Throaty Little Giggles Burst Forth

There are dark times in parenting young children. Dark, sleep-deprived days and nights filled with heavy sighs, creased foreheads, rolling tears, and sometimes great big, heaving giant sobs in front of the bathroom mirror where you have closed the door so you can have just a minute, just one freakin’ minute to yourself. There are days when things get spilled and slammed and thrown and time-outs come flying out of the kitchen faster than you can count to three because let’s face it, sometimes you don’t need to count to three. Sometimes you’re way past three and moving fast towards ten Hail Marys and an Our Father.


It’s hard to remember during those dark, bone-tired days that just around the corner is a day like today. A day when I could not seem to get anything done because every time I peaked around a kitchen cabinet, old Charlie was giving me the biggest shy-guy smile he could throw my way and I would just fall over with joy. I kept trying to get this kid to take a snooze today, but for some odd reason, Charlie would not nap. For some odd reason this five-month-old could not keep his eyes closed longer than twenty minutes. I was puzzled by how alert he was until I realized what was going on.

Today was the day Charlie finally realized that his mommy is hilarious.

I mean the kid simply could not stop laughing at my jokes. And I was shameless. I made noises I’ve never made before just to hear that throaty little giggle burst forth out of his giant baby duck mouth. I found every tickle spot—the crease just inside his chubby little thighs, the spot just beneath his giggly little chin, and the underarmpitties, those delectable little underarmpitties that he leaves open and vulnerable for just a little tickle-tickle.

When I would pick him up after one of our rollicking, stomach-aching, comedy hours, he’d attach himself to my face with a wide, slobbery, open-mouthed smooch. I mean the kid adores me.

There are dark days in parenting young children, but today was not one of them. Today was filled with giddy laughter and slobbery kisses and prayers of gratitude. I mean I can only guess that behind that goofy grin, Charlie was thanking the good Lord above for blessing him with the funniest mommy on the planet.

And the Bees Buzzed On

*  Disappeared from blogging about motherhood for a while and this is the story of why.  Sometimes being a mom leaves little time for doing anything else.

It all began with the buzzing of a tiny bee. At four o’clock in the morning. The night of the storm.


I had already been up twice that night nursing a congested Charlie who had decided after a few eight, ten, twelve-hour stretches that sleeping through the night was just not his bag. Then we were up with the tornado sirens accompanying the bang and the flash of the thunder and lightning, trying to decide if we really needed to wake up the kids and bring them down to the basement.

Right or wrong, we decided to stay in bed, we decided to try and get some sleep, but an hour later, the bees came. Buzz, buzz, buzzing, as they crept through a tiny crack in the wall, hovered above the mattress and then dove one by one down into Finny’s tiny little sleeping ear.

“There’s a bee in my room! There’s a bee in my room!” Desperate cries from his new big boy bed. We both went running. He was hysterical. A nightmare? A new fear of the storm? Of the dark? Of his new room? We didn’t see a bee, but he heard the buzzing and did not want to go back to sleep. David went into the bathroom to get him a drink of water and discovered water on the floor below the bathroom fan. The roof was finally giving in. We brought Finny into bed with us. 4:30a.m. Just as we all started to fall back asleep, coming down from the excitement of the bee, the storm, the leaky roof, Charlie was up again.

5 a.m. Crawled back into bed after nursing Charlie; closed my eyes. 5:03 a.m. David’s phone rang. Wrong number. I started to laugh but tears came instead. 5:30 a.m. David’s alarm. 6:30 a.m. Both kids awake. Dread.


A week before the bees came, life and parenthood seemed to be skipping along rosily. Finny was using the big boy potty and loving it. All of us were thrilled by his accomplishments and excitedly preparing for the upcoming transition from diapers to underwear. Check! Finny had also moved into his big boy bed in his new train-themed room and was loving that too. Check! Check! And Charlie, who had started sleeping long stretches through the night was now out of the Pack-n-Play and into the crib in his own room. Check! Check! Check!

Then suddenly, in mid-April, the storm began. There was no calm that followed. Just more storm. And the bees buzzed and thrived on every last raindrop.

At the first doctor’s appointment, that next day, she said there was a clear fluid in his middle ear, likely caused by allergies and causing him to hear a constant buzzing, that worsened when he laid down. She suggested Claritin and Benadryl to treat the allergies and clear up the fluid.

We tried this, but Finny is two and stubborn and despite the grape and cherry flavor and my best Mary Poppins, I struggled to get the medicine down. Every night, Finny was in our bed or David was in his and Charlie was getting up every four hours. The rain was unceasing.

