Ninny’s op taught me something.
It taught me that I can be “that mum” The one who calms, comforts and looks into a beautiful but incredibly red and inflamed eye and sees the beauty and promises it will all be okay.
Because it will. I will make sure of it.
But now every time I look at her, especially when she gets sad, I see this.
Then I remember how I felt when I had to wrangle her to sleep. Each wriggle pulling her in closer, each cough wanting to smack the mask away.
Then I get all upset. Worried. Guilty.
I hate it when she’s not with me. It feels horrid. I want to know where she is and exactly what she is doing. If she’s okay. Happy.
I want to try and turn it off a little. Be less anal.
To let go of her hand and not feel that horrible pain I felt when I placed her poor little self on the bed.
I worry at every grumble, cry or itch.
I just want her to be okay. Happy. No more double vision or eye drops.
When I got up on Friday morning I felt for sure Daddy would be the chosen one for the day. He would be the hero as always. Cause he’s strong and brave.
But it was my turn. And now I can’t go back to “normal”