For my daughter, I say, NO MORE

I think I’ve been stingy with just how much info I share. Here. On Facebook. Anywhere.

Maybe stingy’s not quite right. Maybe I’m just not sure that you care. Maybe I’m afraid you’ll judge me when I write a post that I’m sad. Or hurt. Or confused. Or exhausted.

I’ve spent most of my life being praised as the “happy” one. Always in a good mood. Quick to smile and laugh. It’s a tough label to live up to. Especially when it’s often been a charade.

This week…I am not happy. And I’m having a hard time hiding it.

What I rarely mention is that my dear, sweet, almost-2-year-old daughter has been faced with challenges since the day she was born…5 weeks early.

She was a preemie, but that was the least of our worries. At 4 months, we learned she had osteogenesis imperfecta, more commonly known as brittle bone disease. It’s a mild case, but you just never know what will make her bones break, or when it may happen. But I’ve seen her x-rays. And you can almost see through her bones.

Kids break bones…I get it. My son broke his foot climbing out of his crib at 2, and I didn’t freak out. But there’s a fear in the back of mind at all times that the midday call from my sitter could be the call I’ve been fearing. There’s a fear that when she has a hard fall, her cries will turn into the high-pitched screams *we were warned* would be the telltale sign of a break.

So far, so good. She’s a tough chickie with a penchant for climbing – and giving her mommy mini-heart-attacks.

But in addition, Em’s also had a rough time eating and gaining weight. Between late-diagnosed reflux and an immature gag reflex, she spent months gagging and vomiting to the point that she was diagnosed with failure to thrive. She vomited so hard at times that I thought she may turn inside out. Luckily now, at almost 2, it’s finally under control.

But this week, I learned of another problem. Seemingly small in the grand scheme of life, but not for Em and not for me.

I took her to the eye doctor thinking she’d be diagnosed with lazy eye – I was so sure of it, I already bought the eye patches. After an hour of pure torture – with three people holding her down for her eye exam – I learned she was moderately to severely nearsighted and would need glasses.

No big deal right?

Not to me. Not this time. I’m not taking it in stride. This time I’m not bullet proof. This time I’m not buying the “you only get what you can handle” excuse.

Doesn’t she get a pass? Hasn’t she earned it? She’s only 2 for godsakes.

She’s only 2.

She’s been x-rayed, bloodtested, poked, prodded, weighed and measured. She cries at the sight of people in scrubs. She shys away from almost everyone.

I ask…no I say, NO MORE. Let her be. Stop scaring the shit out of her.

Just let HER be happy.