A week and three $7,000 roof replacement estimates later, we decided to have the roof repaired. The water was off the bathroom floor, but it continued to pool in Finny’s tiny little Eustachian tube and the bees nagged and nagged. When we went back to the doctor, she looked in his ears and cringed. Puss, she said, was nearly busting out his eardrums. She prescribed Amoxicillin. I picked up the thick, pink, bubble gum flavored liquid from the pharmacist. More dread. How on earth was I going to get him to take this?

Tried shooting it down the back of his throat with the dropper. It all came back up. Tried a cup and a spoon. Both got thrown back in my face. Tried orange juice, M&Ms, chocolate syrup, chocolate ice cream, but he would only ever eat or drink part of it. Had some brief success with some encouragement from Daddy and a cheering section of friends, but then, the novelty of that wore off too.

Three days later, back to the doctor to have the nurses give him another antibiotic via shots to the leg. It would be awful, but at least that way I knew he would get the full dose. One shot in each leg, three days in a row. The nurses warned me that this was a thick and painful shot, but what else was I to do? I was to hold his arms, while they pinned down his legs. The second day, Finny was stronger than I anticipated and he broke free of my grasp and yanked the shot out of his leg. Scratch up his leg. The nurse yelled at me. We had to start over.

A week later, it was still raining and the bees buzzed on. Back to the doctor.

The infection lingered in both of Finny’s ears. Charlie remained congested and she found some fluid in his ear, and I had a sinus infection. I started getting serious about allergies. Bought allergy covers for our beds and pillows. Put an air purifier for Finny’s room. Vacuumed. Dusted. Got quotes on air duct cleaning.

My mom, who has always been serious about allergies, started snooping around our basement and began tearing apart our humidifier, which she discovered had a filter and tubing covered in black and orange mold. “You are breathing this stuff!” she shouted, horrified as she flung the moldy tubing into the sink. I became filled with anxiety that my house was making me and my children sick. I called our heating and air guy out to check out the humidifier, which he discovered had been leaking water all winter. Everywhere I turned there was water seeping in. In our ears, in our sinuses, through the roof, in the basement. And it would not stop raining. Everyday in the seven-day forecast offered more and more rain. No spring. No sun. Just wet.

Now all three of us were on antibiotics. Charlie and I on Amoxicillin. Finny on his third round, a chewable from of Augmentin. All week I crushed up this nasty pink pill and tried to sneak it into his favorite foods. He rejected his Augmentin grilled cheese, so I made brownies and snuck it into chocolate icing. He ate every last bite, so I actually contemplated giving him a brownie for breakfast, lunch and dinner but instead offered him peanut butter sandwiches. He ate the sandwiches, but turned down usual favorites like ice cream, milkshakes, yogurt and mac and cheese. Once again, he was only getting half of what he needed and I prayed that this infection would just clear up on its own.

Then, the plumbing went out. In Finny and in the house. It was almost like Finny and the house had some weird ET-like connection to one another. One leaked water, the other couldn’t drain water. The second antibiotic gave Finny diarrhea and made him dread a diaper change on his raw bottom. So we backed off the Miralax which he had been taking every day for months to help him battle his constipation. A combination of less Miralax and a diet of peanut butter sandwiches stopped him up again and we had three days of agony as he strained and strained to poop. Too much fluid in his ear, not enough in his intestine. WE COULD NOT WIN.

Then, it was time for the grand finale. The day of Charlie’s baptism, Finny spiked a fever and broke out into hives and the pipe beneath the kitchen sink sprung a leak. By that night, his temperature was up to 103.6. By the next afternoon, what began as tiny little red bumps on his legs and torso had spread to his arms, head, face and neck. His ankles, knees, hips and knuckles all began to swell. Serum sickness, the doctor called it. A hypersensitive allergic reaction to penicillin. She said it would get a lot worse before it got better. More medicine. A steroid for the joint swelling, which she said would cause him arthritis-like pain. Benadryl for the itching hives and Ibuprofen for the fever, inflammation and discomfort. He slept with us at night, tossing and turning , feet in the air, itching and scratching his head, his neck, his feet. One day he took three baths just so he could feel some relief in the water. In the bath, I watched him bite his itchy knees. He woke up with swollen eyes and bruising. David and I and my mom struggled to hide our reactions to how awful he looked. The very medicine I had been tearing my hair out for weeks to sneak into his system to fight off the ear infections ended up causing him the worst discomfort I’ve ever seen him in.

And then I saw it. On Wednesday, as the plumber repaired the leaky kitchen sink, I turned on the weather channel and I saw it. Friday, May 20, on the seven-day forecast had a full, bright sun on it. No clouds. 75 degrees.

