Night 2

Last night was the first night that Max was not sleeping in his bed, and it was scary and sad and lonely and weird. How amazing it is that once you have children, it really is difficult to imagine your life before them. I got home late with the baby, fed him, got him to sleep, watched the “Six month later” reunion of “Married at First Sight,” a reality series in which three couples are matched up by professionals and then get married before ever meeting one another, drank a glass of wine, took a much needed shower, paced around the house for a bit while teary-eyed, felt a pain on my chest when I looked at Max’s empty bed, read over the documentation provided by the nurse on Max’s conditions, wrote a mini slightly buzzed blog entry and the passed out around 1:30 am or so. How’s that for a runonandonandon sentence?

So it’s about 3:15 in the afternoon, and it looks like Max will be here until at least tomorrow. The good news is that the doctors have pretty much ruled out a UTI. It appears that the fever and abdominal pain were both caused by the pneumonia in the lower lobe of his lung. I have been with Max for a few hours, and it is clear that he is feeling better. He is fussy and keeps asking to get out of bed. He hates the IV, but he has not tried to rip it out, which is pretty amazing.

I hope he can come home tomorrow. The doctors want to do another chest X-Ray and check his levels tomorrow to see if the infection is clearing up. Tonight I will concentrate on cleaning the sheets and getting the house ready for the return of my husband and son. I did tell Brad, my husband, that the silver lining is that I have missed him as well. He has been really great this week, taking care of his boy. I feel like half of me is missing.

I should have more faith in my son

Tonight is the first night ever that Max is not at home sleeping in his bed, and I hate it. He is in the hospital with pneumonia in one lung and a bad urinary tract infection. He has a tiny IV in his tiny hand and is hooked up to monitors and he was sleeping like the most beautiful angel when I kissed him before I left tonight. He was so brave today. So brave through the poking and prodding and ultrasounds and X-rays. I didn’t expect it from him. It’s as if he knew that things were serious and that he needed to be good and strong. I am so impressed with my three year old son who is usually so argumentative and moody. He amazed me today.

Brad is staying with him tonight because I have to be home with the baby. I am lost. I miss my family. I need my baby boy home and healthy.

Six months…letting go

Greyson has started to attempt to crawl. He is such a little busy body. He is constantly in motion, kicking his chunky little legs and rolling all over the place. He gets on all fours and raises up on his toes and tries to lunge forward with a hop. It’s so funny. He has also learned to use his arms to pull himself. I cannot believe that he is six months old. The time has flown so quickly that it is terrifying. I want to freeze time right now and have him stay six months old forever. He is so cuddly and has the best smile and giggle around. As I pack up his things, I can’t help but feel somewhat somber because this time I will be giving his clothes away rather than packing them up and putting them in the closet. I just left him napping in his room, and I am in tears. I decided to organize his drawers and pulled out all of the little sheets for his moses basket. So tiny, barely used. Although I won’t need them anymore, I couldn’t pack them up. Instead, I folded them and put them back in the drawer. I know it makes no sense, but I did it anyway. His basket is next to his crib, and I cannot bare to part with it. It was first place Max and Greyson slept once they were home. I don’t think I will be able to let it go for a good while.

I am having a much harder time dealing with the finality of it. I am 39. I have two beautiful boys. They are more than I can handle. Financially we are just getting by. There is no good reason to want more kids (other than my lifelong dream of having a little girl) and yet I am having a hard time accepting this. The whole process is a rollercoaster, scary, exhausting, painful, stressful and yet brilliantly magical. Knowing that I will never experience that again in heartbreaking. I will never go through the anxiety of waiting for my period not to come. I will most likely never take a pregnancy test again. I will never feel a life growing inside of me again. There will be no more picking out things for the nursery or buying tiny doll sized clothing because I cannot resist. There won’t be the fear and unimaginable pain of childbirth, and there won’t be the otherworldly experience of holding my baby for the first time and watching him latch on to my breast instinctually. I won’t know that innocence again, and yet I thank God every day that I was able to experience it, not once, but twice. How lucky am I? I am well aware of my blessed life and that so many, despite their desperate wishes, will never experience all that I have. I know that I am greedy. I should be content with what I have, and I am; but I have always had a hard time letting go. Whether it was a lost best friend, an ex-boyfriend, a deceased family member or pet, an unfulfilled dream…I cling because that’s who I am. I am reluctant to release because I hold such things so dear and realize their beauty and fragility. The moments are so fleeting, and I am desperate to make them last just a bit longer.

