This is my second Friday post I’ve published on Saturday. Please forgive me. I could easily blame it on the holiday, but that wouldn’t be true. I wish it were true instead of the actual reason. On top of being late, I’m going to deviate from this week’s topic as well. I had it nearly ready to publish, but felt I needed to convey something else.
As most of you know, the Tuesday before last my wife brought a beautiful baby girl into the world. Yesterday morning my daughter developed a high fever, and we took her to the ER. We stood by as the doctors poked and prodded. Being as young as she is though, they didn’t want to take any chances. By that evening, her fever broke, and her fussing calmed. However, we still have to wait another twenty-four hours for all of the lab work to be done. What they do have done, everything has come back negative. I’ll say again.
She is fine.
Now you’re probably wondering why I’m writing this and not standing vigilantly by the crib-side. One, I already mentioned she is okay. Also my wife won’t let me hog the baby the whole time. And two, I needed to find a way to cope with what was happening. The coping mechanism I use that works the best is writing. Big surprise, I know.
The moments leading up to now caught us up in a whirling dervish. Things happened so fast that I felt more on autopilot, following the doctors and nurses than absorbing the reality of the moment. Now that she is doing fine and my brain now has the time to process the last twenty-four hours, I need to do it in a way that will help me.
Writing can do that.
I admit the majority of the time I look at writing as a source of entertainment for others. It can also be healing for no one other than you. The words you spill out might not make one lick of sense as you click them off the keyboard, but when you’re done something happens. This weight has lifted. A weight that you didn’t realize was even there.
I’m cutting it short now. Soon I can declare to my wife that she’s hogging the baby, and it’ll be my turn again to hold her in my arms. I’ve said it four times, now five. She is fine. One emotional writing stint later and I can also say…
So am I.