Friday, November 5, 2010

30 days of truth: I hope I never ever

Day 6: Something you hope you never have to do. 

I read a lot of blogs. Between that and some forums, this is really how I spend my time breastfeeding. G rarely has much interest in interacting while he's eating; only on the rare occasion has he tried to look up at me and eat at the same time. Focused on food, that one. Because he's still eating every two hours (and because he often wants to boob-nap), I tend to have some time to spend on the Interwebs. I really only have one hand to do it though, so I tend to blog hop.

I have my favorite categories of blogs: mommy, baby, food, news. Sometimes I'll jump onto one blog and bounce from one to the next through their links. That's how I stumbled upon a thread of blogs concerning babies born with heart defects.

We're very lucky that G was born super healthy and has been fine ever since. The most we've had to deal with is a small bout of jaundice and some milk protein allergy issues. I can't imagine him going through more than the pain of vaccines or some spitting-up. But there are so many mamas who have babies with severe problems, and often they know about them from the 20-week ultrasound. During my 20-week ultrasound, I was more concerned with whether it was a boy or a girl and not if my baby's heart or kidneys or lungs looked normal.

Worse of all, there are so many mamas whose babies don't make it. Sometimes I just have to stop reading those blogs because I can't deal with their pain of losing a child they carried inside their own bodies for so many months. It's so selfish of me to turn off their pain when they can't, but I do, and I hold G close to me or stroke his hair as he lays in front of me feeding.

I hope I never have to know what it feels like to bury a child. It has to be the worse sort of pain in the world, no matter how old they are. I'm not really sure how I'd make it through that. The hubs would be my rock, I'm sure, and there are all these mamas who are still living day-to-day. From my outside perspective, however, it seems like something too impossible to deal with.

If G wasn't asleep, I'd go cuddle him right now. Instead, I'll flick on his video monitor and watch him breathe for a bit.

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