We cleaned out the garage today. God help me. I did find my collection of porcelain dolls. I was going to sell them on ebay but for some reason can't seem to part with them. What a junk collector I am however today was the day to purge. Two very large garbage bags full and numerous boxes were disposed of.
I found some of Patrick's preemie clothes. So small, he's almost 12 now and just about taller than me. Hard to believe that we brought him home at just 4 pounds 8 oz. He was too small for the car seat and we had to prop him up with towels to support his head. Patrick spent a whole month in the NICU. I remember the day they said we could finally bring him home. We got in our front door and I just sat on the couch with him on my chest and cried and cried. He looked like a plucked chicken. Transparent skin, bugged eyes because he hadn't grown into his skull yet, skinny chickeny arms and legs with no fat. We had to bathe him in the wash basin that they send you home from the hospital with.
It's funny how we don't forget things that happen to our kids. We try so hard to protect them and do everything right but ultimately it's out of our hands. There were many days that we thought Patrick wouldn't come home with us. I just can't imagine what that would be like. I think it's hard for people to realize the mother/child bond. It happens whether you birth them or whether they are adopted. I have both scenarios and no matter what you freak out if your baby is hurting.
A lot of memories piling on me these days, losing my mom and dad, Patrick's struggles. No idea what they mean, or what I'm supposed to do with them. Maybe nothing, maybe sit with them and let them be. Maybe mom and dad are trying to tell me something. I wish it was more obvious. sigh.