"Me Time"

After waking up early with BabyBoy, making him breakfast, and playing for a couple hours, Hubby crawled out of bed.  We took the boy to the zoo for a run in the crappy weather (That sounds like we're taking the dog to the off-leash park, which is kind of exactly how it is).  After the zoo visit, we got some lunch, and I put him down for his nap.

I emptied the dishwasher, setting out bottles, sippy cups, and child plates to air dry, loaded the dirty dishes in, and asked for some "me time" to go to a craft fair at Seattle Center.  A particular vendor was there, and I wanted to take advantage of the show discount to stock up on soap for the shower.  Hubby agreed, and went downstairs to take a nap while BabyBoy slept.

After the craft show, I was walking back to my car in the rain.  I saw an older lady, skipping hand in hand with a young girl who was wearing and elaborate feathered mardi gras mask and a tutu.  They were skipping right through the cross walk, in the pouring down rain.  I wished that my eyes were a camera so I could save that image to share here.  Unfortunately, I can't translate an image from my head to the computer, so this will have to capture the mood.

My first thought was "sometimes I wish I had a little girl", my next thought was "I hope I can still skip when I have a grandchild."  Lastly, I thought "I want to skip with my son in the rain." 

Frivolous part of "me time" was done, so I made the practical trip to the grocery store.  Milk, Toilet paper, food for dinner, and a few other staples for the house were all on the list.  When I got to the checkout stand, I handed the checker my bags.  I had an Oscar the Grouch bag, and a Thomas and Friends bag that happened to be in my car, so that's what I brought in with me. Apparently, I was also wearing my "please poke fun at me" face.  The checker inclined his head toward my bags of groceries and said "You don't get out much, do you?".  He was right, I don't.  I laughed a little ruefully and said "What was your first clue?"  He said "We don't get a lot of Thomas bags on Lower Queen Anne."

When I got home, the dishwasher had finished it's cycle, and the sink was full of dirty dishes.  There was a bag of garbage blocking the door to get into the house, so I took it out to the garbage cans before I could get in, put away the groceries, unload the dishwasher and put the dirty dishes into the machine for the next load.  Hubby and BabyBoy were in the living room, sitting in the middle of a pile of toys, and watching "How to Train Your Dragon" for the third time in 24 hours.  All nice thoughts from 90 minutes to myself were completely washed out of my head by internal grumbling about delayed chores.

I want to skip in the rain, holding hands with my son.  I'm going to hold onto that for tonight.

God save me from nights like this.

We are making no forward progress in sleep training our child. In fact, I think we're making backwards progress. On the once a quarter nights where I go out with a girlfirend, I get the text messages that ask things like "Is the bubble bath safe for him to drink?" and "what if he gets some of the lotion in his mouth?" I also get questions about the proper order of sanitary additions. Do you add the Desitin before or AFTER the powder?, with the following second guessing "are you sure this stuff is safe for babies" thrown in randomly for good measure. If my child is asleep at all when I get home, it's never in a position he normally sleeps in, or in a space where he normally sleeps. I found him standing on his feet, bent over double on the ottoman, sound asleep one night. The TV was on full blast, and he was snoring away. There was the evening he pulled the towel off the towel rack and made himself a bed on the bathroom floor.


Worse than finding him asleep in weird positions is finding him NOT asleep at all, and hours pst his bedtime. He's lying on the bed, sobbing, with the occasional primal scream for good measure. He's covered in snot, all hot and sweaty, and completely inconsolable. I have to pull out the big guns for these instances. I warm up the full repertoire of lullabye songs.... I sing him "Easy People", "In the Hush Before the Heartbreak", "The River Shall Rise", "Baby Mine", "Blackbird", "The Tennessee Waltz", "The Rainbow Connection", "The Wurlitzer Prize", "The Long Day is Over", and even the awful song my mom sang me about a dying child "Put My Little Shoes Away". I sing them over and over - my personal best was A 5 time repeat of the full rep before he sacked out.

