The Jackman and Me

I am really loving Mummy & Jack days.

Yesterday we kicked around at the National Museum for a couple of hours.

Just him and me...wandering about, the Jackman leading the way and me meandering after him. We had lunch in the museum cafe, sharing a burger and toddler conversation while other bemused patrons looked on.

 

This morning we entertained ourselves with watering cans and the herb garden. Filling up, pouring out, filling up, pouring out. All the time his sweet little voice pouring out of his sweet little mouth and filling the air with words. The words are coming thick and fast these days.

Little sentences, little statements, little requests, little questions.

So independent, so inquisitive, so bloody wonderful it makes me want to cry.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I remember all those endless hours with Harry...just him and me...playing, talking, exploring, being. Two peas in a pod...inseparable.

Jack has had a fraction of that kind of time...always having to share me. Share me with Harry, share me with doctors, nurses and technicians, share me with hospital waiting rooms and specialist appointments. Handing over playtime with Mummy for surgeries, chemotherapy, radiation and recovery.

 

In some ways I mourn for that lost time with my littlest baby. I have missed a million moments with him that I will never get a chance to reclaim. But in other ways...my Jackman doesn't know any different. He won't even remember the past eight months when he's older. So I will stop resenting the time that cancer has stolen from us and I will focus on making the most of the millions of moments that are coming into being.

xxx Em

 

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Feeling Female

I went out to dinner with my husband tonight, first time in...oh gosh, I can't even recall...I think last September maybe? Talk about well overdue! Our wonderful neighbours came over to babysit, pushed us out the door and told us not to come back until we'd had a good time. We are so freaking lucky to have them living next door! And so we did have a good time, just the two of us talking about life, the universe and everything over a glass of white and a bloody fantastic pub meal at the local hotel.

It felt nice to put on a dress and a pair of heels. I can't confess to feeling glam or the least bit sexy but it did feel good to be out of pyjamas.

For the past four weeks I've felt like pieces of my femininity have been stripped away from me. Losing my breast was hard but it was having all my hair cut off that affected me far more than I thought it would. I know that seems utterly ridiculous because there are a gazillion completely gorgeous women out there sporting short hairstyles. Maybe it's because the choice to have my hair cropped wasn't really mine. Chemo is on the horizon and it is threatening my vanity big time. I don't love how I look. My hair used to be one of the features I'd always felt good about. Now, it's just a constant reminder of what is happening to me.

My husband on the other hand is taking everything in his stride. He told me tonight that he's never felt closer. And I not only believe him, I completely agree with him. How I feel about my appearance is something I will have to work on. He still loves me, in fact he's never loved me more than he does now and that makes me determined to get over my vanity and try to embrace this ever evolving version of me. I have to, because if I can't handle a pixie cut then going bald is going to be a real bitch!

I suppose its just part of the process. Some things are easier to adjust to than others.

 

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