Our New Pet Dinosaur - The Boy Who Refuses to be a Boy

Poor, Poor Boy

Z is sick. He woke us this morning to say his tummy hurt. I dismissed it, and told him to go back to bed. It was 630 in the morning. I'm not the most empathetic at that time of day.
Thirty minutes later, he returned with puke in his hair.
Poor kid. He has been sleeping/puking/sleeping all day. Except when he is crying, and saying:
"Mommy, my tummy hurts!" or "Can you get that stomachache out of my tummy?" or "I don't wanna keep pukin' and pukin'!"
And he keeps trying to walk a wee ways, and then drops down suddenly on the floor and curls into a little ball, crying.
I will be blogging to say that I am sick next, I am sure. Either because I am puking or because I have a massive headache from the amount of disinfectant I am spraying.

Sisters

Our kids turned four last Saturday. Today is the anniversary of our fourth year without Adeline.
The day wasn't especially more difficult than any, because it seems that lately I am constantly reminded of our huge loss in her.
Before moving here, our kids were used to spending almost every day with other kids their age.
In moving here, they lost many great little friends.

Although I am glad that our kids have each other to make the transition to their new home an easier one, I think the move has been especially hard on S.

The kids are growing older, and as they grow, their interests have moved further apart. S wants to pretend. She wants to play with dolls. The boys want to play Spiderman and trucks and cars and monsters. S is lonely and needy. She is constantly asking me to play, and it seems that I can't ever satisfy her desire for companionship. She cries at night, because she "wants someone to sleep with like the boys get to do." And I am constantly imagining (and missing) the fun she would have with her sister, her twin.
I think, in some ways, that grieving the loss of being able to mother Adeline is really hard, but it is equally (or maybe more) difficult to grieve the fact that S missed out on a huge blessing in not having known her sister.

I Forgot

I forgot how thankful I need to be:
Z went to the eye doctor on Tuesday. He was asked to identify lots of colors and images. Doc then checked Z's eyes with his handy-dandy flashlight helmet-thing, and informed, "I see brain injury. (Did you know you can see brain injury through the eyeball?!) He must have had a hemorrhage."
"Grade three", the nurse answered him.
"I thought it must have been a large one."
And then to Z, "You are one smart cookie! Do you know that? You are one lucky little boy!"
And then to me, "I really don't know how his eye sight is as good as it is. I can see damage that should be affecting his vision. He is one lucky kid."
As all of those neonatal memories came rushing back, I got all teary-eyed, and smiled, "Yup, he is."

And I remembered that the small limp he received as a result of his hemorrhage is really not so bad.

Coffee and Blankies

My sister visited for a few days. I am having withdrawal. Withdrawal from sitting around drinking warm (not cold from me from forgetting it too many times) coffee and chatting while my niece and nephews entertained my kids. Withdrawal from talking to an adult. Withdrawal from having people (and noise and chaos) around.

Z slept in our room, on the floor, while my sister and her kids were here. He sat up early in the morning, while it was still dark, and lovingly rubbed his blankie across his face. He sniffed it, and held it close to his eyes. "Mama, there are no frogs on my blankie anymore!"
I opened the shade a little, and said, "Z, that is because you are holding my dirty sock!"
He was all embarrassed!