I'm Fine

"I'm fine."

It's our blow off answer to inquiries we don't have time or inclination to answer. If someone asks in passing, it's less than polite to go into a litany of complaints. If it's someone you don't want to go deep with, it's your way to keep that person in their proper place in your life, aka, not too close. Sometimes we are just too tired of repeating the same conversation when we are in the midst of personal drama.

"I'm fine."

What happens when it is true? I've been so blessed with one after another offering of support. I randomly contacted Leticia Valasquez, in a quest for holy cards for Dr. Lejeune. She then forwarded my email to someone at the Jerome Lejeune Foundation, USA who in turn contacted me. Not only that, but Leticia graciously linked my blog on the IDSC for Life Facebook page. It didn't take long for an outpouring of comments of support. I am savoring these comments, and saving them in my emotional account. I know there will be days I need them. Days when having a child with special needs will make me feel overwhelmed. Days when I will question God's wisdom. Days when I will think God got it all wrong because I am just not competent enough for this task, and this person is too special to be put under the care of such a weakling.

I am fine. Well, okay, let's revise that to "Fine for a person who has had major surgery and five kids, including a busy 3 year old boy and a newborn." Which, is not technically fine, but at least manageable. Basically, I'm in the conditioning part of becoming the mom of 5. I will be fine again when my floors are swept and vacuumed at least 5 times/week. Keep in mind, they need it 5 times/day. (If the reader is asking herself, "Where is this going?" The blogger must answer, "How should I know? I've been interrupted 7 times with requests for food/drink/backscratching and a band-aid.")

Oh right, fine.

I mentioned before that the general assumption is that I am overwhelmed with Mariana's DS. I am not. Yet. I have no idea what the future will hold, but for now, I am the normal post-partum level of hormonal and overwhelmed as always. Mariana adds to my stress because she is a newborn and I am tired. I look at my baby, and I can't even see the Downs markers anymore. I have erased countless pictures because I see the markers that I can't see in real life. I am frustrated that my camera can't catch Mariana's curiosity and the understanding in her eyes. She has that same look all newborns have, as though she knows so much more about what life is than you could ever hope to. I want so badly for my friends and family to see what I see. I don't want them to see the Downs first. It's there, and it matters. It isn't honest to pretend it's no more significant than a hangnail. But the humanity gets so lost in the diagnosis sometimes that I feel a little desperate to communicate to the world how fine we really are.

But these moms who have special needs children, I trust them. I trust I need their uplifting comments, if not now, later when I have to convince a professional to act. I trust that I will have days I am going to want to scream in order to be heard. I trust that I am going to feel like life is too hard and perhaps that entire chocolate cake in the bakery will make it easier. I trust that I might go ahead and eat the damn cake and watch a sad movie to boot. I trust that God gave me this awesome community because I am as weak as I think I am.

For now, I don't need cake. I don't feel like life is too hard. I am really fine. When the time comes that I am not fine, it is comforting to know this community is there. It feels so safe to have families that understand all the frustrations that come with this journey, especially the not-so obvious ones. It is wonderful to have comments of encouragement from people I've never met who just know I'll need them someday. It might just keep me out of the cake.

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I am not kidding, I have been interrupted so many times during this post, I am not certain of its coherence.  I am certain if I didn't have spell check that it would look as though one of my children typed it.