Guilt

      I want to take some time to discuss the gut-wrenching guilt I felt/feel regarding Row's condition. I will preface this by stating that I KNOW that there is nothing that I did or did not do, either during pregnancy or afterward, that caused this problem. I UNDERSTAND that as a fact, and I accept it as fact. Unfortunately facts are feeble when sent into battle against your own feelings. What I KNOW and what I FEEL are entirely disparate things.
      I KNOW that Row was born this way and his illness has nothing to do with his stint in my belly. I KNOW that there is nothing that Paul and I have done wrong since his birth to cause his condition. I KNOW these things.

                                 
  I, however, FEEL that I did this. I did this to my darling.
 I ate one too many cheeseburgers, had one too many coffees, pulled on too many shifts cleaning rooms at the hotel. I fell during rehearsals for ANNIE (though just to my knees, nothing affecting him). I didn't drink enough water, I didn't get enough exercise, I didn't eat enough vegetables. I walked through clouds of second hand smoke too often. I didn't get my body into great condition before becoming pregnant, I didn't do my Kegels, I didn't read enough about labor and delivery. I failed to deliver him properly and had to do the last minute C-section. I hated nursing, and I never wanted to do it, it made me feel like a soggy, wet animal and I resented it...he felt this from me, he must have, and we, therefore, failed to form a true nursing bond, so we quit and switched to pumping. Then I didn't pump enough. I didn't drink enough water and pump often enough and my supply ran out, so now he has formula. Just formula.
     He is broken, his quality of life is diminished and it is entirely my doing. There is no amount of logic, reason, or empirical evidence in existence that can change my opinion on this, no matter how unreasonable I know that is. It simply is. He's been my sole responsibility since April 21st, 2012...the day he began, and it has been my job to live for him, exclusively.

    I was too selfish and cut corners to satisfy myself, as I have always done, as I will, likely, continue to do. I try every day to do right by my son but I feel like I'm just on an out of control treadmill, desperately trying to keep pace. (I hate physical exertion, so this metaphor is particularly effective for me.)
      These feelings are understandable, but unjustified. Every Doctor has assured me that there was nothing I did to cause this and nothing I could have done to prevent it. Despite the evidence, I can't help blaming myself, because admitting that it just happened at random is terrifying. If I can blame myself, find a cause, then I can avoid this in the future, I can improve, I can make it right...I can fix it. If this was a random curse of fate then I am helpless, helpless to help Row or his subsequent siblings (assuming we are able/allowed to have them, genetic tests still hold the sword of Damocles above us on that one).
     I am fortunate, because my angel has a solution in store, one that will (theoretically, and based on many success stories) give him a real life that is barely affected by these early worries at all. Many parents are not so lucky. There are too many ailments to begin listing that affect the children of the world, and my heart aches for the fears their parents endure. Rowan is lucky; he is not in pain due to his seizures and he has a solution to his problem, one that should solve everything permanently. He is happy and developing well and has a vast web of love and support. He will be fine, and so will his parents.

In time.