I look at my Max, now three, sleeping on the couch. As he sleeps, I can see a glimpse of the baby he once was. It seems like yesterday. Things are already slipping away. He has lost his toothless grin, he no longer feeds from me, he does pee pee in the potty, and fights back and protests everything. He is moody and grumpy and frustrated and frustrating. But when he sleeps, he is my baby. His expression is soft, I can hear his breath, he still looks small relative to the large couch. I know that he still needs mommy. I know that I need to look at my children more instead of checking my email. I need to hold them and breathe them in now because I don’t want to miss this moment as I grieve for the moments already gone. Hw

Going to the Cloth

Written on 2/5/13

My son, Max, is a sensitive little creature.  He was born that way…a sensitive nervous system that caused him to shake and startle easily, a sensitivity to sound that has led us to stop flushing at night (yes, we have become THOSE people), a sensitivity to not getting his way, and a sensitivity to chemicals and foods.  Every time I give him regular cow’s milk, his poop turns green.  Although some say it’s normal, it just doesn’t seem normal to me.   He has also had episodes of eczema patches all over his body, mostly around the diaper area.

My son’s pediatrician suggested that I give cloth diapers a try.  I have to admit that I have always been curious about them.  I even bought a fuzzibunz diaper from Zuliliy, but I never had the guts to actually put it on him.  I might be a closet granola who is afraid to commit.  I care about the environment, so I recycle.  I worry about exposure to too many chemicals, so I try to use natural cleaning products whenever possible.  I plug in my cell phone at night across the room from where I sleep because I worry about getting zapped by radiation while I sleep.  I try to do little things that are not a big inconvenience to me and can go somewhat unnoticed by my husband because he is a “everything causes cancer so why worry” and “I’m not convinced that Global Warming exists” kind of guy.

Hearing the suggestion from my doctor gave me a reason to actually give it a try, and I didn’t have to worry about other people rolling their eyes at the notion because I could just say, “My doctor suggested it.”  So, I gave it a trial run when he was around 20 months.  I knew that I needed to do my research, but I was shocked by the abundance of information that I found!  I had no idea that there were so many different types!  I figured there would be 5-10 brands to choose from and that would be that, but there are way more than that.  There is like this underground culture of cloth diaper fanatics.  Today there are oodles of brands and so many different types, such as all-in-ones, pockets, prefolds, flats, fitteds and the new hybrid diapers that can be fitted with disposable or cloth inserts.   Most styles come in snaps or velcro…and you can choose sized diapers or one size diapers which can be adjusted as your baby grows.  Once you choose the style of diaper, you have to decide on the material.  You can choose wool, fleece or PUL covers.  Inserts may be made of  stay-dry materials or natural fibers like bamboo and hemp.

Once you choose your diapers, there are accessories that can make your life easier. Fleece or disposable liners help with the removal of solid waste.  Wet bags or diaper pails are needed to store the diapers until you wash them.  There are only certain diaper rash creams and specific detergents that can be used with cloth diapers.  Cloth wipes may sound disgusting, but they make the process easier because you just throw them in the wash with the diapers.  If you go with cloth wipes, you can create homemade cleaning solutions or buy them.  Then there is the golden egg…the diaper sprayer, a personal bidet marketed as a cloth diaper accessory.  Some moms have no problem with the “dunk and swish” method of swirling the dirty diaper in the toilet.  I did this during my trial period, and I was not a fan.  It was messy, and I couldn’t get it all off if you know what I mean.  I was surprised to find out that cloth diaper sites actually sell spatulas for scraping the waste off the diaper.  I didn’t want to store a pooper scooper in my bathroom.  So, after committing to cloth diapering, I splurged on the sprayer.

If you are new to the concept of modern day cloth diapering, your head is probably spinning right about now.  Mine certainly was, which is why I intend on writing a future post on my journey into cloth diapering…including my favorite diapers and what I have learned thus far.

Communication Breakdown

My husband, Brad, is working in Jamaica at the moment, so I am getting a taste of what it is like to be a single mom.  The toughest part is that I get virtually no breaks.  Max has been fighting his naps this past week, so I have really had no time to myself…unless you consider taking a shower while trying to drown out the screaming in the background.  I can’t relax when he is crying.  I leave him for as long as I can tolerate because I know that he is tired, and I don’t want to break the routine or get him used to getting his way.  Sometimes he cries for a while and then falls asleep.  Other times, he will fuss for the full hour.  If he is screaming full out, I will sometimes go in and try to calm him and then put him back down.  It works maybe 1 out of 5 times.

