I'm on page 37 of Road Map to Holland by Jennifer Graf Groneberg. I'm sure my fellow bus mates were wondering who that crazy lady was sobbing in the back of the bus this morning. I'm at the part where she just received her son's diagnosis and it's the early days in the NICU. Hmm, sounds familiar. Life revolving around pumping, split into three hour increments. Memories that are bittersweet because you know that when the happened it was "before" you knew about the Down syndrome. Having to make that terrible phone call, the one to tell about a birth that should ostensibly be good news, only to have to make a different, crushing kind of phone call. Feeling like you let everyone down. Mourning the baby you thought you were going to have. Looking at the baby you did have like he is a stranger. A monster. And yes, the feeling that you've been kicked in the stomach and you can't breath.
Wow. Why am I subjecting myself to this? I don't know, but I am so bummed it's Monday and I have to work. The only saving grace is that because it's Monday I have time to read--I will be counting the hours until my commute home where book time is my time.
