Tag Archives: motherhood

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Suite 220

I get the phone call for the appointment for tomorrow, reminding me the baby has an appointment with the surgeon. This pain in the muscles around my neck seems to have tightened more. I didn’t think it was possible, but still 2 weeks later it’s now worse. Teething and lack of sleep started it, the looming surgery hanging over my head probably helped keep this pain. I know logically, this isn’t anything serious. I know that I can choose not to, but I’m not willing to say no because the downside is much worse than the surgery itself. I keep telling myself that anyways.

I’m not normally a” worry-er”, I usually leave that to my husband since he’s much better at it than I am. I over-think situations but I rarely actually worry. I go in with the worst case scenario in mind, always. Because I know that if I’m prepared for the worst, I’ll have accepted it as a possibility. Ignoring the worst blindsides you, and I hate being blindsided. I like to know exactly every scenario that would possibly happen so I can have a proper and calm reaction no matter what. It works, but usually the middle of the road or best scenario happens and that makes it a little easier.

Still, I keep researching every chance I get. I know my options. (Really, the only options are do the surgery or be responsible for my son feeling awkward or embarrassed the rest of his life.) I still don’t know if I can see him off into the OR, with all those wires and tubing attached to him while he cries because he’s terrified. I’m a strong person, but I’m not entirely sure I’m that strong. We’ll see; I tend to excel when tossed into a situation and end up being a fierce version of myself. That’s what I’m counting on anyways, because I need to be for my family and mostly for my baby.

No sense overreacting about it now. Tomorrow we’ll probably get a surgery date that I’ll circle on my calendar and look at every day obsessively. I’ll try to forget, but I won’t be able to not look and remind myself. I know I need to mentally prepare and I know I’m good at that. I’m good at shutting down to prevent any sort of negative emotion and it keeps me unhealthily strong and sane. I’ll pretend the pain in my neck and head are just a result of working out too much, though I’ve been too tired for exercise. Most importantly, I’ll remember to hug my boys a little bit tighter every day because you never really know what can happen because anything can.

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The Easter Bunny Never Forgets

In all my parenting emails and reading parenting magazines, I saw several articles about making the holiday fun and exciting for your kids. I saw a few stress-free party ideas. I never once saw an article about “Survival Guide to In-Laws and Other Awkward Situations”. Luckily, all my In-Laws are nice people. It’s really not their fault I’m an anti-social shut in that doesn’t know how to associate with other people. It’s actually a miracle my husband puts up with me, because sometimes I lack any sense of what’s appropriate and not. So far, I don’t think I’ve offended them so let’s hope I keep up the streak.

For instance, I was more excited that I dared to try on a “pre-pregnancy” shirt to see if it fit so I didn’t have to wear my husband’s shirts like I do around the house. A miracle, it fit! I tried on another, with similar luck. I tried on the jeans, and that wasn’t even close. I say it all the time, but “little victories”. Sad to say, I was actually more excited about this than the holiday. I should be ashamed that I said that, but I’m honestly not. I feel very awesome at this time.

The truth is, your mother and mother in law will never let you forget that you gained weight. They don’t do it purposely, and I doubt it’s really malicious. I think it’s just nature to note things of that nature, and they decide that you deserve to know whether you want the reminder or not. So when one mentions that you’ve lost a lot of weight, you get giddy like a schoolgirl and get excited. In my head, I squealed with delight. I’m not entirely sure whether it was just in my head. I really don’t care though, I just want to fit in my clothes again and feel like a human. Or I’ll settle for “just like a me”.

No matter how long you’ve known your in-laws or have been married into the family, I still feel like there’s a need to make sure they don’t hate you. They don’t need to like you just because you’re part of the family. They can sense insincerity and will definitely prey an any weakness that might make them consider you as unworthy of their child’s affections. So the big tip is to be yourself, but a more tamed and better version of yourself. Bite your tongue more often than you normally would and smile and nod when you need to. If you keep those in mind, you’ll be fine and you’ll have a happy life with your spouse. Mostly because every holiday won’t be a fight because you’ll actually enjoy spending time with them.

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Holidays As The Children Age

When my oldest son was born, I thought it would be a sad day when I didn’t have to do the whole Santa/Easter Bunny/Tooth Fairy thing. It gave some sort of purpose on the holidays, something that made them extra excited for the holiday. That all went away two years ago when my son, at his 8th birthday party mind you, asked “is there such thing as Santa?” He gave me those eyes that said “Mom, you promised never to lie to me” but worried because he knew the answer and it made him sad. “No, Dylan. We bought you those Santa presents.” He didn’t seem upset. “Does that mean  you left me the Easter Baskets and money for my teeth?” “Yes, that was us too.” Finally he looked deeply concerned. “What’s wrong  sweet pea?” I asked him. “What did you do with all my teeth then?” He was horrified when he asked. It seemed he thought I had some sort of creepy tooth collection. “They went in the trash Dylan.” And that was that, to him Santa and all the other childhood heroes died. And he was completely okay when he was assured he would still receive presents.

