This has been an interesting week, as per usual. On Monday, we were all set to do chemotherapy - Grandma took The Boy in to the Valerie Center for counts, I was at band camp with my friends in north Jersey, and we were all set with helpers ready to go all week long. Then, the telephone call: no chemo, counts too low, chemo next week.
We were glad about that, honestly, because we did NOT want him going in on Thursday or Friday and missing his party. Considering that we're losing ANOTHER week (more on that later), waiting an extra five days is not that big of a deal. The important thing is waiting until he's actually healthy enough to be poisoned, and that he's healthy enough to have his party.
We need this party. Not so much just The Boy - frankly, he's too young to really understand his birthday, and he's definitely too young to anticipate a party as something fun. We, as the parents, need it. We need to feel NORMAL for a little while - have a few family members, some friends with small children, and throw everyone together with a grill and some cake. We need to have a celebration of The Boy's life.
My mother-in-law has made an excellent point, one that we've been kind of clinging to for the past week: every birthday he has is a double cause for celebration. There are so many places over the past year and two months where we could have lost this wonderful, sweer, intelligent boy. There are so many infections that could have turned, so many opportunities to pick up a deadly flu (any flu, with no immune system, is a bad thing) or something unforeseen... so many opportunities for a bad reaction to sedation or anaesthetic, so many opportunities for Bad Things to happen. This birthday is a victory, a pause to relax, reflect, and collect ourselves, and a festival of LIFE.
My schedule for the next couple of weeks has definitely changed. My commitments to my after-school activities is substantially decreasing, and I'm not headed to PA for band camp this week. This is a wonderful opportunity for me: I'm away from home less, and at home with The Boy and Younger Bro more often. I regret not having a role to play with the band, but there comes a time to step aside and let others bear the banner.
Cuteness: when you ask, "How old is The Boy?", he says, "Two!" It's neat.
For your entertainment: