(pant, pant, pant)
I'm out of breath.
We were just dancing with Little Warrior. Actually, I was dancing, Dad was watching. LW has decided Mom is the dancin' fool, and only wants her as her partner. It is bedtime, so I tried Ice Cream, Sarah McLachlan, but after 5 seconds of tenderly laying her head on my shoulder, she began head-butting me, letting me know she wanted something more uptempo. So we've been dancing to Lithium, Nirvana.
Dancing in the kitchen, amongst vanilla-bean-Italian-buttercream-cupcakes, raspberry-cheesecake-brownies and plain ole from scratch brownies. Tomorrow is the church garage sale/bake sale. So I will be getting up quite early tomorrow morning.
Last year, March 31, I also got up very early. What a difference. What an amazing, wonderful, boring, ordinary, miraculous difference.
Tonight, a year ago, notwithstanding my blog post from earlier in the evening, I went to sleep ... and cried. And got very little sleep. LW was beside me; I remember holding my hand very lightly over her stomach as she slept. Over those huge, huge tumors. But even I didn't anticipate the news that one was the size of a grapefruit, one was the size of an orange. In that little bitty baby.
Tonight, a year ago, when I went to sleep, I didn't know what would happen in the next 24 hours. I didn't know if we would go into the hospital, three, and leave, two.
Until last year, I didn't know really know fear.
Tomorrow, I will wake up early, leave LW at home with her daddy, her brother, and her two sisters, and I will go do something so amazingly, wonderfully ordinary as a garage sale, where I will hawk brownies and haggle over the price of a bicycle with a customer.
When I was in high school, I played Emily in Our Town. Such irony, having high schoolers do that play. Who is least prepared to understand it?
Emily: ... Oh, earth, you are too wonderful for anybody to realize you.
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2 comments:
Keep dancing, my friend!
Last year, as you were in a hospital waiting and crying, I was in another hospital, laboring to bring my daughter into the world. We had a rough 48 hours, but it was nothing compared to what you and LW were going through. As I read your story, I feel a sort of kinship, and am moved to tears. Our life is blissfully ordinary, and you have helped me to be deeply grateful for that. Many thanks to you for sharing your life. May it continue to be full of music, dance, joy, and wonder!
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