Since then, I didn’t have to stay up until midnight praying that soon I can get sleep since at 6a.m I’ll have him jumping on my bed saying “presents and bacon!”. Now I can go to sleep at a reasonable hour, don’t have to run around last-minute because I forgot Easter was coming and no place has a basket. I just buy him a bunch of candy and call it a day, and he’s 100% happy. I don’t have to run around hiding Easter eggs and praying I remembered where I put them all, because you always forget one when you map them out and regret it later. I don’t even have to worry if I have money to toss under a pillow of a child I hope is actually asleep when I do it. It’s a lot less sneaking around and a lot more of enjoying the time with family.

If I were a more sentimental person, I’d be a little sad by how grown up my oldest child is now and mourn a childhood I took away when I crushed his little fairy tale bubble. I’m not going to lie, I cringe thinking of starting this routine all over again with my baby when he’s old enough. It has to be done, and I’m sure I’ll forget all the stress of it when I see the same glow in his eyes that I’ve seen in Dylan’s before. You just have to remember that the holidays are no longer yours when you have kids. It’s all about making it more enjoyable for them and balancing it because you always want to do better, and if you go too extreme once, you have to double the efforts next time.

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When Television Hits Home

I definitely enjoy television. Maybe too much. My evenings are dedicated to sitting around with my loved ones and watching shows together. I’m not discriminatory about the shows I watch; I appreciated anything moderately well written, entertaining, and moderately well acted. I enjoy some crime procedurals, mostly comedies, and a few assorted others. I enjoy getting lost in a good show as much as I enjoy getting lost in a movie or book. Sometimes the more mindless and questionable the humor, the more I enjoy it.

Sometimes though, you see a show and you relate to it. Most of the time something happens on a sitcom and you say to yourself “well crap, that happened to me this morning” and laugh along with the main character because you know exactly how that it. I suppose that’s why sitcoms are so relatable: the deep down core of the story is something we’ve all experienced in some form. Most of the time the characters themselves are just more attractive versions of us laughing their way through crazy families and when the daily routine goes wrong. We laugh, hoping it doesn’t happen to us or we laugh because it has.

Sometimes though, those pesky dramas we watch tug at our hearts. I’ve become a big fan of that new show “Monday Mornings”. It’s by David E. Kelley, who’s known for his colorful and eccentric characters tossed into dramatic shows. I’ve been a fan of his since I first saw Ally McBeal. I can’t stay up for the show so I usually entrust it to my beloved DVR, and watch it later with my husband. This past weekend was that later. (I’ll try not to spoil it.) There, they  had an infant about 2 months old going into surgery. They showed the little thing getting wheeled into the OR attached to tubes, and I looked at my little baby. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him.

It’s becoming more real that I have to see my son like that. I don’t think about it normally, it makes me a little sad when I do. Next month I see his surgeon for the last consult before the big day in June. I know I need to keep my calm, I know I’m known for that. I’ll probably make inappropriate jokes to mask my nervousness, though the procedure is routine enough. In the back of my head, I’ll constantly be thinking of “people die all the time during routine procedures”. A doctor has a difficult job because if they have a bad day, it can cost a person their life. I try not to think about it, and I know it seems silly since I should have nothing to worry about. The image of him being wheeled into the ER will probably stick with me until it happens, and will probably haunt me after. People say that God doesn’t give you more than you can deal with, but I wonder if that’s some lie we like to tell ourselves to gain strength. I don’t care though, something tells me I’ll need every little bit wherever I can get it.

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Nurture, Nature, and… Harvard?

Today I start with bragging rights of “I had Harvard on my brackets”. This probably isn’t noteworthy, but I’ll brag anyways because this is my first time engaging in the March Madness Hoopla. I’m only doing it for the prizes and money, I haven’t watched a game yet and I don’t intend to start. Basketball bores the heck out of me, but winning stuff doesn’t.

Also I would like to take a minute to note the passing of Chinua Achebe. I read Things Fall Apart in college in a class about Colonialism and Literature. The class was as interesting as I’d hope, and this was one of the many fantastic novels we had to read as a part of it. I also acknowledge that if it weren’t for that class, I never would have bothered to read this and I hope if you haven’t read it, you will.

