Mine are strangely calm right now, though I've been antsy all day and busy all week. Play group, shopping errands, the Picasso exhibit (worth seeing!), finishing up two freelance articles — done, done, done, done. Now it's Thursday night, and I've washed my hair and shaved my legs (you never know ...) and packed my bathrobe and new slippers (a gift!); and Daniel has finally gone to sleep, so I'm trying to wrap up loose ends, like printing out a schedule of Daniel's day for the babysitters, typing up instructions for Steve on how to update my blog, and checking all my e-mail. (I can't possibly answer it all, just as I can't return all the phone calls I've been getting in the past couple of days. That's just the way it is, and I trust people understand.) It kind of feels like how I feel just before I go on a long trip — so much to do to set the house in order and make sure everything is taken care of. Not until I give Daniel one last squeeze — I'm going to miss holding him so much — and leave for the hospital with Steve can I focus on myself and what's about to happen.
I think I'm going to pull through fine. The short-term recovery is going to be rough, an adjustment for everyone, and the long-term prognosis for the cancer's return is going to be always hanging over my head, but for the in-between, I'm going to be OK. I'm worried about the baby, though — both babies, actually. I'm dreading waking up tomorrow evening and hearing someone say, "I'm very sorry, but we lost the baby." That would add a layer of numb heartbreak that I can't bear to face, though I feel like I've been trying to accept it all week, just in case. And then there's my living, breathing baby — not really a baby anymore, more a toddler, since he's walking practically nonstop now. He's too young to understand why his mommy isn't home, why when she does get home she won't pick him up, why any of this is happening. I just hope he is a resilient little guy, and I know he will be in good hands with Steve. He's been really bonding with his dad lately. They dance together to Daniel's favorite music. It's so cute to see: Steve picks him up and foxtrots or two-steps or just spins him around the floor, depending on what the music calls for. Daniel's smile is so big. He loves his daddy.
And I love him, too. I have to say that Steve has been this amazing rock in the past week and a half. I've been holding it together pretty OK, too, but I keep thinking if the roles were reversed — if something had happened to Steve — I think I might be a wreck. I don't know how I got so lucky to have a husband like this, seriously.