I know, I know. It's too bad I was so confident about having my head back, thinking I'm writing about cognitive function and my week and then publishing this meandering, typo-filled piece with my recollections from the hospital and the impressions of the medical staff. Perhaps, I was overly confident.
Two observations here. First, positive thinking. I believe in it, so maybe my optimism makes it so. I noticed in several posts since I got home, I said the family is good. Each next time I said it, it probably meant I was wrong before. But, eventually, we got there and perhaps all my 'boys are good' helped us actually arrive at my boys are good. Miles is happy. Ian is happy. Jim is happy. So, my thinking is, maybe soon, my head will be my own again.
Second, even more optimistically, I wrote that post after a fantastic night out (but in) with some ladies from Mt P. It was so lovely, I think I can reasonably blame the champagne and call that a boozey blog.
Lets talk about thank yous for a minute. I know I'm tardy. I started writing them in December, but didn't get very far. Writing thank yous is so important to me. I want to write them and I want to write good ones. But I just do not know that I will get them done. I've written 14 thank yous. To give you a sense of the magnitude of your generosity, and not counting flowers and fruit and food deliveries (and there have been many), I've probably received thirty cards in the past two weeks. Which is amazing and fortifying and I am so grateful. So you know, I have and will keep every card, note and scrap of paper in support you send me because I love them. And also I want my boys to have them -like my hair- if they ever need them to know me or know how strong and rich our lives were during this difficult hour. All to say, I am far behind and I am not sure I will catch up and thank you.
A note about Ian. He has made it to 18 months (I think the period between 12 and 18 months is the hardest - not baby, not kid, in everything but no attention span, but anyway, we are through it). He is so fun. He plays now. He pretends. He is so different from Miles, who had dozens of words and used
them all. (And still does. We went to the Caps game today and he said, "Chimera really hustled." Ridiculous parent pride.). Ian has dozens of words and basically says happy birthday and aqua and apple and brother. I mean, happy birthday. Few words, big charm.
Next week it's the first week of February. My dread is growing. I know I just need to get in there and start to work it out. But all the sudden, I kindof want to hide under the bed. Shit week ahead. Oh right, positive thinking. Maybe not.