Tonight is measuring on par with a night where I was not here to put him to bed, except I was. Last night was equally bad, with a slight deviation, Daddy got home before BabyBoy was soundly asleep. He sat straight up, punched me in the cheek bone and said "NO. DAAAAH-DEEEE". It took nearly two ours of squirming, singing and crying last night.

Tonight is shaping up the same - hubby's upstairs, delaying the inevitable where he enters my circle of hell that is playing the sound track of a screaming baby that I don't know how to help. In the meantime, I'm settling down for round 3 of the Tennessee Waltz.

I'm about ready to bundle him in the car for the 17 mile lap I used to take with him when he was a constantly crying baby with gastric reflux. At least he sleeps in the car.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad. Fueled by coffee.

Location:5th circle of hell, aka beside the crib

A week of upheaval

We'd had a rather eventful week with BabyBoy - the previous Sunday (3/11) I had to take him to urgent care for a really persistent cough, and while we were there being treated for croup (again), the nurse practitioner said "Oh!  His ear is infected!"  They started him on Amoxicillin, and Monday morning I woke up to a baby covered in hives.  Off Mama went for the drop in hours at the pediatrician (for the record, avoid monday morning pediatrician appointments like the plague if at all possible.  All the SICK kids are there!).  The pediatrician said his ears were "absolutely pristine" and that there was no need to continue with a different antibiotic.  I stopped at the drugstore for some baby benadryl, gave him a dose and he passed out on the drive to daycare.

When I was headed to the pediatrician, Hubby said "if the doctor says he can't go to school, call me and I'll come home."  I took that at face value, and called him from a parked car at daycare.

"He's totally stoned on benadryl and has passed out.  I can't take him in like this.  I think I'm going to take him home, but I've got a couple things that HAVE to be done at work.  Can you come home?"

"Well, I have  A LOT to do.  Why don't you just wake him up and take him in?  It's their problem now." He replied.

I got mad, like seeing red, mad.  BabyBoy has not had a TON of sick days where he's had to miss school, but I've covered all but one of them.  I've also covered their closures for holidays and in-service time.  The inequality of the work load at home around our son was weighing heavy on my shoulders, and I replied, "He's not 'someone else's problem'. He's OUR SON.  You SAID you would help me today.  YOU need to do your part."

"He's got a note to be allowed to go to school.  Take him to school.   If YOU want to take him home, YOU take care of him." he snapped.

"Fine.  I'LL handle it.", tears in my voice, I hung up on him.  I bundled BabyBoy out of the car, and stuck my head inside his classroom door to let them know BabyBoy would not be coming to school today after all.

"He's ok, just really out of it with Benadryl and an allergic reaction.  I'm going to take him home."

By the time I got him back in the car, I had two new voice mails from Hubby.  Nether of them were very nice.  I called him back and told him I was taking BabyBoy home, and to do what he thought was best about participating in his care.That's my fall back, whenever I get completely fed up with him, I tell him to "do what he thinks is best".  I've never been pleasantly surprised by the decisions he makes when presented with that option, but at least I can feel like a martyr instead of communicating what I actually need.

In this case, he surprised me by coming home about 2:30, and I went into work for 2 hours to do what I needed to get done.  BabyBoy's hives continued to improve, and we thought we were out of the woods.

Thursday night, I was getting the baby ready for his bath, when I said "I think there's something weird with his penis.  It's all SWOLLEN looking!  Can babies get a stiffy?"  I brought the baby into the bathroom, "Does his penis look weird to you?"We both turned a critical eye to our kids crotch.  "Yeah, I think it's different.", Hubby said.  He poked, and squeezed, and gently moved the foreskin a bit.  BabyBoy seemed completely nonplussed by our attentions, and Hubby put him in the bath.