I have a feeling that part of this new resistance is due to the developmental explosion that is happening in his little brain.  The communication part of his brain is on fire.  It started small.  I noticed him trying to say bread and ball…and then within a few weeks, he took off.  I swear he must say one or two new words every day now.  Sometimes I know exactly what he is saying, and other times I can’t figure it out…but I know it means something to him.  It’s like trying to crack a code.  He knows words that I don’t even realize that he knows.  That is always the most exciting part.  The other day, I was talking to Brad over Skype, and suddenly Max run across the kitchen and point at the bunch of bananas on the counter.  He exclaimed, “Banalalalala.”  He turned to look at me, and his tongue was moving back and forth as he was trying to sound out the word.  I was shocked.

My favorite new word of his is “please.”  He says it like Roger Rabbit.  It’s a desperate “puleeeease!”  It is so manipulative.  It makes it very hard for me to deny him things now.  It was much easier to be strong before the “puleeeease!”

Yesterday he learned two new words.  I bought him an Elmo trick or treat bucket, so he now says “Elmo” or his version of it.  My mom bought him a book with robots in it, and he points and says “robot.”  I know that this is simple normal human development, but I can’t help but be amazed.  Brad and I joke around about how parents fall into the trap of thinking their child is super special because we are blown away by each little milestone.  We will say, “Our son is a GENIUS!” knowing full well that is is most likely exactly where he should be and that there is really nothing special about him to anyone but us.  He is a typical 16 month old, but he’s ours.

There are a lot of words that he knows but is still trying to figure out how to say.  I play a game with him and sing out the names of objects, and he runs and gets them for me…like his monkey, a ball, a pillow, a truck, a train, etc… He has so much fun doing this!

My little “genius” is saying the following words now:  mama, dada, nana (his grandmother), pa (grandfather), cat, milk, agua, ball, bear, book, block, bananalalala, Elmo, robot, tree and please.  I am sure that I am missing some, but those are the main ones.  I am sure that I will wish him back to the mute stage once I can’t get him to shut up…when he is saying “no” to everything, or “I hate you mommy.”  Yeah, then I will wish I could cut those lines of communication, but for now…it’s so fun!

Always a Teacher

Teachers started back today.  It still feels a little strange that I am not partaking in the ritual of setting up my classroom and updating my syllabus.  On Friday, I could not help but feel a tug of nostalgia as I walked by “Get Smart,” a local teacher supply store that is located in the same shopping center as Max’s Gymboree class.  I saw the line of teachers gathering up their bulletin board backgrounds and cheerful borders.  Then there is the part of me that thinks, “Thank God I don’t have to deal with the stress of another unpredictable school year.”  If teaching had been better to me, I think I would feel a little more sad than I do.  My experience with teaching has been a rollercoaster to say the least.  Six years of disappointment.  In my heart, I am still a teacher and maybe always will be.  It is painful for me to say, “I used to be a teacher.”  I prefer to say that I am taking a break from teaching to stay home with my son during these most critical early years.  After working my tush off for the past six years, I found myself in a worse position than where I had started.  I was no longer teaching art, which is my passion.  I was being moved to an even smaller room without a sink.  I was dealing with classes with 40 to 50 students.  It just didn’t seem like I had a good enough reason to go back to work if I didn’t really have to.

I am fortunate, blessed even, to be able to stay home with my son.  It is not without it’s drawbacks.  Money is tight, and we have to watch our spending.  I have given up a career or at least put it on hold.  I am with my son 24 hours a day and do not get a break of any kind unless he graces me with a nap.  I struggle to keep up with the cleaning and laundry, and dinnertime is the most stressful time of the day.  I have to keep my son calm while I attempt to create culinary masterpieces.  My son is picky, not a fan of a variety of textures, so I have to get creative with his meals.  My solution for getting him to eat veggies is a whole wheat quesadilla.  I saute a variety of vegetables, such as onions, mushrooms, and spinach.  Then I blend them up into a paste and let it cool.  I take whole wheat tortillas, spread cheese on them, a layer of veggie paste, sometimes a layer of refried beans, and another layer of cheese.  I top it with another tortilla and cook the quesadilla until golden on both sides.  He loves it.  I must credit my husband with the idea of blending the vegetable in the Magic Bullet.  Genius.

It is nice to know that I am still using my creative juices in some way.  Life is now about routine, but Max keeps me on my toes.  I realize that I am very much still a teacher.  I am teaching my son language arts every time I speak to him, read to him, sign to him.  I am teaching him about the arts when I play music for him or sing to him or point out something pretty.  I am teaching him the importance of “please” and “thank you,” two words that I didn’t hear enough of from the mouths of my high school students.  I am teaching him to be gentle and kind.  As a mom, I am perhaps the greatest teacher he will ever have, and I will be guaranteed life-long employment.  I will get to see the fruits of my labor year after year.  It doesn’t get much better than that.