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We've had another uneventful week. After pushing herself physically to achieve new milestones, pushing through new teeth and me pushing for a new nap schedule, we have all chilled out a bit. Whew!

While I am happy to say goodbye to her teething discomfort and crankasaurus rex attitude, I am a little dismayed by her physical plateau. Her physiotherapist is coming by tomorrow and nothing has changed since she was last here two weeks ago. It's not a big deal, but Eleanor had a month there where everything was happening so quickly. The standing, the (commando) crawling, the knee siting and while that's all awesome, it's still all she can do. Well that, and be adorable.

I'm not going to lie - I am not looking forward to this week. I don't know if I am emotionally strong enough to see this "cancer-versery" through. I had a hard enough time on our birthdays. This coming week is fraught with distressing memories. My dad was talking to me today about his memories of it all and his transatlantic journey home from Northern Ireland on the weekend. He figured that if he was met at the airport, there would be long faces and bad news. If no one was there, there would be reason to hope. In his eyes, it was the best time to be ditched at the arrivals gate! And he was. He had to make his own way to the hospital. Cue violins.

Yeah. Humour might get me through.

I've been writing a letter in my head to the doctors and nurses in the ICU. We only (only!) spent 10 days there, but it was such a touch-and-go time that it felt much longer. I have so much gratitude to all those people, so how do I condense it into one card? One photo? What do I say? I guess I feel like I should do it because I don't know what else to do to mark this weekend. It's not really a cake-and-ballons occasion, but I really don't want to wallow, or even reflect. It's too scary. Maybe we just keep doing what we are doing.

We play.

We just play.