It wasn’t until yesterday that I thought “The Thought” for the first time.
She had a very wet diaper in the afternoon. And even though she had nursed for a long time and even though she seemed (and is) healthy and very strong, I still thought about taking out my meter and pricking her heel myself. Just thought it for a second.
I didn’t follow through, though. I didn’t let “The Thought” stay for more than a flicker, as I immediately finished changing her diaper and started singing her a song about the power of tiny spoons. (Don’t ask — my songs never make any sense.) I shook “The Thought” off the same way I shake off the thought every time I wonder if my niece or nephew might have dipped into my autoimmune grab bag. I don’t allow my brain to go there. It’s not denial, but feels more like a protective measure taken by my mind, protecting my psyche from letting “The Thought” permeate my daily life. Read more »
*This blog post was originally published at Six Until Me.*