I got to Sydney and promptly fell apart.
But I don't want to blog about that, about how I feel a huge ball in my chest, and I, the recovering, in-tune person that I am ... cannot for the life of me work out what is wrong. But I am not ok. And in that ... the admitting that I'm not ok, makes me feel so relieved and better. I am NOT OK! I feel SHIT! Post-traumatic stress? Depression? Anxiety? All of the above? Who the fuck knows .... I just know that I am not ok. Paradoxically, that makes me ok.
I don't want to go home tomorrow, but I have to. Then again, I don't want to stay here, either. You know that feeling where you don't want to be anywhere?
Yesterday I walked down to glorious Bondi Beach, Monkey in his pram, soy latte at hand. I felt emotional. So much has happened. What a most intense year it has been. But, I am SO SICK of myself. Just get the fuck over it already.
My baby turns six moths old today!
I told his naughty, wonderful cousins that we are to have a Half Birthday Party for him tonight, after dinner. We shall sing "Happy Half Birthday, to you ....". I bought cupcakes. (He won't have one, we shall eat them in his honour.)
I feel like somebody has pushed their hands through the clouds and handed me a six month old baby. I have a baby. He has not been my priority. I solemnly swear, from now on, that he will be my priority. I whispered in to his ear, today .... "Mummy is going to watch you and listen to you and love you so, so much!!"
Cancer is a thief.
Cancer is a thief.
I give him three thousand kisses when I put him in the car, and seventeen thousand when I get him out again. I marvel at his big little feet (like blocks of cement, he has feet like his mama). People stop me in the street, to comment on what a beautiful looking little guy he is. His hair has gone from red to golden ... my Golden Boy. He rolls over, but is not interested in crawling yet. My Laz-e-Boy. Just like his mama! He can cry real tears, kicks like Ian Thorpe in the water, has been known to eat and crap at the same time. His personality is starting to come out ... he is really "here".
I am so relieved, to love him so.
He looks at me adoringly, and breaks my heart. Tori Amos once sang that she has enough guilt to start her own religion. Hello.
The next six months will fly, so quickly. If I am thirsty .... then I shall drink him in, this most spectacular, amazing little human. I am blessed to have him. I feel blessed to love him, and not ever want to let him go.
Happy Half Birthday, my Wonderful Monkey Star. Thank you for teaching me The Way. You are heavenly, and magical, and sacred. I promise to celebrate that, my sweetheart guy. I am so sorry, about everything. I am flawed ... we all are. But I love you deeply. And that really is all that matters.