I suddenly understood one of the reasons I was struggling to accept Noah's "situation". Despite the fact that I've spent the last however many months fighting for people to listen to me, to just believe me when I thought there was something wrong.
And I understood even more when my doubts about Isaac were also realised.
I had questioned Isaac's growth rates since he was about 4 months old. He's been dropping through his centiles and pretty much flat-lining; his growth and gain has been minimal. And I mentioned this to the HV, almost regularly. Pretty much every time I took him to clinic. And it was the same response as with Noah's speech. "No no, he's fine, it's just because of *insert excuse here*, there's nothing wrong."
How many times did I continue to push my thoughts on the professionals because I was convinced something was wrong? How many times did I say that I wasn't convinced everything was ok, that a gut feeling, an "instinct", if you will, was telling me something wasn't right? And yet, repeatedly they told me to stop worrying about it? There's nothing to worry about, it's all fine?
Every day, at some point, three words slip from my mind to my mouth, but I never say them aloud because I don't actually want to say them.
Told. You. So.
I hate that I was right. Yes I wanted to find out what was wrong, I still wanted to be proved wrong so as not to be plunged into this eternal nightmare. Because now, all my other unspoken fears play at the forefront of my mind. Again.
And given that I had done everything within my power to not come across as a neurotic mother, labelling her kids with every god forsaken condition under the sun, I now start to wonder if my fears will be confirmed later on.
That's not to say I want to label my children. I don't want anything to be wrong with them. Of course I damn well don't! I'd like two healthy, happy boys, who I can love and care for, and do everything and anything I can within my power to see to there wellbeing.
But I doubt myself now. All the time. I question my every damn thought. And it's starting to destroy me and my relationship with them. I find myself switching off to various things they do, because I feel like if I can't suggest something might be wrong, then I need to be impervious to it all.
I hate myself for that. I hate not knowing how to deal with it all. I hate my current methods for dealing with it. I seem to have no happy medium; I have to go full force or else bury my head in the sand. Hide away and try everything I can to not just ignore a problem but ignore him entirely until I feel ready to fight again.
I swear to god. I hope, so badly, that in trying to give my kids the very best I can, I don't end up taking it all away from them. Because they only deserve the best.