Stages

Blythe has a raging double ear infection and a nasty, wet cough.  

I haven’t slept more than a few minutes at a time for 4 nights in a row, because she cries out, in pain, constantly throughout the night.  I lay next to her, and never fall completely asleep.

To say that I’m exhausted doesn’t begin to cover it.

Tonight, at bedtime, I lay there beside her and cried silently as she fidgeted for an hour before falling asleep.  The antibiotics contain traces of corn.  It’s the lesser of all the other corn-infused choices. 

For now, in the beginning, she’ll just be hyperactive.  Soon, though, the effects of corn exposure will start to manifest in a million different ways.  It’s hard to say how far this will knock her back, when all is said and done.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the parent I used to be, before Blythe was born.  The mother Alison had for her first 3 and a half years of life.  That woman was exactly the parent I always hoped I would become.

I love my daughters, both of them, with the kind of passion I never thought would be possible.  I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

But sometimes I wonder what our life would be like, if Blythe didn’t have special needs.  If I could only be the parent I used to be…

If I could run in to Rite Aid for cough drops like a normal person – without having to kick myself for letting my baby girl rest her cheek against the counter for a split second.

Her face started to swell immediately.  She was fine, after a speedy dose of Zyrtec.  But it rattled me.

What would life be like if I could relax?  How would things be different if I didn’t worry constantly?  What kind of mother would I be now, if I hadn’t had only a dozen restful nights of sleep in the past three years?

Would I let my kids have corn dogs?  I ran up to the store the other night, alone, and felt an unexpected pang of jealousy when I overheard a dad tell his two boys to pick something – anything, really – from the deli for dinner. 

I’ll never, ever be able to do that.

I mourn the loss of what could have been, sometimes.  On nights like these, when I’m exhausted and worried and tearful.  It makes no sense to pine for a life that won’t ever happen… especially when, for the most part, I am so incredibly happy with the life I already have.

Today, Alison lost her first tooth.  What a huge milestone it was.  I wish we could have celebrated, but instead we spent the afternoon at Urgent Care, with Blythe’s needs once again taking the front seat while Alison’s lesser needs are pushed to the back. 

Will she come to resent her sister, if I’m not careful?  Will she wish for a life that could have been?

I hope not.