I am so out of practice (taking Ty to hospitals, not the whole having anxiety thing - I'm totally up with that).
Anyhow, having so much time staring at monitors that frequently alarm is not a good thing. Not for me because I turn to Dr. Google to answer my concerns. Bad idea, by the way. I also do not recommend ever watching the hospital health education channel - you pretty much see the how-to instructions for every horrible procedure you hope never to perform.
After catching up on blog reading, channel surfing, watching the Spanish movie channel just to see just how much Spanish I didn't learn in the 6 years I *studied* it, my thoughts start turning towards home.
Right now, my youngest is sick with the pukies and the second youngest is probably just getting started. My house is still in chaos after getting the floors redone, the piles on the counter are reaching Shel Silverstein poetic proportions and I'm not there. My son has a scout activity this weekend, I have no idea where the paperwork is and I am not there to look for it. I am not there.
The dust bunnies are undoubtedly getting it on under the sofas, but I haven't shown anyone how to take care of the new floors so they will wait. And multiply (as bunnies are wont to do). Laundry is sure to be piling up. Thankfully, neighbors are bringing in food, somehow I didn't think that far ahead this time. I am usually more prepared than this. I am not there.
The weight of these thoughts, a claustrophobia of the mind, wedges my head in the vice grip of parental guilt. Why can't I be everywhere? Here and there? I wonder, will this make my other children stronger or resentful?
For now, I sit here, bedside - listening to the contented buzzing of my sleeping son who is currently so blissed out on pain meds he is barely aware that - I am here.
I am here, me, the silent cheerleader, mentally chanting, "Go, Ty, go. I love you, and I am always here for you. Always. I know you can do this."
In his sleep, he nods his head up and down, up and down as I press a kiss to his cheek, breathing in the smell of him. And in my mind I hear him say, "I know, mom. I love you too."
I am here.