Scared

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Hopefully, it is nothing. Dad doesn’t think it is anything. He says he sees you with him when he is old. But I want to say, aren’t you kind of old already? But that’s a joke and it’s not that funny, considering. I feel numb and checked out a bit. In what we would call Attentive Immobility. Waiting for the other proverbial “shoe to drop.” Pony, you are the most magical wonderful delightful amazing thing to ever happen to me and I can’t imagine my life without you. In fact, I can’t. I can’t picture it. Because it doesn’t exist. I cease to exist without you by my side.

You have been complaining about lower back pain for a little over a month now. Around the time we put up the yoga trapeze, which shouldn’t matter. Your back is the most flexible it will ever be. It is not muscular. Or the Tylenol would have helped.

So they want to do tests; an X-ray and blood panel. Looking for…ruling out…a tumor. Cancer.

That word.

Not with you. Not in the same sentence as you. Not in the same breath.

Dad is taking you for the X-ray tomorrow. I am taking you for blood work on Wednesday.

You wanted to sleep with me tonight. And then felt bad about not being with Dad too. We talked about how hard divorce can be sometimes. We cried. We tried to think of all the kids we knew who had divorced parents. We do not know that many.

You fell asleep after wrapping your arms around me and telling me that you “love me sooooooo much.” I have never felt anything as sweet as those words coming out of your mouth and landing on my ears. It is a warm rush of love.

I love you.

More than you will ever know. Maybe until you are a Mom. Then maybe you will know.

Mom

 

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Lucky 7!

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Dear Pony,

Yesterday we celebrated your seventh trip around the sun by going to Universal Studios with Maisy, your BFF. Your Dad took all of us and even got the express passes! It was super fun.  We thought the wands would be a hit at Harry Potter but that love affair lasted about as long as most do. Our first ride was the Griffin “Family Friendly” rollercoaster that scared the crap out of you and Maisy. BUT! You both did butterfly hugs and arm sweeps and helped yourselves calm down! So we didn’t do any more scary rides, and we still had a blast. We ate hot dogs and chips. The cotton candy was bigger than your head! All of us loved the animal show the best. Afterward, we had pizza and ice cream at your Dad’s with Sean and Eamonn and Maisy, of course. You swam and played and opened presents. You don’t like cake. Or cupcakes. Won’t eat them. But you LOVE mint chip ice cream! Which is fine by me. You barely weigh 40 pounds and have the cutest pot belly on the planet. I never want it to go away.

I am in Sacramento at the moment. I flew up here to teach some inmates in a prison how to do council. You are with your Dad and I miss you terribly. I miss your goofy toothed smile. Your singsong voice. And of course, that pot belly. I love that we still sleep together. That every morning you wrap your chicken legs around my waist and your arms around my neck and we snuggle on the couch for a minute, before starting the day, simply breathing together. Your small hands play with my hair behind my head and I can feel your warm morning breath on my shoulder. It is my resource. My number one resource. I go to it all day. Throughout the day. Reminding me that everything is okay in the world, if even for a little bit.

I don’t think I will ever get used to sharing you. If I could, I would have you all of the time, but that wouldn’t be fair to you and your Dad. So share you I must. See, I have this thing, which I hope to God you don’t have, it’s called Attachment Trauma from when I was a baby and a kid and it haunts me. I am anxious about all attachments and that includes you. And Sean. I struggle. It’s hard for people that are closest to me and makes me feel “cray cray” sometimes. But still, I persevere. I am old enough now to understand that it may never fully go away, so I find ways to live with it and I am more or less successful, depending on the moon.

You are a sensitive creature, my love. And I GET IT. I totally DO!! It’s intense going through the world being so sensitive. I see myself in you that way. When we were watching the documentary about planet earth and they sacrificed the sheep in Indonesia by throwing it over the volcano cliff (an epic parenting fail, on my part) you immediately burst out in horror for that poor sheep. You empathized so deeply. I try to give you tools to deal with your sensitivity; butterfly hugs, arm sweeps, and tremoring. You seem to like them all. And I love when you try them out and tell me which one is working best. If you learn how to be resilient to this thing called life, then I will have done my job. And unfortunately, that usually requires some adversity. SOME. Not a lot. Please. Not a lot. But a little is okay. Right???

Okay- I gotta go. I only got three hours of sleep last night because I took the latest plane out of Burbank to get to Sacramento so I wouldn’t miss any of your birthday party and it landed me here around 1am.

I am knackered. But I had a good day with the inmates and I am lucky I get to do what I get to do. Another thing I wish for you, that you have meaningful work that supports you and feeds your soul. I feel hugely successful for that.

I love you the most possible. And I always will.

Mama