I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay. Yes, I’m fine, we’re fine, she’s fine, I’m fine, he’s fine, we’re all FINE. I’m sure it will be alright; I’m sure it will go well; they do this almost all the time; it’s practically routine. I’m okay, she’s fine, we’re all swell.
(I am NOT fine. He is NOT fine. Of course’s she fine, she’s okay, she has no clue. But she ISN’T fine or okay or swell, because then we wouldn’t be doing this, would we? I don’t know that everything is going to be okay. I’m just saying that so you will go away and feel comforted, because if I really let you know how I felt, there would be puddles.)
No one knows why; we don’t know what causes it; no, we’re not sure what its related to; yes, it’s just one of those things. No, it’s no one’s fault.
(What if…this IS my fault? Was it something I did? I didn’t do? Is it a genetics thing?)
Oh yes, I know there are other kids of have had this done. Yes, the one I know of have turned out fine. No, no major complications. Oh really? Your sister’s boyfriend’s stepmother’s sister’s child had this? Turned out fine? That’s great to hear.
(I know other people have done this. But I am doing this. Right now. With my baby. Infant. Defenseless thing, can’t walk, talk, chew, crawl, etc? You know the one I’m talking about? So, the fact it is my baby that this doing this right now pretty much makes everyone else’s wonderful outcomes irrelevant, because I am sacred shitless for my baby. MY baby, not theirs, or your sister’s boyfriend’s stepmom’s sister’s monkey’s uncle’s child.)
Yes, I have heard the jokes about having a hard head. Oh yes, they’re funny. No, of course I don’t need to worry about her bonking her head, because, haha, hard head! Yes, I’m laughing. Oh yes, we are keeping our sense of humor up. No, it’s not too soon.
(Yes, it is too soon. How the EFF is it possible that you don’t see that this laughter is on maniacal side of things with me barely keeping tears back? If you make one more hard headed joke before this surgery I am going to lose it.)
Help? Oh, we have plenty. No, thank you, we’re all set over here. Thank you for the offer of help. Yes, I know I can call you anytime. Yes, I know I can request anything, anytime. Thank you all, you’re so sweet.
(Help is not a vague offer of being a phone call away, you ass. If you meant it, you would do what the people who really want to help are doing, and just effing do it. Like I’ve done a hundred thousand times for you and everyone else. I’m not here to be your cruise director of help-needed.)
Yes, I know they are expressing concern. Some of it is genuine, some of it feels like something uglier, like people wanting to watch an area where think a car crash is about to occur. So this has nothing to do with the genuine. This has to do with the ugly, and with the people who ask about it, and then while I’m answering, brush it off, well! It’ll be fine! God has plans! Have you seen my new nail polish?
All the reasons I cannot be sick right now
15 hours ago