It doesn't seem like anything is wrong with him. No one stops us on the street to ask if he is okay.
Our Little Buddha doesn't look sick. He hasn't lost all of his hair (but then he didn't have much hair to begin with). He isn't super skinny or listless. He doesn't seem depressed, or overly tired. It doesn't seem like anything is wrong with him. No one stops us on the street to ask if he is okay.
Actually, he is insanely active. He cruses around his crib and will crawl away the second you put him down. He bounces over and over in our arms and on our laps, tiring us out so much we have to pass him back and forth. He flirts like mad, batting his eyes and smiling at strangers until they gush over him. He seems like a perfectly healthy 10 month old baby. I guess that is why it is so easy to forget for a few minutes that he is very, very sick. Those moments are nice, but damn, it hurts so much when reality comes crashing down on you.
"Those moments are nice, but damn, it hurts so much when reality comes crashing down on you."
The truth is all of the "cancer stuff"--taking care of his hickman, giving him his meds--becomes routine. It gets rolled up into "stuff you do to take care of the baby." Then all of a sudden it hits you, this is not normal. I am recording my baby's food intake, bowel movements, wet diapers, and medications on a whiteboard. This is not typical baby stuff. I am doing this because my baby is sick.
My baby is sick. He doesn't look sick. How is this happening? Why is this happening? Why him? Why us? Then the tears come. The mini breakdown.
Then our Little Buddha smiles. He laughs. He wants us to play with him. How can I cry when he looks at me like that? How can I be sad when the world's most amazing baby wants nothing more than to play with me?
Nothing else really matters.