keep having to wipe boogers from Arya’s face, because every time I blink there’s more just dripping out of her nose. She’s sick, running a fever and obviously stuffy. Last night was terrible; she woke up more times than I can count and was only comfortable in my lap.
Figures, of course, that I have to eat my words the day after I was gushing on how well she’s been sleeping lately.
Every time I’m in her room, particularly when I’m on the glider just waiting for her to fall asleep, I think. There’s not much else to do in the dark. I look around, taking in her walls, blank but for her name made out of yarn that was the only craft project I ever finished for her. My anxiety problems tripled in strength while I was pregnant with her, and it took as much energy as I had just to talk myself out of bed every morning. Pieces of the origami mobile I was making her lay in the bookshelf right by the glider, so they serve as a nice reminder of all the things I could’ve done better or just… the things that never were.
So I find it hard not to blame myself after finding out that she has a significant delay in her gross motor skills. I know that it’s not. I know that no matter what I did differently it probably wouldn’t have changed. Yet it’s hard to convince myself otherwise. Because of the blank walls. Because of the unfinished mobile. Because of the four bunny prints we couldn’t afford frames for, sitting forgotten in the basement.
Could’ve, would’ve, should’ve. All I can do from here on is do right by her. I don’t know when I’ll finish her projects. I assume that by the time I figure out my meds and regain any semblance of positivity and motivation and… a positive change in this lingering depression, she’ll be too old for a mobile. I can’t say that her walls will have any of the cute art I’d planned on them. I can’t say anything with any certainty right now. All I can do is keep my head down and soldier on, forward, for her sake, and do everything she needs to get her back on track as far as her delay goes.
And somewhere in there, I’ll have to figure out how to stop blaming myself.
…I’m not really sure what else there is to say.