanted, which he chose the biggest baddest dinosaur truck they had. And a Mr. Incredible Tonies character. I also got him a lollipop because FUCK.

I just want my babies okay.

I just want them happy, healthy, and safe.

It kills me inside to know that minuscule moment might have lasting thoughts and feelings. It kills me inside to know that moment won’t be the most pain he’ll ever feel.

He has to go through this life too, and boy oh boy is life a doozy.

Trying to work on the weekends and homeschool the boys and keep a clean house and play with my dogs and pay our bills. Trying to make a list of priorities, like whether we need to save money for a new roof or buy a dishwasher right now. Trying to keep a workout routine, and make time for Trev and I’s relationship.

Trying to make sure the boys see the struggle without inheriting the mindset of struggling.

It’s a balance beam that I’m constantly learning how to be better at, but I feel pretty good with what I’ve learned and where I’m going in life. What I’m working toward.

I am just taking everyday as it comes, and remembering when we fall down to get back up. Even when the weight of the world is pushing you down, there will always be a toy and a lollipop at the end of the tunnel.