Whenever I need to feel my best and be alert, such as for tonight's youth meeting at church, my body completely betrays me and attempts to sabotage everything by turning me into one of the sleep-deprived walking dead. You wouldn't believe the massive amount of undereye concealer I go through. Erik began sobbing at 4 a.m., a new trend these days, so I went downstairs and crawled into his little bed with him. Overall, I was thankful he put a stop to my slightly groggy online shopping spree. However, I couldn't sleep even with my face in his sweet-smelling hair, of course, and discovered I had to use the bathroom. I tried to gracefully traverse the rickety bed rail and sneak out without waking him. Now that I think about it, I looked pretty darned ridiculous. I would move a few inches and stop. Move a few inches and stop. It was like mommy Claymation. I successfully made it out of bed and stood motionless over him in my fuzzy, blue Bea Arthur bathrobe with my hair in a swirly, looking like a disheveled burgler. Although I was quiet as death, he somehow heard my body at a cellular level and began sobbing yet again. Ironically, hours before this when I had given up on sleep, he slept deeply through my almost breaking a toe as I accidentally booted a heavy, sloshing sippy cup across the hard floor in the dark just outside his door. Go figure. I will live in sweats today, skip my planned trip downtown for a Jazzercise class, and go the love seat to die quietly in front of my beloved Oregon Ducks.
Brian is in Erik's room now. I can hear their sleep sighs on the baby monitor that flickers on my desk.
Just eleven more days to go before Erik's sedated echocardiogram. I would be a fat liar if I said this wasn't heavy on my mind. This week brought a mysterious sense of doom and a ready supply of irritability. It's not that our boy isn't the picture of health -- it's just that nobody seems interested in monitoring anything related to his syndrome here. Most of the doctors here haven't even heard of WS. I'm generally not fond of surprises and hope all goes well. Putting my child under any sort of sedation isn't my idea of the safest thing to do, either. I will throw myself a party when it's all over--until next time, anyway.
That's it for now.
Over and out.