November. That is when I will hand my baby over to a surgeon so they can cut her open, right to her heart. I feel like snow white’s wicked stepmother choosing which woodsman.

I knew the cardiologists planned on her repair being at 6 months old but having a month planned (and soon enough, a day), hit me hard this week. Watching her sleep so peacefully in my arms, i try to tuck those images away in my mind for when she is in the hospital bed, hooked up to monitors in a web of cords, scarred right down her chest. I’m not ready for it.

I know what babies look like after heart surgery- I’ve seen enough pictures on the heart Mom groups (the only good and best use of social media, these support groups). I know what a baby looks like when she dies of CHD.

So it’s all been a little more than I should have taken on this week. Leaves me feeling almost like an animal in my physical need to protect Kit. I’m trying to pull out of it, find a day to day normal that is busy enough to keep my mind here and out of Winter.

We will start homeschool in a week, so we can take two months off for surgery. We are working on habits this week — chores and daily routines, an imposed order that can hopefully be a spine for the girls days when I’m not as there as I want to be. I’m looking at all the distant tragedies a lot less this week and keeping my eyes on what’s around me— small hands, baby curls, summer green.


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