Oh no...the funk

"Sass, you're just so bitter.  Why are you so pissed off at everyone?  Oh, so now I'm getting the silent treatment?  Fabulous.  Mature.  Way to face your problems head on.  By shutting everyone out.  Look at you!  You're doing it.  You're acting like a 12 year old!  Yay you!"

And so he left for work. 

Whatever.

Am I bitter right now?  Yup.  I sure am.  I hate the holidays.  It's strange, because I love the idea of the holidays.  I love the idea of being that mom, with the cookies and the candy and the Christmas music playing and the smile on my face.  I love that idea.  But when I actually try to put it into practice, I just get angrier and angrier. 

I'm broke.  I can't cook.  I'm lonely.  I miss my parents.  Oh, and tomorrow I'm going to St. Louis for my son's annual cardiology appointment.

Hmm...

That couldn't possibly be the problem, could it? 

Because, in all honesty, I average 364 days a year of looking at my son and thinking, "yup, that's Michael.  He's obnoxious.  He's loud.  He has absolutely no ability to sit still.  He has a set of six pack abs that make me jealous.  He's smart.  He's funny.  He loves to dance.  He thinks he's a gangster and says things like, 'word.'  He loves me so much.  He says that sometimes he likes to watch his sisters play, because he loves when they are happy.  He has a little girl in his class that he can't look at too long, because  he can just 'tell she doesn't have such an easy life, and if I look at her too much, I might cry.'" 

Oh, and he only has three chambers in his heart.  He was born without a right ventricle.  He's had two open heart surgeries, three heart catheterizations, and who knows what's to come.  And one day a year, he has to sit through echocardiograms, chest x-rays, questions, poking, prodding...all to hear, "come back next year." 

And yes, that's a good thing.  That's a very good thing.  But...this appointment.  It does stuff to me.  It makes me sit up late at night, looking at things like survival rates for kids who've had a Fontan procedure.  And in all honesty, there's just too much information out there.  Because 364 days out of the year, the only thing that threatens my son's survival is the way his hyperactivity pushes my buttons.  Or so I can convince myself.

I mean, every day Michael does take blood pressure medicine and a half of a baby aspirin.  So there's that reminder.  There's the scar on his chest.  There's the shape of his chest, which is just a little broader because of the way his sternum has been broken and healed.  But...that's just him.  No one points at that.  No one pushes on it.  No one...inspects it.  No one says, on a daily basis, let's talk about whether or not you're going to need a pacemaker in the future.  Let's talk about heart catheterizations.  Because he's just...Michael.

So yes.  I'm bitter.  Tomorrow is just that...day.  That day that reminds me that life isn't as simple and carefree as I sometimes wish.  The day that reminds my husband that he actually can't just pick up and get a new job, because his insurance is just too damn good right now.  The day that reminds Michael that we are all staring at him...all wondering if he's okay...all worrying about him. 

The one day where he doesn't feel normal.

Excuse me for being just a little..."bitter."