And suddenly all you want is the boredom of every day life

I first thought it was not worth writing about it. I first thought it would pass. That we would be back to normal in no time. That we would ok. But it’s not getting any better. We’re seeing all kind of doctors at every week. And there doesn’t seem to be any improvement. I feel lost.

Since she is about one month old, Maëva has diarrhoea with mucus and blood. First, everybody told me it was nothing. That it might be linked to breastfeeding. But it was not. Then, it seemed to be a lactose intolerance. But it was not. Now the doctors were suspecting a food allergy but after over a month of basically living of vegetables, fruits and rice (no dairy, no soy, no eggs, no gluten, no corn, no fish, no red meat, no bananas, no strawberries, no kiwi and the list goes on), I’m not only starving but there also is no improvement. So, the doctors are not sure anymore. Maëva is not gaining any weight. She wouldn’t take formula neither to see if that would make any difference (we tried everything, different formulas, cup feeding, me leaving the house… Any suggestions, please let me know). The blood and stool tests don’t give sufficient information. I feel like walking in the dark. The only thing that seems to be worse than having a child that is not healthy is to have a child that is not healthy and you don’t know the reason.

I wrote the text below after yet another late evening doctor visit. I hesitated to post it. Not only is this probably the most personal and emotional topic I have ever written about, especially as we have no results yet, I also know that many other children have serious illnesses. That have been diagnosed. At least, we still have the hope that it is just a stupid food allergy that we cannot identify. I should not be too worried. I should be fine. But it’s the feeling of not knowing what it is. It’s the wait. The uncertainty. The numerous doctor visits. The conflicting point of views. It’s the feeling of being alone with this. The sudden realisation that you.are.entirely.responsible.for.this.little.life. That doctors will ask you to take decisions. That, after all, it is you who decides. Because you are the mum…

“Be thankful for your beautiful children”, my mum would tell me every day after Maëva was born. “Be thankful that they are healthy. Be thankful that you can hold them in your arms.”

“I am, mum”, I would answer every time, “I really am”, holding the phone over which I was talking to my mum between my chin and left shoulder, trying to give the pacifier to the baby who was starting to cry on my right arm, keeping an eye on my eldest one who was playing in the corner.

Of course, I was. Thankful, I mean. Just like I was thankful that I was healthy myself. And my husband.

But thankfulness easily turns into normality. That’s how it is. That’s how we humans function. Otherwise, we would constantly worry, constantly live with the fear of getting ill. That something bad could happen. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be able to function normally. To concentrate on the boredom of everyday life. Cause this boredom – to some extent – is nice and necessary.

When I was pregnant with Maëva I had this strange feeling every time we went for ultrasound. What if something was not ok? If the doctor told us that there was a problem? That she was not developing normally?

But she was. Thankfully, she was.

“Well done”, my doula would tell me in the first weeks after Maëva’s birth. “She is growing beautifully!” And she was. She really was.

And this is how you start taking health as a given…

“I am thankful, mum. I really am”, I would say. And I was. But maybe not enough.

How could I be, having never experienced what it means to have a child that is ill? I did not watch my baby for hours, just to make sure I really see every millimetre of her. I did not hold her so close she could barely breathe. I did not. She’s my second one. Second ones just go with the flow. Second ones just grow into the family. It is not the family who is turning around them. That’s how it is.

But tonight, I do. Tonight, I watch you. I watch you breathe. I watch every millimetre of you. Tonight, I hold you a bit too close. Tonight, I wish everything was alright. Tonight, I would be thankful for every tiny bit of improvement. For the boredom of everyday life. For the normality. For being able to forget about being thankful.

Tonight, I am sitting here and I promise to never forget. Once we get over this, I will never forget. I might not think of it every day. But when I will look at you, my darling, I will be so damn thankful. I promise that I will never look at you and your brother the same way. I will love you just like I did before. I will be proud of you just like I was before. I will be thankful just like I was before.

But I will do it more consciously.
I will pause more often.
To appreciate what it means to have a healthy child.