Now to business.

I sometimes wonder if children become experiments after you have your first one. You do some tweak of something you may have done the first time to see what happens with the next one. I formula fed one, fed pumped milk to the other. I did everything right during one pregnancy and pretty much everything wrong the other. One I worked several hours and the other I stayed at home. I learned something valuable from this experiment: there’s no difference in either child. Except for size, but my husband is a foot taller than my ex, so that’s more genetics than anything.

This makes me wonder if it isn’t the differences that matter, but the key elements that were the same. I raised them in as calm and loving as an environment as I was capable. I made sure that no matter what, I tucked them even if they were sleeping already. I set boundaries, I punished when those boundaries were crossed. I’m not afraid to say no, and I don’t feel guilty for it. I expect them to do their best at everything they do, and give them the opportunities and time to try to excel. How do you do this with a baby? I let him roam the floor while I stay close enough to make sure he stays safe, but allow the freedom to go where he wants safely. (Obviously, stairs are gated off and cabinets locked.) I do let him fall if it’s safe enough, catching him with pillows or my arms. I never yell, and make sure no one else does as well. I always praise my children, and tell them how to improve to do better.

This is comforting. It shows to me that it doesn’t matter if you nurse, pump, or give formula. Aside from the baby who had breastmilk was sick less often and less severe than the other, there is really no difference between the two. They are both well-mannered, happy and healthy. That’s all that matters. This means no one should feel pressures to do anything but their best, because nothing else matters.

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How We Celebrated St. Patrick’s Day

My Monday’s post didn’t get lost in a hangover fueled by the excuse everyone uses to be Irish and get drunk at a parade. We didn’t attend a parade, nor can I even drink to try. Instead, half of our family spend it eating that disgusting slop known as “boiled dinner”, while my husband feasted on NyQuil, my oldest son sneezing all over the baby, and the baby being funneled full of Tylenol and juice. I had pizza and Chinese food, that’s how I celebrated. Hooray for colds, not that we would’ve taken the baby to a parade in a part of a city I don’t want to be in anyways in the middle of a freezing day. Everyone’s illness by Monday was no better, so the post really got lost in a baby who was too busy coughing, sneezing, running a fever, and not wanting to leave Mommy.

I did get to celebrate Monday with the second true Irish art: our tempers. Easily flared, easily passed. At least, I thought they normally pass quick. This apparently doesn’t apply when your child is nearly harmed. In picking up my older son at his CCD classes, he was nearly hit by a car parked inside the area where the CCD kids are dismissed. He didn’t pay attention, and sped off in his fancy car picking up his children from the school’s after school program, nearly running down my son. If it weren’t for me screaming “Dyl, stop!!”, this post would be an entirely different and much angrier post. The guy didn’t stop when he saw me running and screaming, he floored it and left. The gate on that side is normally shut to prevent these measures, but not today.

This wouldn’t have been a big issue if the guy would’ve driven a little slower, if he had paid a little attention, or even if he cared enough to be a decent human being after the incident to stop and apologize for being (pardon my french) a giant asshole. After the fact I realized I should have taken a picture of the car and license plate, but it wouldn’t have mattered. I was so shaky with rage and terror the picture probably wouldn’t have come out well. Then I comfort myself by saying, “what would I do with a picture? Being a douche isn’t a crime”. Two bad words, my apologies. See, apologizing isn’t hard fancy rich man who thinks he’s better than me.

I did the responsible and mature thing and emailed the head of the CCD program the next day, when I was calm enough to be an adult and not revert to my “give ’em hell” temper. As of yet, nothing. I don’t know if I really care if she apologizes or not, though one would be fantastic. I am sure that I want to make sure that this incident doesn’t happen to another child at this school. I’m also sure if she pins any blame on me or my son, I’ll make noise. Because my child’s safety is her concern until I get him into the car to go home with me.

When it comes to our children, we turn into completely different people. We because vicious and protective, daring anyone to “try me”. They say “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”. I don’t believe that’s the case. There is no rage like one a parent can easily fly into when their child is in danger. We’re tirelessly protective and eager to keep them safe at any cost. When I heard someone tried to bully my older son (tried, my son smart talked his way out of it and it never happened again), I won’t lie and say I didn’t want to hunt the kid down myself and show him what a real bully is. If someone tried to kidnap him or harm him seriously in any way, I can’t lie and say I wouldn’t try to severely injure that person. There’s something primal that eats away at our civility when it comes to protecting our children. That’s the way we should feel though, it’s normal to want to protect your child from everything you can and give them the best you can.

