Scars

October 21, 2015  ~  Exactly 3 years PP (Post Pox)

I snapped this picture a few days ago during one of Lola's "high needs" days.  There have been more of those lately -- hence the three month lapse in blogging.  I don't mind the constant holding, cuddling, & relaxing; I just mind the fact that my ass is getting exponentially larger the longer I sit-sit-sit on it.  I rarely think back to our chicken pox days... mostly because it's too painful, but also because it brings back all the old fears & worries that consumed me during that time. There has honestly never been a time that I feared for Lola's life more than I did then.  I toyed with posting a picture showing how bad her chicken pox were, but it doesn't feel right.  For some reason, I feel the need to protect my girl by not sharing pictures of some of her darkest days. Another part of me doesn't want to admit still just how bad it really was.  It literally was 3-4 weeks of hell followed by 2 years of recovery.  We watched our precious, tiny baby scream and cry and stop sleeping and lose massive amounts of weight.  She dropped from 10 lb. to 7 lb. in a very short period of time. Our doctors were stunned, as were we.  We continued to feed her the same quantity & frequency that we always had, yet for some reason, it was as if her body simply could not process food at all. We felt powerless, terrified and defeated.  It was emotionally difficult even changing her diaper or clothes and seeing how deathly thin she had gotten. She literally had zero subcutaneous fat -- her body was nothing but muscle and bone covered by paper-thin, fragile skin.  I am overwhelmed with emotion right now just remembering back to what she went through -- what we ALL went through -- during that year or two.  We are changed.

It wasn't until I snapped the top picture that I realized just how scarred Lola still remains. Physically, emotionally, mentally.  I think we all are.  For years, I have glossed over how close we were to losing our girl.  I felt like if I didn't admit it, I could somehow forget what we went through.  It is just in the past year or so that I've been able to talk about it.  Though I can't do so very often. Honestly, there is not much to say except how grateful I am that our daughter chose to live.  I questioned daily if she was strong enough to overcome... I so wanted to believe she was.  Each time I finally got her to rest, it was quiet, and I was brave enough to be honest with myself, I would talk to Lola, to Scott, to a Higher Power, to the Universe, to my angels, to my friends -- I was searching so hard for someone to ease my mind, to tell me it was going to be okay, that Lola wanted to be here, that she had plenty of chances to leave & yet she never did.  No one could promise me anything.  All I could do was pray.  And beg.  And cry to the Heavens to please let my baby fucking STAY.

Lola's scars remind me of my pain, but mostly they remind me of her strength.  Each & every tiny scar that I count is my reminder of how far my girl has come and how much she truly wants to be here. Over the past year or so, the scars have softened and faded some.  Her personality has come back (and then some!), she is much less fussy (except when teething, as she has been doing recently), and I am happy to report she sleeps -- on average -- 3-5 hours a night now (up from 30 minutes - 2 hours).  Her skin is glowing, her eyes are bright, and her hair is thick and wavy. She is back up to 12-13 lb. now!  I cannot tell you how freeing it is to be able to let go of allllllllllll the fears and bullshit prognoses and possible scenarios that played through my mind like scripts and just LOVE THIS LIFE & LIVE IN JOY instead.  We can thank our sweet Polly Pocket for that gift.

Thank you for being our light amidst the darkness, sweet girl.
We love you so very much, scars & all.  Thank you for choosing to stay.

xo