Twas Brillig

Today when I click on my FeedJit Live thingy, which tells me who lands on my site and where they come from, including Google searches, I noticed that I had an abundance of My Super Hopeless Romance related searches.  Since I’ve mentioned that blog before, and since Google has a crush on me (seriously, they put my blog at the top of some really random searches!) I wasn’t too surprised by the actual search, but more by the QUANTITY of people searching for it.

Oh, I’m addicted to Cordy’s blog as much as anyone else, but I haven’t had the chance to read it (or anything else) in the last few days.  But I figured if the internets were returning searches such as “Super Hopeless Romance Mad” and “My Super Hopeless Romance SUCKS” then something must be going on.  So I clickity-clicked over to the blog… and… well… I learned that the whole thing had been a ruse.   It was fiction.  There IS no Cordy and Seth.  And that the world is picketing her front yard with pitch-forks because of it.

Upon learning the truth, I was SHOCKED!  STUNNED!  GASPING FOR AIR!  CURSING SUE (of Navel Gazing, the real author of My Super Hopeless Romance) FOR THE TERRIBLE RIDE SHE’D TAKEN US ON!

Ummm… okay, NO.  I was not ANY of those things.  I’d had my suspicions about the authenticity of the site, but I didn’t CARE.  The point was, it was a blast to read.  An addiction like Lays potato chips— you can’t read just one post.  It was just a fun, good, romantic tale.

It is now so much more than that.  Seriously.  It’s now LEGENDARY.  LEGENDARY, people!

Sue started a simple blog for fun, pretending to be Cordy, a single 23-year old who was in love with her best friend.  She linked it up here and there, but the wildfire caught on all by itself.  Cordy was an overnight superstar.

And I guess Sue couldn’t live with the guilt, so she finally told the truth about it.  And you won’t BELIEVE the things that people have been saying to her!  I guess she’s getting hate mail by the hundreds!

WHY?  Because she entertained us?  Because a bunch of us mommy-bloggers were living vicariously through her delicious romantic tale?  I don’t get it.  I think the girl’s brilliant.  I tip my hat to her.  She started the blog at the beginning of October and had taken over bloglandia by the end of October.  Don’t pretend like you wouldn’t love to do the same thing!  And the fact that she’s feels SO GUILTY over it just makes me adore her that much more.

So why on earth am I posting about any of this?  Well, because, people are coming to my blog in search of my opinions on My Super Hopeless Romance.  Now they have it.

What’s YOUR opinion?

When I was a toddler, I fell into the swimming pool in my backyard.  My mother found me four minutes later, floating face-down.  Blue.

To make a long story too short (because I really should tell the whole story sometime), the paramedics came and I was rushed to the emergency room where it was pronounced that I would be fine in the long run, but that I would likely develop pneumonia over the next few days.  And sure enough, that’s exactly what happened.

My mother recalls the nights that she lay by my side, listening to my tortured breath.  She talks about how she would check on me over and over again, just to make sure I was still breathing.

Bubba has been sick all week.  Scooby too.  My strong, healthy boys are brought to their knees when they get sick.  It’s… cute!  The snuggle with me, they hug me, they need me to make them all better.  I love those quiet moments, the soft kisses, their belief that my presence is all they need.  And then, they get well again.  And they jump on the couches and throw baseballs at the lamps and torture their older sister, like all robust, healthy boys do.  And the snuggles and softness are but a distant memory.

So you have to savor it while you can.

But as I was enjoying all the snuggles this week, I couldn’t help but fear for Isaac who, miraculously, had not yet gotten sick.  But I knew he would.  He always does.

It’s funny that when Bubba and Scooby were sick, it didn’t really occur to me to call a doctor about it.  It was just a fever and a cold.  Nothing more.  Nothing my big boys couldn’t handle on their own.

But tonight, Isaac is sick.  I can hear his breathing from across the house— and when, for one reason or another, I CAN’T hear him breathe, I panic and rush to him and stare at his chest, making sure it rises and falls.

Oh, sure, his funny breathing sounds just like Bubba’s sounded all week.  But when Isaac sounds like that, it’s not cute.  It’s not sweet.

It’s awful.

You may think I’m overreacting, and I probably am.  But my memory isn’t so short that I don’t remember this little phase in Isaac’s life:

(That’s how they give babies chest x-rays… They are also considering using it in Guantanamo as a torture device.)

(That’s an oxygen monitor strapped to his feet)

(His very own hospital gown— who knew they made them in “petite” sizes?)

(Breathe, baby.  Breathe.)

Of course, that was all a long time ago.  Over a year and a half ago.  He was just a tiny little baby then.  Still, just as my mother recalls sitting awake with me during the night to make sure I was still breathing 28 years ago, I will never forget sitting in the hospital, listening to the raspy little sounds of my tiny baby sucking desperately for air.

When Isaac gets sick, he does it with style.  None of this silly 24-hour stuff for him.  Oh no.  He likes to drag it on for a few weeks or more.  He likes to turn it into a very big production.

One last little trick with Isaac is that he sits alone.  Bubba and Scooby come running to their momma for loves and snuggles.  But Isaac pushes me away.  No loves, no snuggles, no kisses.  My maternal need to reach out and hold him only causes him more trauma.  He needs me to stop touching him.  He needs me to stop looking at him, talking to him.

Tonight, as I looked at his miserable little face, drained of its color, and listened to his miserable little voice, barely audible now, I didn’t hug him.  I didn’t snuggle him.  I handed him a stack of blocks.  And he stacked, and he stacked, and he stacked in perfectly straight rows, with everything lining up so that it was perfectly even.  That was the hug.  That was the snuggle.  I’m learning, slowly but surely, to speak his language.  It might not quench my yearning, my need to hold him.  But he feels loved and comforted.  And, after all, that’s my job.

He’s in bed now.  Tomorrow we will see a doctor.  Again, maybe I’m overreacting.  I didn’t seek out a doctor when Bubba and Scooby were sick.  But everything with Isaac is different.  So tomorrow we’ll get him looked at.  We’ll got those oxygen levels checked.  Tonight, though… tonight, I will listen to him breathe.