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If Only I Were Taller

My husband is a sleeper. I don’t mean sleeper terrorist, I mean someone who enjoys sleep more than most other things in his life. He can sleep through almost anything, including crying babies to a small degree. I worried when he decided that we should expand our family that him giving up sleep wouldn’t happen. The first week home from the hospital I realized how wrong I was. He got up and was willing to help at any hour of the night. Then he went back to work, but would get up when he thought I needed help to jump right in. That man was born to be a father.

In our baby’s first six months, we’re lucky he only had one or two colds. Both only lasted a day or two without any incidence. He basically is his father’s baby and just slept right through the whole thing. The only fever he’s ever had was after he received his vaccines, and even then he just slept right through it. He’s a baby that tolerates most things well, even teething he had a few bad days, but it could have been a lot worse.

That all changed last night when I woke up to a cry I’ve never heard before. As soon as I picked up my little crying boy, I realized he was on fire, figuratively speaking of course. My husband was sleeping, and I went to get the Tylenol, only I couldn’t reach it in the cabinet, I couldn’t even see it. I didn’t want to have to wake up my husband, not just because he gets grumpy when he’s tired but because he’s a worrier. I love that about him; he’s the type of guy that when you get a nasty sunburn because you’re as pale as a ghost and thought that 35 SPF was enough, would buy out the entire section of burn care to fix you. I woke him up asking for him to get the Tylenol, and he wanted to hold the baby because he thought maybe I was wrong. As soon as our boy was in his arms, he handed him off and jumped out of bed and ran to get the medicine.

I was right about the worrying, every noise that came from the crib after that moment, he would immediate sit up and see if the baby was okay. He worried that we should have quarantined patient 0, our oldest son, to have prevented this. Either way, the baby was going to get sick because I was starting to get sick myself. It’s no fun when there are sick kids at home, and it really tests you. I’m lucky I have a partner in this that will make you take a nap while making us supper and making sure the boys are fed. I’m grateful he’s a great father and husband and I know not everyone is as fortunate to have someone to help you through even the simple things. I also learned a valuable lesson: I should move the medicines our kids use on shelves I can reach without climbing on countertops. Climbing isn’t easy with an infant in your arms.

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Dylanisms: Religion

As I learned from the first post about Dylanisms (see: www.bluishoblivion.com ), people like to hear funny “kids say the darndest things” stories. It’s true, children are a wealth of source of hilarious commentary. My life would be very boring if I didn’t have him. I laugh because he’s an adult in a miniature child’s body. As a fourth grader, he still gets mistaken as a kindergartener. He has learned to take this in stride and make up for his size by having a very large personality. And Dylan is nothing if not full of personality.

We’ve been watching The Bible, not because we’re a particularly religious family but as a family that enjoys “historical” miniseries. I use “historical” very very loosely here, because as I said we’re not a particularly religious family. Dylan opted to watch because Dylan  likes anything that most children don’t. Maybe he took an interest because of what he learns at CCD I thought. No, he just liked watching Samson “Hulk Smash” things.

This led my husband to start asking basic questions about religion, which Dylan couldn’t answer. My husband looked at me and said “well that’s $25 well spent. What do we send them there to learn if he doesn’t learn anything.” I laughed, and told him I sent him there because I had to, he has to. My husband glared at me, but realized there was no point in arguing. Eventually Bethlehem came up and I was hoping this would be our redeeming moment. Here’s what happened:

Me: “So who was born in Bethlehem?”

Dylan: “Um… I don’t know. Who?”

My husband chuckled and glared at me again. Me: “Seriously? Think Christmas”

Dylan: “Ooo I know this. Santa!”

My husband and I crack up laughing. Me: “I see your point about our wasted money”

Well if nothing else, I pay $25 a year for my son to be babysat for an hour a week. Moral of the story: For the price of cable and watching The Bible, I could save money from sending him to Catechism classes. One could state that God is sending our house a message, because this morning Dylan woke up with a bad cough, stuffy nose, and a fever. Well played.

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And We Lived!

Six months ago today, I remember my husband rushing to get the trash bucket because rather than feeling an extreme amount of pain, I felt nothing but nauseous. It seemed no sooner than when I was done vomiting, a baby appeared magically. That’s not exactly how it worked, but I’m sure that graphically tamed edition is much less graphic than the actual encounter. I didn’t yell at my husband for convincing me this was a good idea, I probably would’ve considered it if I wasn’t so tired and he didn’t look so sick after watching the whole thing go down.