That Thursday night we went to bed and I did not wake up until 4 a.m. when Charlie woke up hungry. Finny slept in his own bed all night long for the first time in a month. No bees. No itching. When I went into get him that morning, he looked like my little boy again. No swelling. No rash. No bruising. No crying. Just jumping up and down begging for an egg on toast.

The storm had finally passed. We rejoiced over our eggs on toast and celebrated a day with no medicine and a morning filled with sunshine. We ate almost every meal on a blanket in the yard that weekend and celebrated how lovely it was to see each other at 6:30 a.m., rather than 12:30 a.m., 1:30 a.m. and 4:30 a.m.

God bless all those mamas who have children who struggle with chronic illnesses like asthma, diabetes, blood disorders, etc. My son had an ear infection for a month and my world was turned upside down. I believe that God never gives you more than you can handle, but sometimes it feels like we’re getting close.

You Might As Well Stop Whining and Just Enjoy It

Yesterday morning, Finny and I did not like each other very much. We both got up on the wrong side of the bed and spent the morning stepping on each other’s toes…literally. No matter how hard I tried, I could not quite wake up despite my giant mug of coffee, and ordinary things like changing diapers and unloading the dishwasher seemed to be taking an extraordinarily long time.

Somehow, we watched nearly two hours of cartoons, while I puzzled for way too long over whether or not I should fold the clean laundry or try to pay some bills. Charlie moved from seat to swing to blanket and back again and could not seem to find a comfortable spot to play and Finny, it seemed, was everywhere. While I nursed Charlie, Finny hung on my knees. When I peed, Finny followed me into the bathroom, hung on my knees again and waited anxiously for the opportunity to flush. While I emptied the dishwasher, Finny leaned on the rack and attempted to shuffle breakable plates around. My brain, which seemed to be out of the office, struggled to devise a creative way to entertain him or have him entertain himself while I tried to get a few silly little things done, and the result was just a constant shooing him away.

“Finny, don’t touch that! Go do…something.” So, he walked around the corner and climbed up on the kitchen chair to see what fun awaited him on the counter. First he found the tomatoes to fondle and drop and bruise. “No, don’t play with those, honey! You’ll ruin them.”

Then, he poured salt on his hand and licked it repeatedly. “Do not play with the salt! That’s wasting!”

Then, he hopped down and began licking the dirty mop cloth which was hanging and drying from the oven door. “Finny, that’s yucky. Don’t touch that!” More fondling and licking of the mop cloth. “Listen to me, Honey! Don’t touch that!” Even more fondling and caressing of the mop cloth. “AAARRGG!!!! Listen to me or you’re going to your room!” And at that, I firmly grabbed my two-year-old by the shoulders and moved him into the family room. Tears.

So, I decided we needed to go for a long walk. The heating and air guy was coming in an hour, so we couldn’t go far and we just needed a little peace and quiet and a cool breeze.

The cool breeze was sticky and hot and the peace and quiet was accompanying someone else on their walk, but did not show up on ours. After twenty minutes of screaming, crying and whining in the stroller, I finally said, “Finny, you cannot get out of the stroller right now, so stop whining and just enjoy it.” It did not escape my attention, that I too needed to figure out how to do this. Life with a toddler and an infant: difficult and trying, but I needed to figure out how to stop whining and just enjoy it.

A couple hours later, when lunch was eaten, the humidifier was fixed and it was finally time for a snuggle and a nap, I kicked off my shoes and laid down with Finny to read him some stories before bed. About half way through our story about Piglet and Pooh and rain puddles, Finny, propped himself up on his elbow, took out his Tissa, puckered up and gave me a big kiss on the cheek.

I literally felt my heart of ice melting all over the sheets and I let out a huge laugh. Delighted by my delight, this adorable two-year-old who really just wanted nothing more than to be close to me all morning, propped himself up on his elbow again, took out his Tissa, puckered up and kissed me again smack on the tip of my nose. I laughed even harder. And so, he grabbed my face between his two baby hands and showered me with kisses all over my nose and face until I was practically dripping with his sloppy little kisses.

“Finny!” I said between breathless laughter, “Do you want me to finish the story?”

His reply. “No, I just want to kiss you.”

And we finally found something we could both agree on, because I just wanted to be kissed.

Tales from the Potty

Finny has gone at least pee-pee or poopy on the potty everyday now for the past week or so. The sticker chart is simply overflowing with his accomplishments.

Today he went pee-pee and poopy on the potty both before and after lunch. He likes for me to leave the room, as I suppose most of us prefer not to have an audience. I stand outside and listen carefully to what’s going on in there while he has the room to himself. Sometimes I have to walk in so that he does not decorate the bathroom in toilet paper or spread David’s deoderant all over his face, though this does leave him smelling fresh and manly.

