Henry was sick from the very first day that he was born.
All of his doctors knew that he had a traumatic birth, but few people listened when I said, "He throws up all the time." or "He cries all the time, and I can't help him."
"Babies spit up."
"Babies cry."
We knew this. Henry wasn't our first child. I have several younger brothers and sisters. I gladly held babies, all babies, my siblings, cousins, strangers and even loud and cranky babies - until I was about 17 years old. I understand babies. They are all different, but they all speak the same language.
Henry would cry.
In the car. (An officer that pulled me over said "Uh, your baby's crying ma'am." "Yeah, just hurry up and write the ticket please!")
In the house.
At night.
In the morning.
At the supermarket. (People feel like they have to say something - "You better feed that baby!" "Shut that F*CKING baby UP! You stupid piece of white trash!" "Oh, is he hungry? Does he need a widdle foody woody?" "You listen to Grandma G! You better feed that baby or I'll shoot you!" "Have you tried burping him?"
At Terry's Diner. "Somebody better shut that baby up! I just had surgery! I can't take it!!" (If you've just had surgery - maybe you should shut up and go home?)
At the doctors office. "Babies cry!" "Welcome to parenthood!"
At Grandma's.
At The Saturday Market.
At The Saturday Market.
At the park.
At the beach.
At the Aquarium. Glare - Glare - Glare - Scowl
In his stroller.
In his swing.
At the office where I worked. "God, is something wrong with that baby!?"
At the office where I worked. "God, is something wrong with that baby!?"
In his bouncy seat.
On the dryer.
In my arms...
It didn't stop until 15 months ago.
Three solid years of crying.
Sometimes I'm pissed off with God.
"Why did you gift us this child and not provide the tools to help him?"
And then I'm pissed off with myself.
"Why can't I be grateful for the times that were fun and happy - instead of pissed off about the time that we lost?"
He's sleeping now. Sweetly - but I know it's because of his medication, or the exhaustion from his 4 hour barf-fest yesterday. His color is better today, but nothing like last summer when we were getting a good layer of freckles built up on our noses and arms. Now he is very pale. He 'looks sick'.
When Henry was born, I had hoped that he would be playing T-ball by now.
Three solid years of crying.
Sometimes I'm pissed off with God.
"Why did you gift us this child and not provide the tools to help him?"
And then I'm pissed off with myself.
"Why can't I be grateful for the times that were fun and happy - instead of pissed off about the time that we lost?"
He's sleeping now. Sweetly - but I know it's because of his medication, or the exhaustion from his 4 hour barf-fest yesterday. His color is better today, but nothing like last summer when we were getting a good layer of freckles built up on our noses and arms. Now he is very pale. He 'looks sick'.
When Henry was born, I had hoped that he would be playing T-ball by now.
People seem to feed on the plights of others. Either offering pity, which is useless to all, or judging situations with no true knowledge. That in and of itself can and does make you weary, having to field questions of the idly curious, defending against the open animosity for which there is no basis. I have watched this family whom I love dearly; do every thing in their power to preserve the dignity of their child, his siblings and themselves. Why are they made to work so hard, when all they truly want is to be a normal family with normal children with normal problems. How dare any of these people judge, they have no idea.
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