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S is for...

Yesterday was Mother's Day here in the US.
It was hard. Shitty even. S is for shitty. 
You'll get the pun in a few.
Also, this post is not censored for profanity. I let it fly freely.

It started off like any other family gathering day.
Well, after I could rally myself to get out of bed. I'd much prefer to just lay there with Tallie.
Wake up, eat breakfast, down some coffee, start (or finish) whatever dish I was tasked with taking.
This year was dessert - cupcakes for everyone!

...Then I wished a group of fellow IVF'ers (most with newborns or babies on the way) Happy Mother's Day. Of all the people I talked to, these were the people I least expected an insensitive comment from. I thought wrong. Fuck her. I muted the chat.

Chad was off running errands and came home to me in meltdown mode. My instinct was to "frost the fucking cupcakes" and start drinking. At 9am. We didn't have to be anywhere until 2, so I would have been real far gone by that point. Oh well! But Dr. B said not to "get wasted" before a transfer, and I'm assuming the same goes for the ERA cycle. Instead I binged some Netflix.

Chad pointed out that the kitties (Tallie and Sadie) had gotten me a card and a flower. Such sweet furbabies. I told him I would save it for when we got home, in case shit hit the fan.

A BBQ in the park. Casual. Fun. A playground for the kids.
So much anxiety.

Attendees:
Mother & Father in law
Sister in law & boyfriend + her 2 kids (S & A)
Chad & I
My mom
My older brother + 2 kids (G & L)
My little brother

I was not so stoked to go celebrate Mother's Day.
Sorry to my Mom, MIL and SIL...
It's not you, it's me. Honestly.

I was worried I would come home feeling defeated. Depressed. Defective. All the fun feels.

It started off well. There was wine. I drank it.
We had burgers and hot dogs. I ate them.
The kids played on the playground, and the bigger kids rode their bikes. Gifts and cards were given and opened.

And then it happened.
I had my back turned. I heard the sound.
Like a watermelon splattering open. Like a skull cracking.
L had fallen backwards off of the picnic bench, and landed flat on his back, his head hitting the concrete below.

My fight or flight kicked in. I wanted to help him. I wanted to run.
All I could think about was that day back in September, when he fell off the slide. My mom and I rushed him to the ER, but by the time we got there he was unresponsive. The paramedic took the entire carseat out of the car to get him help. That was and still is the scariest day of my life. (Link to that post coming soon)

Why hadn't anyone called 911 yet? I couldn't move. My brother had scooped L up. There was a bag of ice being held to his head. He was crying. That was a good sign. He was talking. His head wasn't pouring out blood. I had to get away. I walked around and sat down with my back facing him and the group trying to help. I was not okay.

Poor little dude just kept saying "I want to be good" between his sniffles. He thought he was in trouble, and that broke my heart.

My SIL is a nurse. She helped assess the situation. Once it was determined he was "okay", she turned to me. I was not okay. She talked me off the ledge. She gave me a hug.

These little dudes are more than just my nephews. I don't know if its the infertility, or their mom committing suicide, or just that they're close and I see them so often. That Chad & I kept L full time for 2+ weeks about a year ago, while their mom was in rehab. That we spent that day in the ER. Him clutching my finger with fear in his eyes as he went in and out of the CT machine.

They are not just "my brother's kids" ... they are mine. I call them "my children" on facebook posts and in text messages. No one corrects me...but is that healthy? Is that normal? Am I too attached?

We packed up and my brother drove L to the nearest hospital to be checked out.
I had Chad drive us, Mom and my little brother home. I was not okay.
While Chad drove, my mom and I took turns trying to get an update from the older brother.
It wouldn't connect. It went to voicemail. I needed an update.

Finally my brother messaged they were waiting for the Doctor.
We got home and I waited.
They will monitor L for an hour. He seems okay. Luckily.

After the hour passes, we get a photo of G & L eating popsicles on a hospital bed.

He was okay. I could relax.
I opened my card from the kitties (photos coming soon).

I went outside to relax in my hammock.
I texted my friends.
A bird flew by. A lot of birds. Chirping and playing.
And then one SHIT on me.
Right on my bare leg.

Happy Mother's Day, I hope yours was better than mine.



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