Today, as I listened outside the door, I heard a little grunting and then… “I made it! I made it!”

As if he had just scuplted an ashtray in art class.

I peeked in and there it was. His proud little poopy glistening in its little white bucket.

“You pooped! Way to go, Finny!” I exclaimed with sincere enthusiasm. It was better than an ashtray.

“It’s a jellyfish!” Finny beamed.

I carried the little white bucket over to the toilet to dump it in so he could flush it down and as I did, he talked to it in a sweet, gentle voice, as if the poopy were, well, as if the poopy were his baby brother.

“Hi, Mr. Poopy. How are you, Mr. Poopy?” So endearing, so gentle, that I hurriedly scooped it into the toilet for fear he would try to give it a “gentle pat” on the head as he does to Charlie.

Then we ceremoniously flushed Mr. Poopy down the toilet and Finny, beaming with self-satisfaction, exclaimed, “Touchdown!”

And there you have it. Six points for Mr. Poopy. Three stickers for Finny. And one day closer to an extra thirty dollars of diaper money for Mommy.

Wonder of Wonders, Miracle of Miracles

It is hard to explain how wonderful it felt yesterday when I looked down and saw a little splash of pee-pee in Finny’s little potty. I wanted to gobble him up with pride.

Then, eight hours later when I discovered a little poopy in the potty, I practically wept with joy.

Why? What on earth is it about these basic bodily functions that made me want to twirl around in a brown linen dress singing to the hills of Austria? I don’t know. I only know that there was a fear deep within me that Finny would never figure out how to pee or poop on a toilet. Logical reasoning tells me that the odds are in our favor that Finny will someday use the bathroom and not a diaper, but there’s this whole other part of me that just can’t for the life of me understand how this is all going to go down.

And then he did it. Twice in one day. Pee and Poop. Number 1 and Number 2. Wonder of wonders. Miracle of miracles.

Clearly I need to get out of the house more. Maybe do a little travelling. Attend the theater or an art museum. Engage someone in intellectual discussion over just what is the right approach to our handling of the whole Libya debauchal.

In the meantime, I am going to sweep Finny off his feet every time he leaves a little present in his little toilet and shower him with kisses and sticker charts.

In the meantime, I am simply going to rejoice over the miracle of pee-pee and poo-poo in the potty.

(Note: I chose not to document this momentous occasion with a picture or video, but to quote Finny, post-poopy, “It’s a big one, Mommy!”

If this blog still exists on the world wide web when he is fifteen, he is no doubt hating me right now for writing this.)

(Another Note:  I just figured out how to connect the blog to Google's Feed Burner so that readers can subscribe to receive an email when I have updated it if you should so choose.  There is also an option to receive Musings on Motherhood in an RSS feed.  See the links to the right.)

Charlie's Wisdom

Dear Charlie,

A minute ago, you taught me something invaluable. A minute ago, you imparted some of your baby wisdom on me and left me feeling nothing short of euphoric.

We were sitting together in the family room glider enjoying one of our rare afternoon moments alone as I nursed you and caught up on my DVR. You fell asleep in my arms as you often do when we get a quiet time to nurse, and I turned off the TV and began to contemplate how I would go about laying you down without waking you so that I could return to checking emails, wrapping gifts, cleaning off my desk and making a number of important phone calls.

I had so many things to do, so many plans for a productive afternoon. How good it would feel to check things off the old to-do list, to move about the quiet house without any children needing me.

But you had something else in mind. You decided it would be just the right time to grab my finger and smell sweet and be soft and still and peaceful. You decided I shouldn’t get up, I shouldn’t turn on the TV, I shouldn’t search for my book or my laptop or the grocery list. You decided that the only truly urgent, pressing matter we had to attend to was the business of holding each other close. The business of just being Charlie and Mommy alone together in the easy chair at three in the afternoon on a cold, blustery March day.

Initially, when you finished nursing, I thought, “What I wouldn’t give to just have a few minutes to read my book in peace.” But then, it occurred to me as you sleepily stroked my finger and I gently rubbed your tiny forehead, that years from now when I have all the time in the world to read my book, I will find myself sitting in this same easy chair thinking, “What I wouldn’t give to just be able to hold the soft baby hand of my little Charlie just one more time.”

