And Still My Heart Keeps Beating

Sometimes I'm not sure why I bother to blog, because other people say things with so much more grace and eloquence than I could ever possibly muster. Also, they use spell-check much more regularly than I do.

Julie, for example, wrote:

But then I have these moments, almost always in the company of younger children, when I succumb. I compare. I measure his accomplishments against the larger standard, and Charlie is often found wanting. It concerns me only minimally when he's behind for his actual age; that's to be expected and should be resolved by an eventual catch-up. But what does it mean when he's behind or at the slow end of normal for his adjusted age? How can a boy catch up if he's not progressing fast?

Hey! I have that game! Only the box is all banged up and the pieces have lost their shiny new lustre.

I started keeping a list of D's words, and I was really excited for the first few days, because as I remembered a new word, I added it to the list, and it felt like D. was adding words at a terrific rate. But I just opened the file for the first time in days, and I could only think of two or three words to add to it. In over two weeks. He should be adding 2-3 words every day. I would settle for 2-3 words a week. Is that so much to ask? Could I get two words a week?

D. likes Blue's Clues. If we haven't been actively engaged in some activity for the last 15 seconds, D. makes a beeline for the remote and hands it to me and says something that vaguely passes for Blue's Clues. I fire up the Tivo and put on an episode. He calls the clues "circles," and he watches, slack-jawed. Yesterday, when Joe (yes, Joe is way cuter, but Steve is more believable in the role, if you ask me) was looking for a clue and doing that thing they do, where he has no idea that there is a clue right there, RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, D. laughed. Ha, ha, isn't that Joe silly? The clue is RIGHT THERE. And I'm trying to figure out if D. laughed because he gets it, because it really is kind of funny (especially when you consider that Steve, who cannot find a clue hidden by a puppy and relies on help from two- and three-year-olds, had to leave his puppy in his brother's care so he could GO AWAY TO COLLEGE), or if D. is forever going to be the guy who can't see the damn clue.

When D. was in the NICU, I remember that I was constantly amazed to wake up each morning. How was it that my heart continued to beat, that I continued to live? It made no sense to me. And there are days when it still doesn't.