The Things I Forget To Tell Them

I should be ashamed of myself, and part of me is. That is the reason for this post.

I walk around every day in such a sleep deprived stupor, that I find myself telling anyone that will listen about little C's runny nose, poor sleeping habits, or the way she turns the house upside down. I don't know why I do this. Perhaps I'm trying to make light of the tough parts of parenting? Again, no clue.

As I climbed the stairs with C in my arms, she wrapped her little legs around my waist and gave my head a bear hug, like she always does on the way to go night-night. It was at that moment that I realized that I rarely share these moments with my friends and family. For that little one, I apologize.

More often I should tell of the times she giggles as I lay her on her back and cover her with her blankie, waves hello when she sees me in the morning and laughs when I take her out of her crib, sits alone in her "toy corner" looking at books giggling at the pictures she thinks are funny, rubs her daddy's ears when she's sleepy, reaches for me when she's tired, hungry, sad, happy, lonely, fearful, or giddy, plays peek-a-boo with me when she catches my eye in the rear view mirror of the car, caresses my hair when she's trying to relax, sits in my lap and snuggles.

Parenting is tough, no doubt, but there are no words for the rewards. This year I plan to take it all in stride and share more of the treasures of parenting.

A Mother Should ALWAYS Follow Her Instincts (Part I)

In my frantic attempts to get little C the H1N1 vaccine, I went on a kick of calling her pediatrician's office on an every other day schedule to see if they got any of the vaccine. Of course they did not. The nurse who answered the phone on one of my calls was very kind and knowledgeable about what mothers of young children were going through with this epidemic going on. Her words rang in my ears, "Don't take her to grocery stores or church where people could be touching her and be too close. If you go to a play group or story time and there is a child there that appears sick, don't even take her coat off. Just turn around and leave."

And that is exactly what I didn't do. Shame on me. Last Wednesday I did my best Olympic attempt in planning our morning to keep C awake until her 11:15 music class at the rec center. We went to the gym and the grocery store and stopped home quickly. I was feeling all proud of myself as we pulled into the rec center with a happy child in the backseat. That is until I put the car in park and realized that she was sound asleep. Should I just take her home and put her down for a nap...? NO...this is MUSIC class! She loves music class. I undid her straps and removed her from her car seat, big puffy winter jacket and all (even though it warmed up and it was like 55 degrees by now and she was dressed like the Nanook of the north). I carried her almost all the way into class before she woke up. I expected her to bounce from my arms with an "oh my goodness mommy, look, we are at music" hop to her step, but she was very calm staying in my lap for most of the class. See, she knew we were in the company of the seasonal enemy. I knew she was smarter than me.

Upon entering the room I noticed a little boy, one I hadn't seen at the first session, nose running and cough in full swing. At that very moment I heard his mom say, "Sorry we couldn't make it last week. I had the flu." Ummmm...wait...what did you just say...???? She must have said she likes the color blue, for she could NOT have just admitted to having the flu and now she is HERE coughing in the crook of her arm and wiping her child's running nose. Oh. No. She. Didn't.

Well she did, and I was the one who didn't run out of there like the nurse had told me to. For all of the class I played defense trying to keep C away from buggies and protect her from the germs that I swear I could see coming from said boy's mouth as he coughed. Those germs were looking right at me. I could hear them whipsering, "We're coming for you..." That was around noon on Wednesday. Around noon on Friday (there's that pesky 48 hour window of the germ world) a little trickle of clear liquid came sneaking its way out of C's nostril. Deep in my heart I knew. I knew what this meant. But I pretended it was just a little water and wiped it away. I knew what was coming. I just did not want to admit it to myself. I did not follow my instincts and now I would pay and the germs would win.

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Something Smells...

So here I am, exactly two months from my last post. Shame on me. My goal was to write at least one thing per month. September got away from me, with traveling for the weddings and all, and apparently so did October! It took me about a month to get the house organized after being away for three weeks. Who knew traveling with a toddler would require turning the entire house upside down and bringing along everything that she has every touched.

Anyway, this morning was a flashback to April. You remember, when my life revolved around poop? Today was no different. Poor Q lost his manhood on Wednesday. That's right, he's already nine months old and our appointment for his "fixin'" came exactly one day late. I don't mean to give you the wrong impression, we aren't expecting puppies with the neighbor's dog or anything. It's just that he found C's life size blue stuffed bear and basically had his way with him. The whole senerio was very disturbing so I won't post specifically about that.

Last night was his first night home from the vet. He slept down in his bachelor pad in the basement and was very happy to do so. When I went to get him this morning around 7:30 he was laying in a cage of diarrhea. It was stinky, gross, and everywhere - including on him. I didn't know what to do first, so I woke up A. Remember his vow to take care of the dog and help out? Despite the fact that he worked all night and was on his first hour of sleep, I was totally cashing in on that promise. As he was getting on his "clean up the crap clothes" to join me in my sh&*$y morning, I decided to leash Q and bring him outside. As we were mid way through the kitchen, he did one of those huge doggie shakes and got poop all over my cabinets and refrigerator. Thinking back it was kind of like a slow motion scene in a movie. You know the ones, you are watching and can't believe the mess that is unfolding in front of the character's eyes. No character here, no cleanup crew, just my REAL life. Lovely. So now a gross mess in the basement has become a full on disaster in the living space of our home.

There was a time in my life when something like this would have brought me to immediate "why me??" tears. I was so utterly defeated and exhausted this morning that I didn't even have the energy to make the tears come out from wherever they hide. I mean seriously, what a horrible way to start a day. S*$t on the refrigerator?

I worked cleaning the kitchen, while A worked at cleaning the basement, then together we went outside to tackle the dog. I am going to make a mental note of that the next time I whine and say, "We don't do anything together anymore." I need to be careful what I wish for...

So you are probably wondering what little C was doing while her parents were preoccupied with poop that did not belong to her. She was gated in the fortress AKA living room. We peeked in and there she was standing on a push toy that she rightfully pushed up to the desk, full on clacking away at the laptop keys! Can you believe this? We are cleaning up after her dog and she's trying to surf the Internet? She didn't successfully log on, but she did manage to change the font size of my email inbox to colossal. I have no idea how to fix it. I'll have to wait until she gets up from her nap to help me.

Little Q is all cleaned up and sleeping soundly in the kitchen. I feel bad for the poor guy. He's had a traumatic week. I look forward to his full recovery and getting back to the days of living with a potty trained dog. I say dog now because that little fourteen pound bundle of joy we brought home in April is a whopping sixty pounds of pure love!