I can write things about how I no longer have time to myself and all of those kinds of sucky excuses. And hurtful excuses. Because I'm so conscious of the fact that so many of my special friends aren't here yet. And with all of my heart I wish them here. But the truth is that it's not really about not having time. I mean there is always something to do, but there was before too. Before Toby that is. So, it's more so that my time has just gone by.
I wish for myself, and for all of the BLMs that a rainbow makes everything ok. But I've learnt now that it doesn't. I'm not ungrateful, not in the slightest. Oh, my God, no. Never. And remembering how it felt to be on the side without the rainbow, I know that also sounds like a sucky thing to say. But I will say that the rainbow helps. It doesn't make it better, but it does help.
I've had many tears since my gorgeous boy, Toby, arrived into my life. Within hours, in the way that they change so quickly out of the brand new fresh newborn look, and start to come 'into themselves', he also transformed into a look alike of his older brother. So bittersweet. Here I had my beautiful second son, Toby, but here I was also being given a second chance to see what might have been had Ciaran been able to stay with me.
Toby has been called Ciaran several times in the last two weeks. Out loud. Shane did it first. I've done it since. In conversation, either with someone else, or between us. I can't tell you how it makes me feel. Sad, yearning. Torn. I also feel guilty. That my gorgeous little special, oh so special, little man Toby is living in the shadow of his angel brother. The one who will never do wrong.
But time has helped that. Toby is really starting to come into his own now. Although maybe that's just as much that he is in a period that Ciaran didn't have a chance to get close to. Toby is two weeks old today. Fourteen days old. Where has that time gone?
I'm writing his birth story. But I've already forgotten so much of the detail. I hope that I can post it soon.
There are honestly a lot of tears gone down the shower drain here though, I do have to admit. I cry for the little boy who isn't here. The two, almost three, year old that I'm not chasing. I cry because I should know what I'm doing, having done it all before. People ask if this is my first (still) and I say no, my second. But still I don't know the basics. I'm learning yes. But I'm also learning just how much of a black and white person I've become. I read things in books now. I look for instructions of "how to" on the internet. I don't do change. I don't do "winging it". I'm scared I will break my baby boy. I'm not necessarily talking bones and things. But nobody seems to be able to tell you how often they should feed at this age, or how much. Nobody gives you the rule book to tell you whether you are a bad mother for not changing their clothes every day. Nobody gives you a schedule telling you that next you give them a bath, and then you... Nobody tells you anything. Except when they do, it all conflicts with what other people have told you, and that does my head in. That started in hospital for me. I'm learning to handle it better now. But I have had many "bad mother" moments.
I am trying to learn to sing songs to my little precious one. But it always ends up the same way. A monsoon of tears. And then I worry that the tears are too much, and that it will all flow through to Toby, and how unfair is that. I'm learning to sing though. Trying. But so far I haven't found a song I can sing, or even hum, that doesn't take me to another time, another little boy.
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My paranoia is growing too. I intend to see a counsellor about it once I get my independance back, and can get over to the city. But as our time together grows, so does my fear that something will happen. I don't like to call it paranoia, because I know that things happen. We all know that. For some reason my fears are more real from evening into the night. I admit to having to continually check on Toby. I admit to watching the light on the breathing monitor. I admit to worrying myself silly because the light doesn't flash regularly all the time. I admit to touching him, so that he will stir. There are many things that I know are my own fears, but I am afraid that these moments might be our last. How much do I hate writing that out? Putting things in words?
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So much that I love though. I have immense love for Toby. Of course. He's a beautiful, placid little boy. He has a lovely four hour routine happening. I've been told by "everybody" that they "grow horns" from about six weeks, and that any routine goes out the window. Maybe so. I'll find that out soon enough. But for now, four hours is super. I'm not exhausted. My sleep is broken, but I'm getting by on what I get. I go back to bed with Toby after his first daylight feed, which is often around 7.30, and get up again when Toby wakes me for his next feed, and then I potter around for the afternoon, getting a few things done. I stay up late - I'm more of a night owl than a morning person anyway. So, by doing that I give him his late feed (11- midnight) before I go to bed, as I also cope better with little interruption to my sleep. So, we're getting there!
I love newborn cuddles. I love the little faces he pulls. I love the noises he makes. I love the smiles. Yes, I know they are wind smiles at this stage, but a preview of the real thing is enough to give me something to get excited about! I love the fact that he settles with me, when his world is making him cry, or he has a pain. I love that he's getting to know me.
I love when we go to bed, and he's beside me in his open weave bassinet... that I can pull it right over next to where I lay... that after his feed, in his awake time... that we can lay there and just look at each other until I turn the light off.
So much to love.
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I'm considering setting up a new blog. I want to go public again. I don't like the privacy of this set. I also feel like this blog belongs to Ciaran. My life will always be full of grief for him. But now it is more about the trials of grieving one, while loving and tending another. But I'm not sure yet, whether a new blog is the answer.
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