Um, am I supposed to be playing tea party?

I was watching this TV show about a little girl who wished her teddy bear alive so she could have tea parties with him.  It made me think that I've never played tea party with Julianne.  It also made me realize that I've never played tea party at all.  I never played as a kid.  To be honest, I'm not so fond of tea.  I might have it once or twice a year if my mom makes it and puts sugar and milk in it.  Iced tea a bit more often, but I'm still not clamoring to get the Sunday paper to clip coupons for Lipton Tea Bags.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing all the mom things I'm supposed to be doing to nurture Julianne.  Do I need to be playing tea party with her so she becomes acquainted with the details of fine dining?  Am I supposed to be taking her to the child's art museum so she can be intellectually stimulated by the colors and shapes?  Should I be cooking different foods that I don't like so her palate can become acquainted with different tastes? 

Does anyone have the Mommy Rule Book that I can borrow?

It's just not fair

For the past week or so, I have been following the story of a 2-year-old little girl named Layla Grace. Her family has a blog (www.laygrace.org) and a twitter account (www.twitter.com/laylagrace). Layla began battling Stage IV neuroblastoma (read: really nasty cancer) ten months ago, when she wasn't even two years old. Over the past ten months, she's endured treatments and agonizing pain while dealing with this. When it became evident that Layla was not going to make it through the cancer, her family began doing everything they could to make her comfortable. For the past two weeks, Layla's parents have spent every waking moment with her. They have read to her, changed her, slept with her and generally been right there next to her as she's fought for her life every moment of every day. They have watched their youngest daughter - a tiny, precious, beautiful, innocent child - die a slow, painfully agonizing death, knowing there was nothing they could do to stop it.

Early this morning Layla went home to be with the Lord.

I have cried endless tears over this child that I have never met.  I have prayed as hard as I could that if the Lord was not going to heal her here on earth, that He take her to Heaven to be healed there.  As terrible as the death of a child is, it was almost a relief to hear that Layla had finally passed.  At least her suffering is over.

Not only have a cried and prayed for this girl, I have become much more tolerant of Julianne.  Every time I start to get frustrated with her for one reason or another, Layla pops into my brain and instead I hug my baby.  I lean over her crib at night while she sleeps and talk to her and tell her how much I love her, how precious and wonderful she is, and say a prayer over her.  When she falls asleep in my arms, instead of rushing to put her in the crib so I can get stuff done, I rock with her and gaze at her beautiful face.  I hug and kiss her more, I play with her more, I touch her face more.  I cannot imagine ever hearing someone tell me that my child is going to die.  The very thought of someone ever saying anything like that to me brings me to tears.  I cannot IMAGINE my life without Julianne.  As far as I'm concerned, if there is no Julianne in my life, I have no life.  I cannot go on without her.  It's only Julianne and I... it has been from the beginning.  There would be no husband to switch off shifts with me while caring for my child.  If anything were to ever happen to her, I would be left alone.  I would be ALONE.  Alone in this apartment.  Alone with Julianne's clothes.  Alone with her toys.  Alone with her books.  Alone with her pictures.  Alone with my thoughts, and my memories.  Alone with the unbearable knowledge that my child would never be coming back.

There would be no other children, no husband, no one to help, to experience the loss, and help me through it.  I would be faced with all of it alone.  I know these are all what-ifs, but I can't stand the thought of losing Julianne, and I can't stand the thought of being alone forever, without her.

My heart has broken for Layla's family.