I have a complex-heart baby. She's fed through a g-tube. She takes meds multiple times a day. Her development is delayed because of multiple surgeries and extensive hospital stays. Her calendar is filled with follow-up appointments for surgery, cardiology, endocrinology, immunology, and gastroenterology. She has speech, physical, and occupational therapists. She has more scars than I care to count. She's a complex-heart baby every single day.
I have a normal baby. She cries to be held. She likes having everyone's full attention. She needs her fingernails clipped. She gets diaper rashes. She has to hold my hand to fall asleep. She stares at lights and fans and ignores me and all her toys. She hates diaper changes, being naked, putting on clothes, wearing socks or shoes, and the carseat. She smiles in her sleep. She's a perfectly normal baby every single day.
I put a post on Facebook and Instagram, that touched on what a heavy burden it is to have a complex-heart baby. And that I sometimes feel guilty, because there has to be someone to blame, and I'm the most obvious suspect.
But Ruthe is not a burden at all. She's a blessing, a miracle, a beautiful soul all wrapped up in a sweet little package that I get to call mine. She's the strongest and bravest person I've ever met. She's a warrior. And she's my hero. I love my Ruthe Clementine.