So a few weeks ago I had my yearly cardiology check up. And I didn’t get bad news, per se, but was told that my congenital heart defect is progressing, just in a different way than I was expecting. And because of that it kind of took me by surprise. And I suppose, as well, that because year after year my progression has been rather slow, that I was expecting to make it to 4o, at least, without worrying too much about getting sick. If I was really honest with myself I’d have to say that I was kind of hoping I’d be one of the rare ones who makes it for a super long time with no progression.

So I was told to take it easy, nothing more crazy than walking, no lifting, etc. Which has been the norm for the last few years, except that this time my doc was very adamant I follow his rules. And the fact that things are changing makes me so scared that I’ve been super good about doing just that (except for the recent 5k I participated in, in which B and my friend’s son took off on their scooters and we had to catch up…true story).

So, for about two weeks I’ve had a huge box sitting by my back door. Mocking me. It’s pretty heavy, and I’m not supposed to lift things. And my patio table top broke recently in a wind storm and I haven’t replaced it because I’m not sure that the top wouldn’t be heavy and I’m not supposed to lift things. And I’d love to get into my shed to get rid of stuff to help make room for all of Brooks’s TA-50 that will soon be here, but I can’t, because I can’t lift things.

If it sounds like a broken disk, it’s because that’s the way it’s been playing in my mind, every time I run across a restriction, like no lifting.

And then there’s the ever present reality of living with a super active, fun loving, always on the go, eight year old boy. One of my favorite things, very tops, is spending time with my boy; playing with him, talking with him, reading to him, creating things with him, going on trips with him… you get the gist. I just love him to pieces and remain amazed that he’s mine.

It’s bad enough having to let things go around the house that I would never let go, even for a second. But it’s much harder to deal with, the not being able to run around with Brooks the way I’d like. It’s the hardest. And it makes me super sad. Cry big fat crocodile tears, feel sorry for myself sad. Because he’s only eight for so long and I feel like I’m stuck with this heart thing, and it’s surely not going to get better.

Five deployments I’ve been through, five, and I’ve never ever felt like they have kept me from doing the things I love, the things that need to get done. I’m a doer, not a sit on the sidelines kind of gal. I’m not a honey-do-list kind of girl. I get the list done myself. So it makes me feel incredibly overwhelmed to think that if Brooks deploys again I’ll have to rely on others for such simple things, like moving a heavy box to the shed.

I can sit here and look at all the positives, because you can always gleam something positive from most situations, but it doesn’t change the fact that I obviously need more time to adjust to my new normal. And I suppose I need to grieve for the things I wanted to do that I surely can’t. For the things, especially, that I want to do with My Brooks that I can’t. I know he’s eight, but I ache to catch him in my arms and dance with him like we are so used to doing. To run around the house with him on my back, the two of us hooting and hollering like nuts. For running around the yard playing flashlight tag without feeling like there’s a vise on my chest. The list is endless.

There are positives, really there are. I’m taking things much slower lately. I’m not rushing around to fit a bazillion things in. I’m sticking to my walking, no lifting thing. I’m eating well and drinking lots of yucky water. And I’m loving each day for what it is. I’m even going to bed earlier than usual and sleeping in so I get lots of rest and don’t feel as tired towards the afternoon.

Life really is sweet, regardless of the circumstances. I just need to accept my new circumstances and I’ll be good to go. I’ll get there, I will. This Momma just needs some time. And I’ve got plenty of that to spare.