I wanted to sit down and write a beautiful post about a beautiful birthday, but I'm cranky, due to a cranky chemo-filled toddler who doesn't want to go to bed.
(Takes a sip of a Hpnotiq Breeze.)
Okay. It was a nice birthday. Her aunt AdventureGirl is still here, her aunt GlamourGirl flew back in for the occasion, and her grandma Mother-in-Love drove up. Of course, this isn't normal. Normal would be maybe one of them, but we are circling the wagons, because This Child Has Cancer. We don't talk about it a whole lot, not because we're avoiding anything, but because the "novelty" of this has worn off. We've already done this.
We've done this and we've not done this. This week, she and I will go in for her first in-hospital chemo. I have been working hard to try and make it as fun as it can be for Little Warrior. Got some fun posters to put up, treats and toys already packed ... we have been calling these "hospital parties." "Our hospital party is next week! Oooh, you can take your new pajamas!"
On one level it is sad and pathetic, but what do you do? We've got to do it, and we're going to have do it many times, every three weeks (depending on counts) into October. Need to at least start with a fun attitude.
Oh, I'm not going to go into all of my feelings and stress. I'll save that for tomorrow, or another day. Not today. Not on her birthday.
We have had cake today, and creamy macaroni and cheese, and fresh cherry pie. ($15 cherry pitter ... so worth it.) We've danced. And taken after-the-sun-goes-down walks. And opened presents.
We are open with each other, the adults, but there are some places we just don't go. Like wondering what life will be like on LW's 4th birthday.
As I've been writing, Little Warrior has finally settled down, relaxed, and fallen asleep, not 2 minutes after telling her father that something is wrong with her milk. Yes, something is wrong with her milk. It's traveling over a tongue messed up with chemo.
Phew, says The Husband. She is in bed.
Still. Pretty good birthday.