Elizabeth Stone has said “Making the decision to have a child – it is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.” I have known this for the last 5 years, since Jackson was born. It seems to be resonating even more this week. We are on day 11 of diarrhea with Alexander. The pediatrician wanted to see him yesterday when I spoke to her about it. It had been far too many days for her to be comfortable with just riding it out.
In the office he happened to poop, which was actually helpful. Unfortunately, they found black blood in the diaper. Have you ever had moments in your life where time kind of stands still? I would describe it as how they portray it in a movie. A monumental moment in the storyline, where the character seems to move yet the world around them is in slow motion or totally frozen. I have now had two of those moments in my life. This was the second one. I did not expect her to come back and say that. She was gone less than 5 minutes. Alex was trying to tear apart my diaper bag and I was texting my husband back. She sat down to explain this to me. She went through the list of possibilities and what we are doing moving forward. I heard every word, but the world around me seemed to slow down. The smile I had on my face when she walked in quickly vanished. I was oddly aware of the motion of my face changing.
Today, the diarrhea is actually worse than it was yesterday. It has kind of gone back and forth over the past 11 days. He is unhappy at times. Large chunky tears rolling down his squishy plush cheeks. I wipe them away and kiss his sweet little face. I hug him and he snuggles his face into the right side of my neck and shoulder.
He is his normal mischievous self at times. Trying to grab his brother’s robot toy. Tearing apart the cabinet in my master bathroom. Rearranging all of my makeup, serums, and creams. Smiling his big toothy smile as he walks up with his arms out and says “mama mama” He is always a momma’s boy.
This morning I dropped off the additional vials for them to run labs. Now we wait. Now we focus on keeping him hydrated, avoiding an ER visit if we can. Now we hug and kiss him. Now we watch him play as our hearts are in our throats. Now I sleep restlessly and wake often. Now I scrub things around the house because sometimes that is what I do when I am particularly anxious. Now I try to remember that Jackson is having a hard time adjusting to the new way of life around here. Now I try to explain to him that he is important and special too. Now I try to give him extra attention. Now I wonder, where does all of the time go during the day? There is a lot to think of at every moment.
My heart walks outside of my body. Split in half. Each boy carrying a piece with them. The pieces made of porcelain. Alexander’s piece seems to be particularly fragile at the moment. Or maybe it is the carrier of that piece that is fragile. Regardless, my heart has not been my own in a long time. Half a decade. My heart belongs to them and all I can do is sit back and hope with all hope that it doesn’t get even one little chip on it. Knowing full well, the world doesn’t actually work that way. It will get battered and bruised as I sit here with open arms waiting to welcome the halves back whenever they need me.