Your dad and I were talking last night about poor little Charlie who spends so much time in his swing while we tend to the needs of a demanding, curious, mischievous little Finny. You certainly don’t get the face time Finny got when he was an infant. We don’t have the time to stare at you and admire you for hours and we can’t always run right to your side the moment you start crying. You are having to learn from a very young age to be patient and independent and go with the flow. I think, I hope these will end up being valuable lessons for you that will shape you into someone who is able to take life as it comes and be content with the little joys that come your way.

Right now, at not quite three months old, you seem to be delighted when you discover a bright light shining down on you from the ceiling fan or when you discover that you have the ability to bring your two chubby hands together right in front of your nose or when you notice that adorable baby with the strawberry birthmark staring back at you from the convex mirror on your baby swing. You’re such a sweet little thing, my Charlie. You don’t complain much and it only takes a glance in your direction to get you to open that charming duck mouth in a wide smile and coo.

And you’re wise, little Charlie, because today, just a few minutes ago, you taught me a little thing about delight. That it’s not big or expensive or time-consuming and that there’s a fat chance it’ll ever have a checkbox beside it on one of my to-do lists. It’s simple and sweet and unexpected. It’s just a small moment with you in the easy chair that I will remember someday years from now as I look up from a page of my book to stare out the window and try to conjure up the delicate texture of the back of your hand and the gentle joy of just having a moment to hold you close.

I love you, Charlie.

Love,

Mommy

A Day of Moments

Yesterday, when we woke up at 7 a.m., it was still dark outside. Finny was extra excited to use his flashlight and forbid me from turning on the lights in the family room. He shined his light out into the dark backyard and I asked him what he saw.
He reached into his brain and pulled out, “Ummm, I think I see a beaver.”

***

Last night, I moved Charlie out of our bedroom and into the guest bedroom in hopes that we would both get a little more sleep. This morning he slept in an extra forty-five minutes. While I nursed him at 6:15 a.m., I had another one of those fleeting moments when I just melted at the touch of his soft baby cheek and the way his little head felt cradled in my hand. A moment he’ll never remember; a moment I will try desperately to never forget.

***

This morning I scurried around the house to get us up and out the door in yet another attempt to make it to the 9:30 a.m. Stroller Fit class. I got everyone dressed and fed, put the breakfast dishes away, and packed the diaper bag with snack and juice. I even gave Finny a good pep talk about behaving in the stroller. Then, Finny pooped. “Okay!” I exclaimed, relieved that he had gone without crying. “Let’s go change your diaper real quick and then we’ll go to Stroller Fit!”

As I pulled down his pant leg, I quickly realized that this poopy was a full-on mudslide, up his back and down his leg and all over everything. “Well,” I said with a sigh, “It looks like we might need a bath for this one.”

“This poopy needs to get in the bath, Mommy?”

“Well, not the poopy, Honey, but we need to clean you up in the bath.”

“Okay, Mommy.”

“You know what I could use, Finny?”

“Huh, Mommy?”

“A glass of wine, Honey.”

“A glass of wine and a bath, Mommy?”

“Sounds perfect, Finn.”

***

Yesterday, after months of regular, strain-free pooping, Finny got constipated again. After three days without a bowel movement, the poor child was gripping my leg and crying in agony as he strained and strained in vain. I brought down Tissa and Blankie and laid him on the floor in front of Dora the Explorer and gave him a suppository. Then I cradled him in my arms like a baby while he screamed and wailed, “Mama! Mommy!” as he passed a rock-hard poopy. The whole experience was torture. There is nothing worse than feeling helpless while my child is in pain. Nothing worse.

***

This weekend Finny and I had a date. After an exhausting Friday where I played disciplinarian all day as he looked for every possible opportunity to cause trouble or make a mess, I was a little reluctant to take him with me to the gym, but as it turned out, it was just what we both needed—a little time for me to exercise and then a little time for me to give him my undivided attention. Later that day, the two of us went out into the yard with his new golf clubs and some practice balls. He was more interested in running than golfing so the two of us just chased each other in circles around the yard while he yelled, “Faster, Mommy! Faster!” Then, as I swung him up over my head, he noticed the half moon in the sky.

“Look, Mommy! There’s the moon.”

“You’re right, Finn. There it is. The old half moon.”

“Mommy, can I just sit on your lap and look at the moon?”

I looked at the wet grass and then looked back at his little face.

“Sure, Honey. Let’s sit down and look at the moon.”

***

My days right now are made up of lots of moments. Some are filled with poop, some with pain, some with exasperation, exhaustion, and hair-pulling frustration. But some are filled with a kind of quiet contentment that can only come from the feeling of my finger gripped tight within the palm of my nursing infant and some are filled with the pure joy of staring up at the moon with my little boy while the wet grass soaks my jeans.

My day is made up of moments. All of them are filled.