The End/The Beginning

I just realized that Cyrus has been home 4 weeks. I also just realized, seriously, just now, that today is his five month birthday.

I want to tell you that it's over, and I hope that is the case.

The minute Cy-guy was brought into our house, we've been much saner people. Lots of people kept saying, like, "now you'll never sleep again!" and "you'll just watch him breathe all night!" hahaha, you people. I don't give a fuck. I mean, I woke up only once the first night home to see if he was breathing. After the four months in the hospital, I figured the doctors wouldn't have sent him home if they thought that was an issue. As far as sleeping less, well, that's what I signed up for so many months ago. And I don't care. We don't care. The stress of less sleep and feeding the crying baby is nothing compared to what we've been through. I laugh in the face of a leaky diaper or a quivering mouth. Hahaha!

Except for the feeding tube sticking out of his stomach, and a slightly lopsided head, Cyrus J. is a normal baby. He's performing at a 2 month old level, which is what his age should be. He loves to kick on his floor gym and coo and gurgle. He's starting to smile, but he doesn't wanna wear it out. He's got us figured out, and though I know he's not old enough to manipulate, I feel like he can...and does.

So far, he is not the burden that everyone made him out to be. "You can't leave at the drop of a hat, anymore!" they all said. Well, cliches aside, it doesn't take that long to get us all in order. The hardest part is the moms finding time alone. We can't go anywhere together without him because we'd have to teach a baby sitter how to use the machine. And no, it's not that hard, but it just seems like people would be freaked out by it. Because of his surgeries and seizures, he qualifies to have an in home nurse come. We've decided we need her only 4 hours a week. This Wednesday my wife and I had a date at Les Bourgeois: the first time we'd been out together without the little fat man.

We have a sleep schedule that seems to work well. One of us stays with him while the other one sleep on the couch. Then we switch. In the day time, we just take turns. If Mindy has had enough of him, I take over. And that goes the other way, too. But school is starting on Monday, and with all of my schedule switching, I'm way behind where I'd like to be. So, the past few days Mindy has watched him while I work on school stuff. You see, everything is equal and that makes it very easy.

And maybe that's one of the advantages of gay parenting. You see, we have no roles to fulfill. Mindy doesn't always feed him or change his diaper...the way I've been told it usually works. You know, the mom gets up all night and does, well, mostly everything. We're both moms, so we both act like moms.

Life is good. There are times when I wish I could go have a beer with friends without worrying if Mindy's getting mad at having to watch him while I'm drinking. When she leaves, I think she feels the same guilt.

He has a swallow study on Thursday and we hope it will show that he can start taking a bottle. If that were the case, we'd be able to leave him with people and feel more confident about his care.

So, gentle reader, I will leave you here.

I started this blog in hopes to tell people the struggles of two women trying to get pregnant, of the looks and stares and hatred. But, as you know, this was a story of something much more meaningful. It has been just over a year that our story began. You might wonder how the whirlwind of drama has changed me. Let me think...

I have not found God. Not for one moment during all of this did I hope there was a higher power, or feel that a higher power was doing this to me/us. I did find faith, though, in people. For the past 6 months we've been given so many gifts...even from a church I've never heard of (though I'm pretty sure they didn't know we were gay).

People love babies, especially tiny, horrifying, helpless babies.

I like babies more than I thought I did. I used to tell Mindy that I'd take a toddler any day, because they can talk and all that. But Cyrus has a personality. He has a huge personality. I think he's smarter and cooler than I can ever try to be.

I feel like an expert on preemies. I've always had an interest in things medical, but I preferred dead people. Now I know more than I ever cared to know about little, teeny babies.

We are lucky. Or if you don't believe in luck, we just got the better end of a percentage. Actually, all of the numbers fell our way: we got pregnant on the first try, Cyrus survived, Cyrus' brain is all there.

As I write this, he is beside me on the floor in his bouncy seat. He's laughing in his sleep, at what, I don't know, but I imagine it's fate.

He is tough.

He is stubborn

He is beautiful.

He is absolutely alive.