How am I? I don't even know how to answer that.
I've got headaches and nausea and fatigue. I'm on my fifteenth day on antibiotics for a tenacious infection. I have oozing wound sites. I may lose my hair this week. Kids are up between 5:30 and 6:00 every morning. I'm out the door for treatment, regardless of ice or snow or school lunches or teary boys, by 8 every weekday. By 10, I'm exhausted for a variety of reasons and the regular day (pink eye, snack day, work meetings, follow up appointments, runny noses, bills, birthday planning) is just starting.
And I'm also fine. I'm happy with my energy and my focus. I'm enjoying my time with the boys. I'm so glad it's March. I've finished nine treatments. Ten tomorrow. It feels like it is going quickly.
I'm not writing much because I don't have much to say. My days are full and at the end of them I collapse. (Miles loves that word and has taken to saying he is so tired he is going to collapse.). I'm not high. I'm not low. Except when I try to write in a journal I've started for the boys. Then, I weep. Big tears, drippy nose, wipe your face on your sleeve sobbing. Otherwise, I'm steady.
I miss the old joy some. I have gratitude beyond measure, but it's not the same. This grief, this temporal awareness, strips away the quiet and easy joy of small moments. Slow mornings, little snuggles, a silly joke, they all have a sharpness to them. Enjoy this, Kelly. Remember this, Kelly. No pressure, kid.
So, that's us. Jim's birthday is Tuesday. Miles' birthday is in a few weeks. Miles and Ian are both outrageous little boys. In good ways and rotten ways. And we couldn't be crazier about them or more proud of them. And, like most folks, probably, we are somewhere between falling apart and feeling fine.
