Like Father, Like Daughter

During the past several weeks of various hospital stays I've noticed how similar many of my mannerisms, behaviors, and gestures are to my Dad's when he was in the hospital.  For example, often when he would lay in the bed, he would stretch one or even both arms up or across the bed to grasp the guard rails.  I do the same thing and find it helps me be less uncomfortable.  Maybe everyone does this, but I don't think so, it looks strange, like we're almost afraid of falling out of the sky, when that would be impossible.  Yesterday, in my ambulance ride, the medic shared that his sister had the same birthday as me.  I was in a great deal of pain, yet I was compelled to add that it was also Johnny Carson's birthday.  One of those pointless old people facts that only my Dad (and I) would care to share.  The medic looked at me like "who the hell is that"....20 somethings know who Johnny Carson is, right?

Anyway.  Certainly these past weeks have made me think about my Dad a great deal.  He died of prostate cancer last year and we spent much of his last 8 weeks in the hospital.  I believe I was a dutiful and compassionate daughter to him during that time, but knowing what I know now, I'd do a lot of things differently.  I would have asked him a lot more about his feelings.  He must have been scared, he probably had words of advice to share or loose ends to tie up. We just didn't want to believe it was the end.

I miss him.  But I don't want to be with him yet.  I hope he can pull some strings up there and let me stick around to watch my babies grow up.

Double S Wes

I originally wrote this post several weeks ago when I was still quite sick. Luckily a lot has changed since then,but Wes still rocks and deserves at least some recognition of that. After all now that I am feeling better, I have more energy to bitch so this is a good reminder for all of us.

I am currently listening to my husband, Wes, give Garrison a shower. It is after bedtime, yet she hasn't even had dinner yet. They've now moved from the shower to G's bedroom where the nightly negotiations over what outfit will be worn (Garrison is simply too special for pajamas, she puts together a complete ensemble each night), followed by the "pull up power struggle"....we want one, she doesn't. Daddy usually gives in, results vary.

I, of course, am not helping. Well that isn't entirely true. I'd like to take credit for pulling the trump card that actually got her in the shower and yelling it from bed, "you can't go to school tomorrow if you don't take a shower". When I'm healthy, I think those types of "saves" are some of my greatest strengths as a mom. No one is more surprised than me at how I've been able to win a fierce battle with a two year old with some bologna that just comes out of my mouth. But this post isn't about me. It's about Double S, Daddy,Wes. A man asked to juggle more than most people ever will, stressful job, newborn son, 3 year old daughter, a mother and a mother in law who take turns helping out but rarely get along, oh and me....a pain in the ass enough before cancer but now I can't even adequately describe how I am probably viewed by him....loved would be first, I know. He is heartbroken over this situation for sure. But there has to be some bitterness for what I might do to our family....for what I'm already doing:it is 8:35 pm and my kid is just now eating her fucking dinner while I've been home all day! I hate that! He isn't nearly the asshole that I am so he understands I am too weak to get out of bed. But, it has to be frustrating....the answer is food, so I need to eat and get healthy so I can move on to the next phase of recovery. But I can't eat. So he brings me plain penne pasta in hopes it is the magic dish I can stomach....so far so good.

Tonight he will get up and feed Brooks, maybe once, maybe twice. And depending on how the "pull up power struggle" resolves prior to bed, there may be wet sheets he'll need to change. He'll hit the snooze way too many times (a habit I hated until this week and now I pray I will be annoyed by those extra snoozes for decades to come), feed Brooks again and help Garrison get ready for school, all with minimal help from me.

He's a saint...usually. I don't know what I did to deserve him but I hope to pay him back someday (and for years to come)....his preferred currency is sporting event tickets, beer, and something cooked in a smoker....

Home Sweet Home

Even though this is my first post on this blog, I'm not going to start at the beginning. Most of you know the beginning and if you don't, well, there's time for that later.

*disclaimer.....I'm not a blogger and I'm not technologically savvy so, bear with me as I learn blog etiquette and formatting skills.

I came home from the hospital yesterday. Since then I've been greeted with multiple Facebook and text messages welcoming me home adding how thrilled I must be to be home with my babies. I'm not.

Being home, while quieter and more comfortable than a hospital, serves as a reminder of all I can't do to care for my children, how very little I even know about my 2 month old son, Brooks, and gives me a glimpse of what life for my family would be like without me.

For those of you who haven't jumped off a ledge yet from my uplifting first blog post..... I do love seeing my babies. They are my life. I fought like hell to bring them into this world. Most importantly, I am so blessed that I have family and friends who could help Wes with the kids, help Brooks develop into the strong baby he already is becoming, and in the long run, if the worst were to happen, I know my family would go on, thrive even, surrounded by people who love and support them.

I just really want to be there too.