It's become painfully obvious why it's getting more difficult. When he was born, there was a part of me that expected he might die. I didn't want that to happen, but I was prepared for it to happen. Well, as prepared as one can be. And with two revisions under our belt now, you'd think I'd be calm, cool, and collected. I'm NOT. At all. I'm a bundle of nerves. I'm scared he'll be changed or die or harmed. I love him. I love all the things he can do, what he's accomplished, and I'm scared the surgery will take that away from him. He's real to me. No longer do I think he might die, I now am fervently afraid he will be taken away.
*sigh* I'm waiting for his neurosurgeon to call back. It's been all day. I called when the office opened, and I'm getting sick of it.