Approaching 18

Ian almost 18 months old

There's another milestone looming--not even a real one or an important one--yet it is there.   Next week it will be 18 months.  A year and a half. 

That's the amount of time I was away from Keith after we knew we loved each other.  My mission.  Even though I was serving  and having the time of my life and enjoying just about every minute,  it seemed like an incredibly long period of time.  I missed him horribly and longed to be with him.  I was so excited to see him that we met in the San Francisco airport on my way home to Salt Lake.  It was a grand reunion.  That was one 18 month block of time.

That's 2 pregnancies.  What could possibly feel longer than that?  I've always said that it's the mother who is delivered, not the baby.

The last 18 months have been the worst of my life.  Painful and raw and draining and confusing.  So confusing.  How can the worst time of your life fly by so quickly?  How can it possibly have been a year and a half since I saw my baby?"  (No Ian,  I'm not calling you a baby.  I know you hate that.  But, you'll always be my baby.)  It's unfathomable. 

There are people around me that don't even know I have 3 children:  all the new members in our ward,  new teachers at school,  the ladies at Mikey's gym who probably wonder why I look so depressed sitting there for 2 hours every week.

Keith and I went to a work function in San Francisco a couple of weeks ago.  Food suppliers fly in from all over the country for these things and we dress all up and pretend we enjoy meeting each other.  I was seated by a man I had never met and since I don't work, people always ask me about the kids.  That's part of the reason we haven't gone for so long.  I should have prepared my answers in advance, but I didn't and I've felt weird ever since.

Guy:  "So, how many children do you have?"
Me:  "3."
Guy:  "How old are they?"
Me:  "11,  14,  and 17."
I turned to my food at that point.
Guy:  "So, the 17 year old is a junior then?"
Me:  "Yep."
Back to my food.  Conversation over.

Later that night I was talking to a woman at our table about how many pair of control top pantyhose she was wearing.  We were laughing and having a good time.  Then she asked about the kids.  I felt so disgusted with myself about the first conversation that I told her the truth.  She pulled the face.  She felt horrible.  I tried to continue the conversation, but it was over.

Why do I feel like I both betrayed Ian and turned myself into a psycho?  After 18 months I figure I should know what to say.  I think I should be able to have a little control over my emotions.  Not so much.  Still fresh.  Sitting in a chair a few days ago, watching TV,  I thought to myself,  "Does this mean he needs another cath?"  I remember asking the doctor that in April or May.  I'm still trying to reassure myself that I did all I could.  I actually considered emailing the doctor the other day and asking him what the life expectancy is for a baby with heterotaxy syndrome.  I thought maybe if he said 5 or 6 years old somehow that would make me feel better about the "bonus" time we got.  Stupid.

I got 10 full 18 month blocks of time with Ian.  They went so fast.  This block without him  has gone fast too, but the minutes and the hours haven't.  The 18 we should be approaching is years--in time for the election  Ian was going to vote out Obama!