Will You Come Back?

Every night, after I say goodnight to my Kattie, she asks me, "will you come back?" And every night I tell her Mommy always comes back. She needs to ask so she can fall asleep, and I need to check on her so I can rest too.
Something's itching at my brain - picking away, eating my insides. Is it that I'm just tired? or maybe that I'm feeling guilty about Kenzie not going to school tomorrow since the buses aren't running again. I have some guilts, fears, and anxieties that linger in the back of my mind just waiting for the right time to surface. Sam's appointment is on Friday. I'd be lying if I didn't admit to being afraid. I mean, a little afraid. I am so sick of anyone telling me, "I just have this good feeling that everything is fine". Well good, I'm glad you have that good feeling. I don't. And you, wanting me to say that I do too, will not actually make me have those good feelings. It doesn't work like that. And please don't congratulate me on the "good news" from Calgary. I am very thankful, that surgery is likely not required. But I am still sad, that cranio is still his diagnosis. And if you were grieving, I would never say, "get over it, move on, you are not allowed to grieve anymore!" The terror of surgery is gone, almost completely. I'm even back to eating again, for a few weeks now. Someone asked me, if I can let it go? And the answer is no. I can't. My Samuel, has been diagnosed with something that doesn't go away. Even if he had surgery, he would still have that diagnosis. It isn't something that they can just remove and Tada! He's cured. Nope. It's something that will always be a part of him. It's the way he was programmed to be.
Programmed to be - is how our pediatrician described it to us. How he is made. So, my beautiful bouncy baby boy is perfect just the way he is. Anyone who looks at him can see that. But then there is my brain, that asks questions - that maybe shouldn't be asked. Questions like, his perfect little head is a baby head, what happens when he is a man and it can't grow like the rest of him? Or, how is the pressure and shape of his mild condition going to affect his behaviours and learning abilities. My boy is brilliant - for a 7 month old. And his head is big enough for a 7 month old. What happens if it just isn't big enough anymore? What happens if that time comes? Will the "fine" people say, "oh, wow, didn't see that comin' - gosh that's a bummer." Because I'm wondering and I need to know, if one person - who actually knows what they are talking about - can say to me and promise me, "His head is going to do all the things it needs to and he will never EVER have any disabilities because of his cranio". As Sam's mom - I am asking SOMEONE to promise me this. I think I know what that someone would say to me. I think and I feel inside that no one can promise me this. This is what I can't let go. I can let go of surgery - I almost have. I can't let go of Sam.
Five months ago I worried about getting enough sleep at night - and how the foods I eat will affect my breast milk. I remember trying to decide if I should take a strollercize class with my neighbour. Those days, seem so very, very long ago. Now that I know that there is craniosynostosis, I worry about so many other things that five months ago I never even knew existed. I feel robbed a little bit. I know that many, MANY mothers have it much worse and much harder. I know a few of those mommies quite well. But nobody plans for their child to have a "condition". Can you imagine, filling out your form during pregnancy? Please check a minimum of 2 items:

• blindness
• deafness
• craniosynostosis
• seizures
• cerebral palsy
• autism
• behaviour problems
• cancer
• diabetes
• speech delay
• etc...

Of course you can't. Nobody signs up for anything. You take what you get. And you do the best you can. I'm not mom of the year. I make a lot of mistakes. Sometimes, I don't learn the first or even the second time. But I always come back. So when my child asks me, "will you come back?" The only answer is yes. Mommy always comes back.