I received a really strange comment the other day – that I chose not to publish.  I was asked if my blog was “fiction.”

What a made up story line my life would be.  There are some days where I can’t believe my life is what it is and there are days where I really do wish I was making up the parts and pieces that make my days whole.

I look around Evans’ room and I can’t believe I have an I.V. pole sitting next to his bassinet.  I guess I’m so used to it now – feeding my son most of his nourishment through a tube.  But, when people come in to “meet” him (aka – wave from the his bedroom door wearing a mask…), I see the look of shock, sadness, and surprise in their eyes when they scan his space.  Not only is there a feeding tube hanging from an I.V. pole but there is also a machine to monitor is oxygen and heart rate.  It screams at you when the levels are low or if the sensor falls off his foot – either way – when I hear that monitor go off – my heart starts racing.

Non-fiction – but it sure sounds unreal, huh?  Machines feeding my baby.  Machines monitoring his breathing, his heart, his oxygen.

I can’t even let him cry for more than a minute.  Evan is a lot like his big sister….has no room for patience and has a temper like no other.  But crying really hurts his heart.  It forces it to work harder than normal and that’s not good for my heart baby.

Non- fiction – but sounds unreal, huh?  Not letting a baby cry in fear for their life.

Isabelle’s impression of having a brother – a new sibling – is full of hand washing, mask wearing – and not really understanding why we keep them apart.  I cringe every time I hear her cough or sneeze – I mean come on – it’s the middle of the winter – what 2 year old doesn’t have something lurking in their bodies causing them to feel a bit yucky.  But, I can’t risk Evan’s health.  So, we keep them apart as much as humanly possible and when we do have them together – we are all wearing masks, sanitizing hands, and keeping a safe distance.

Non-fiction – but sounds unreal, huh?  Keeping the two loves of my lives apart in fear one could endanger the other.

This reality feels like fiction.  A story line I never wanted to write for myself – actually – a story line I don’t wish for anyone.

But, like most works of fiction, there are times of trial, dark days, challenges…but almost all end with a happily ever after. I pray everyday to get to tomorrow.  I hope that these dark days are just stepping stones to more times of joy.  Because I do get moments of joy…moments of happiness…despite the hard times we are facing.

Belly laughs from my Iz.

Sweet snuggles from my Evan.

Sitting at the table with my family for meals.

Stolen kisses from my husband.

Housework, laundry, dishes…normalcy again.

Those moments are the “real” I hold onto.

Fiction?  Sometimes it feels that way since my moments of happy feel too good to be true.