Update...You Were Right!

My sincere thanks to all of you who commented or sent encouraging words my way after my last post. I was honestly thinking what you were all thinking; that my boy is fine and no helmet would be necessary. The doc was wonderful (I LOVE CHEO!) and pronounced him quite well. She said his case is very mild and he doesn't need treatment besides some exercises to help him continue to even out up there, ha ha! I was surprised, but it has a lot to do with the way he likes to turn his head; he has a teensy bit of tightening on one side of his neck. She said that if we encourage him to turn to the right a lot more, it will help. Jim says it will be easy; he'll just hold Liam and I'll sit to the right of them. It's true - the kid likes to keep an eye on me (if not his whole self!).
So, armed with educational brochures and a new sense of confidence, I am determined to not worry. Me! Not worry! What next, I ask you?
In keeping with the head-turning-to-the-right theme, here's Liam watching a video right now:
Rather effective, hmmm? See? TV can be good!
Now I will commence to embarrass myself. Have you ever felt like nobody understood you? Have you ever been the only female in a house of five boys? Been surrounded by Japanese anime and soundtrack music and violent cartoons? Felt like your opinion not only meant zero, but was unheard to boot? Feel as though nobody around you gets you? Yes, we all feel these things sometimes. I feel them often, but mostly deal with it in stride. I'm generally a positive person! I can take a bit of loneliness! But I miss my friends back home. (Note to self: perhaps the whole phone phobia thing has something to do with having nobody to talk to? Just a thought...) I miss having someone to relate to. Anyway, I shall get to my point. Today, during a discussion with my brother and husband (who, incidentally, shares all of those interests which incessantly eat away at my soul), it just became a bit too much. We were in the car. I yelled at my brother (rare) and then got out of the car at the first stop sign (even more rare, considering my sloth-like laziness). Jim awaited my arrival at home, and tried to make things better, being the great guy that he is, and in a spectacular display of immaturity, I would not hear his words. I went upstairs, threw myself on the bed, and bawled like a four year-old (although considerably more quietly). Poor Jim came up and again tried to figure out why I seemed to have gone a bit mental, and I blubbered about being misunderstood and lonely and whatnot.
I feel better now. A bit pathetic and embarrassed, and perhaps a bit fragile (the tears seem to be at the ready, lodged uncomfortably beneath my eyes, and can spring forth without notice), but better.
Jeff hasn't come up from the basement all night.
Oh! The guilt. I hate it. It is unnecessary.
BLAH!
I need a bubble bath.