We lived a whole half a year. Now my husband is in familiar territory because when we first met what seemed like ages ago, my elder son was six months old. Now we’ve got this, and the fun can really begin. And by “the fun can really begin”, I really mean “we get to run around the house saying ‘Georgie, NO!” Then it looks like a tornado ran through the house: toys over every inch of the living room carpet, dog food tossed on the floor with the dog bowls thrown across the kitchen. Luckily the stairs are already blocked off because of our rambunctious little puppies. He enjoys sitting on the kitchen floor, smacking the metal dog bowls against the ground making music. He especially enjoys this while I make his food, looking at me for samples of whatever I blended up for him. I always do, it’s like watching a kid take the mixer attachment while licking brownie or cookie batter off of it.

The best, and the new ability that makes me the most nervous, is his “walking”. He loves that he learned that if he holds onto things to walk, he moves faster than when he crawls. What he doesn’t love is that when he lets go to try to go solo, he falls on nice pleasantly padded behind. But like I said before, at least he’s getting good at falling. I’m afraid I’m going to fall asleep while he’s playing and wake up to him toddling about the house while I yell that he’s too young and too small to be doing it. My husband doesn’t, he laughs and says “that’s my boy” while telling anyone who’ll listen that his boy is too smart for his own good. It’s true; both the boys are too smart for their own good. I know that I need to savor every moment of this, because they do grow up so fast. If you blink, they’ll be married with kids of their own.

Six months ago, a perfect addition was added to my family. I can’t believe it’s been this long already, it seems too soon. Every time I hold him to feed him the bottle, I wonder when he got to be so big. Sorry, not big. Tall. He’s a scrawny little guy, but he’s a tall one. (Anyone who knows my husband, does this sound familiar?) Next will be his big one year, where I know the best and worst are still yet to come. Life is short and it moves so fast. And anything can happen in the blink of an eye. It helps to keep everything in perspective though. There’s a lot of bad in the world, but there’s a lot of precious moments in it too. It’s hard to remember this after 4 practically sleepless nights, but you can’t spend the day in bed wishing for things to get better. If you do need to do that, maybe you should consider making things better. If not, then you should enjoy every precious moment you have, because it’s hard to tell when you won’t have them anymore.

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I’ll Buy You A Corvette, Whatever You Want

A note before this post: Every year I plug the Jimmy Fund Telethon, a great local cause. Today, I am mentioning another cause that is soon going to personally affect me. Baystate Children’s Hospital is the place where my son will be having his surgery and the people I’ve met there are fantastic and make me a little less nervous about his surgery. No matter how routine a surgery, you know in the back of your mind that anything can happen. Check out this page: https://foundation.baystatehealth.org/netcommunity/sslpage.aspx?pid=533 for information on donating.

My little one drives me crazy. My oldest son is a master at this as well. Not all the time, but no mom can say honestly “I’m always 100% on the ball and sane”. We’re not, we do go a little crazy and we do spend an extra 5 minutes on the toilet wanting to cry but really just enjoying the peace. This doesn’t make us bad people, and this is definitely more common in stay at home moms than working moms. Though I remember some days staying in the shower an extra 5 minutes before work just because I could. We’re moms though, a resilient sort of person that is under appreciated and underestimated.

My baby might be popping his second set of teeth, which timing wise makes sense since he was supposed to pop his first set out around 6 months and he was 2 months ahead of that mark. It’s tiring, nothing turns a baby crankier than teething. My baby used to sleep through the night, now I’m lucky if he even sleeps. I say to him, “I’ll buy you a Corvette, a pony, whatever, just don’t cry”. I don’t know why I try to bribe me since a) he doesn’t know what a corvette or pony is and b) he doesn’t know what a bribe is. He eventually does stop crying, mostly to laugh at pulling my hair out for me. He’s not crying all the time, just when he gets on a “Mom, fix my teeth” fit, it lasts a while.

When he’s not crying, he’s learned that he can pull himself up and walk along furniture. He whizzes by and mastered falling on his butt, not his head. I told my husband, “eventually he’ll get tired of falling and learn” and unfortunately he has. Now he’s brave and let’s go like he can walk and lands right on his heavily padded bottom. His laugh is as infectious as his cry, and he smiles at you baring his 2 little bottom teeth that have almost finished growing completely in.

He’s growing too fast, and as he races out of the room or follows me around like my little duckling I realize that every cry is just precious. Life is too short to stress about not sleeping or all the fussy fits babies can have. It might not seem it at 4 a.m. on your third day of no sleep, but it’s a miracle and something we should be grateful for. Many people can’t have kids, many lose theirs too  young. I can’t get mad because when I open my eyes tiredly and I see him standing in the crib looking up over at me with a smile on his face, I smile back. Remember to always smile back, no matter how tired and stressed you are. You’ll feel better.