I texted two of his daycare teachers to ask if they'd noticed anything, as well as texting a friend with a boy a year older than Z to ask advice.  Then I made my critical error of the day.  I googled "Uncircumsized penis infection".  For the record, I cannot recommend this action to any parent, new or otherwise.  You can thank me for this later.

After scaring myself silly, completely losing my appetite and reading some parenting forum posts, we decided we would take a look at it in the morning and see how it looked.

Friday morning, BabyBoy woke me up with an enthusiastic "HI!" and I got him up and out of his crib.  I changed his diaper in the darkish room, then took him into the bathroom to say hi to Daddy.  Hubby pulled back the shower curtain and immediately said "What's wrong with his EYE?".  I took a look and said "OH NO!  PINK EYE!"

Very calmly, I said to Hubby "He can't go to school.  You're going to need to take him to walk-in hours, which start at 8.  Are you ok with staying home with him today?"

"I thought you have the day off?", he asked.

"I do, but it's spa day.  I've had this on the books for a while."  I was fighting hard to give him the opportunity step up and to NOT do what I typically do and give in.  I let 'spa day' hang in the air for a heartbeat or two.  It was crickets in response.

"I guess I can cancel," I mumbled.

"No, go.  I can REARRANGE EVERYTHING," he replied.  It did not sound enthusiastic or supportive.  It sounded resentful.  Perhaps that's just how I heard it, but it's how it sounded to me.

Throughout the rest of the getting ready, the topic continued to come up.  I offered twice more to cancel and each time he said he'd take care of it.  So I decided that was enough for me.  Worst Mommy in the World was going to leave her sick child and go to the spa for some pampering.

Before pampering, I ran around like a mad woman and did a bunch of housework supporting my mother-in-law's arrival later on Friday night.  Hubby and BabyBoy made good time at walk-in hour (better on a Friday than a Monday, apparently),  and they made it back to the house to pick up a diaper bag before going to the pharmacy and out to breakfast.  BabyBoy DID have an ear infection after all, which had somehow caused viral conjunctivitis (pink-eye, simply by the nature of making his eye pink) and an infection of the foreskin, all treatable by a 14 day course of a different antibiotic.  As a mom, the frustrating thing was that the pink-eye and PENIS INFECTION (I have found it is absolutely impossible to type those two words NOT in all caps, it just sounds icky and painful) probably would not have made it to the surface if the pediatrician on Monday had not missed the ear infection in the first place.

Upside, he's feeling much better after 4 days of antibiotics.  As a couple, we need to find a better, more equitable way to deal with the fact that we're reliant on a daycare provide that has strict rules about health issues, and sometimes that means missed time at work.  Perhaps it's just taking turns?  Perhaps it's luck of the draw - even day of the month is mommy, odd day of the week is daddy?  Any both-parents working families out there have advice?

Winter

The holiday season was busy for us, with lots of time with friends.  On New Years day, we went to a friends house for a traditional southern lucky new years day potluck.  There was a piano in the living room, and after a couple glasses of wine, I decided to flip through the music stash.  I haven't sat at a keyboard in over a year, and haven't played in front of others in about 8 times that.  The call of a Tori Amos anthology was too much to resist, I opened to the song "Winter", and sat down at the bench.

I only played through the first verse, and did not have the nerve to burst into song in a room full of people, so just the piano part. I've always loved playing the piano accompaniment to that song, 6 flats not-withstanding, but I can't sing it for others, it makes me cry.

I've been thinking a lot about my Dad lately, and after some soul searching this weekend, I think I've discovered some things. I have very clear memories of being a little kid and wanting to be like my dad. There was never any secret in our house, he wanted a boy, and he got me instead. I would study how he walked and try to swagger just like him, I'd watch how he was never really still - tapping fingers, jingling keys - and I'd imitate it. I remember the day that the post man commented on me in the yard - he looked at me, looked at my dad and said "well, you can't deny that one" and it made me proud. I remember having a snowball fight with him the Christmas that I turned 16, I remember a warm hand on my shoulder and a comment that I "did good" when I started self-teaching myself programming, but I don't remember really TALKING to him, and I don't remember him really LISTENING to me.





