Yesterday

Yesterday was the six year anniversary of the day I was diagnosed with necrotizing fasciitis, the day I had a surgical debreedment that saved my life. I've written about my battle with necrotizing fasciitis quite a bit. Partly because I'm still working through all the emotions of October 2006. And partly because it was the biggest game changer in my life so far. It changed me more than having children or getting married or even losing my own dad. I suppose coming face to face with your own mortality will do that to a person.

In the beginning -- the first few months of dealing with the after effects of NF -- I would think, "why me?" Why did such a rare infection find its way to me? Why was I the one suffering? In the past six years, though, I've realized something: everyone has their tragedy. Everyone. Maybe it's contracting necrotizing fasciitis in a c-section incision at age 26. Maybe it's losing a child or saying goodbye to a parent too soon. Maybe it's struggling with infertility or the break up of a marriage or losing everything in the economic crisis. Everyone has their tragedy. Some are worse than others, sure, but if there's one definite in this life it's that you're going to have to trudge through some bullshit. The way I look at NF now is different. It's no longer "why did this happen to me?" but rather the realization that if it hadn't been necrotizing fasciitis, it would've been something else. Pessimistic? Maybe. But also true.

What I struggle with the most nowadays is a different sort of "why me?". NF is a nasty bitch. So many people don't survive it and, most of those who do, have more problems than just an ugly abdominal scar. Remember Aimee Copeland who made headlines earlier this year because of NF? She lost a leg, a foot, and most of both of her hands. Lana Kuykendall was diagnosed with NF four days after she delivered twins and ended up enduring twenty surgeries and spent months in the hospital. In the months following my struggle with NF, I read dozens of survivor stories on the NNFF website. And in doing so I realized I was the LUCKIEST person to post on that site. Not one of the luckiest. THE luckiest. People lost limbs, people were in comas for months, people had skin grafts, and dozens of surgeries. I had one surgical debreedment and one bedside debreedment. I was hospitalized for 11 days. I was never placed in a medically induced coma. My wound closed on its own and didn't require a skin graft. Six years later, you can't tell anything ever happened to me (unless you happen to see me nakey and catch a glimpse of the hip-to-hip scar). I was so incredibly lucky.

And it makes me wonder why ... WHY was my story so different than the rest of these.  I'm not being melodramatic when I say the best possible outcome of NF is basically not dying.  So why did I end up so incredibly lucky, so blessed in my dance with NF?  It's one of those things that just makes you not only realize how fortunate and blessed you are, but makes you just plain wonder why.  Was it so that I could stick around to be a mom to Jaidan?  So that I could bring two more children into this world? Why?

HE IS MY BABY

So two weeks ago I had a baby.

And now, all the sudden, he's five (and a half!) and he watches "big kid" television shows and he can play outside without me being right on top of him making sure grass and pebbles don't make their way into his mouth and he insists on taking showers instead of baths and his favorite songs are not "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" and "Row Row Row Your Boat" but rather things that are sung by Carly Rae Jepsen and Maroon 5 and Katy Perry.

And yesterday.  Yesterday!  We got his last round of booster shots (not a whimper out of him -- he's a rockstar!) and registered him for kindergarten.

Where did this little baby gooooooo?

I'll be completely honest.  Earlier in the year, when all my friends were regisetering their children for kindergarten (we had way, way late registration - in my opinion) and were all boo hoo'ing over their babies growing up, their '06 and '07 assholes starting school, all I could think of was "GET OVER IT."  Because, ya'll, I couldn't wait.  Having three children home with you all day, every day tends to do this little thing called SUCK THE LIFE OUT OF YOU.  Sure, there were times - back in the spring when everyone else was registering - that I would think, "I can't believe my baby is already going to school."  But the emotionalness (word?) was totally tempered by the fact that I was going to have one less kid in the house eight hours a day, five days a week.

But yesterday it just hit me.

My kid is going to school.

Yeah, it's only kindergarten.  And, yeah, this is only one little step in a long journey.  But he is going to school and he is my baby and regardless of anything I said in the past about how I was going to save up all the emotion for when Karis, my final baby, began her school career, I AM EMOTIONAL.  And I'm not apologetic about it.  He's my baby!  How is that the past five years, ten months, and nine days have been the fastest years ever, of all time?  How is that the roly-poly fattest, happiest toddler ever is already going to kindergarten?  It's not right.

Along with my emotion over him starting school, there are a whole bunch of fears.  A whole bunch.  And they're probably irrational but, again, I'll stand by my tag line for this post: HE IS MY BABY.

What if some kid in his class teaches him the "f" word?

What if his teacher insists on nap time and he gets in trouble because he can't be still for the 45 minutes they're supposed to lay on their towel and stare at the ceiling?

What if he gets bored during nap time and puts a tiny piece of yellow crayon in his ear (his mother totes did not do that back in 1985, for the record)?

What if he doesn't make any friends?

What if he's the most popular kid in kindergarten and that turns him into a mini-douchebag?

What if he's the tallest kid in his class and everyone makes fun of him?

How is he going to feel the first time he realizes that everyone in the world is not good and kind and that there are people who don't like him just because? 

Am I going to want to punch a first grader in the face for saying something mean to him on the playground?

What if he is sick and misses his first ever field trip (sorta like his mom . . . for, like, every field trip until the fifth grade)?

What if his teacher is an asshole and he ends up hating school forever?

Somebody hold ME, my kid is starting kindergarten!

I have a feeling I'll look back on this post in a few months, when his first year of kindergarten is down, and I'll laugh and how silly I'm being and what a spectacle I'm making over starting school.  But, for right now, it's a big deal.  A Big Fat Deal.  HE IS MY BABY.  He's growing up and taking those first few steps that will eventually lead to him leaving my nest for good.

Today we registered.  Next Thursday is his first day (sort of) where he'll do testing and meet all the kindergarten teachers and tour the classrooms.  Monday the 13th, I'll walk him to school and leave him with his teacher and he'll officially be a kindergartener.

And I'll probably cry the whole walk home.

Slow down on the growin' up bidness, ya hear?