 

The first verse of "Winter" tells the story of a young girl, spending time with her dad, and knowing he is there, looking out for her:

Snow can wait
I forgot my mittens
Wipe my nose
Get my new boots on
I get a little warm in my heart
When I think of winter
I put my hand in my father's glove

I run off
Where the drifts get deeper
Sleeping beauty trips me with a frown
I hear a voice
"You must learn to stand up for yourself
Cause I can't always be around"

He says
When you gonna make up your mind
When you gonna love you as much as I do
When you gonna make up your mind
Cause things are gonna change so fast
All the white horses are still in bed
I tell you that I'll always want you near
You say that things change my dear

I wish I could say that was the relationship we had. I know that if I can think rationally about our way of interacting, he is expressing care in the only way he can. But it's hurtful and dismissive and it always has been.

Hair is grey
And the fires are burning
So many dreams
On the shelf
You say I wanted you to be proud of me
I always wanted that myself

It truly is all I've wanted - for him to be proud of me and love me for who I am, instead of reminding me of who I'm not. But the hard realization is I don't accept him for who he is, either. He was who he is before I even existed. Who am I to demand that he change and to be disappointed in him that he can't? Perhaps if I can accept him, I can find some peace in his understanding of me.

Last night, I called to talk to see how he's been. He spent the first 15 minutes asking me to troubleshoot his computer issues, while I tried to walk him through accessing gmail via web browser. He finally got around to asking about how the baby is, and I gave him an update, and added that we'd gone for a walk in the "snow" to the local mexican restaurant, where the baby ate half a kids quesadilla and some guacamole.

He said "You better watch what he's eating and not feed him junk so he gets fat. You don't want him to be like you."

There are many, many things I can think of that would be a worse fate than for my son to grow up and be like me. Several sarcastic responses flew through my mind in the heartbeats it took me to answer. I simply said "He's not eating junk." My husband heard the dead tone of my voice and turned to stage-whisper "what's going on?"

I listened to my dad talk for about 10 more minutes with tears rolling down my cheeks, he never bothered to ask how I am or how my husband is, he spent the time talking about my sister, her kids, and their grandkids and how neat they all are. Finally I interupted and said it was getting near bed time and I needed to go take care of the baby.

I closed with, "I love you, Dad, I'll talk to you soon."

"Ok, you too, bye."

When I hung up, I just put my head in my hands for a moment and hubby came over to ask what that was all about. I told him about the comment my Dad made, and hubby asked "Why didn't you tell him to go fuck himself?"

"Because, it's not that simple. He's my Dad and I can't do that." I tried to explain, knowing it makes no sense to anyone, myself included.

"Well, if my dad talked to me like that, I'd tell him to go fuck himself." he responded.

"Then you owe your parents a big thank you for teaching you to have more self esteem than I do, and for being secure in their love." I started crying harder. "He doesn't give a shit about me, he just wants me to fix his stupid computer."

Hubby put his arms around me and BabyBoy put his arms around my neck, too. We all leaned together while I cried, and hubby kissed my forehead. "I'm sorry, baby."

Later, after BabyBoy was asleep, I started crying again. How can I possibly raise him to be confident and secure when I am so fundamentally broken? I don't want to hurt him like this, and I'm so afraid that my shit is just going to fuck him up. I want him to always know how much I love him, support him, and believe in him. Hubby held me and let me talk through it and reminded me that I am a good mother, that I take amazing care of BabyBoy, and that we'll help each other when things get hard. That we'll make mistakes, but we'll have our own family, and our own way of communicating that doesn't have to repeat the past.

I have to believe in that, I have to believe in us. And I have to believe in me. It's time for me to love myself as much as I love my son. For someone posting on a blog titled "still an adult", I've spent an awful lot of time feeling like a scared, confused child over the past 24 hours.