Just be cool, man

A lesson I've learned since becoming a mom: you have to have a sense of humor about most things. And you have to accept that things are going to happen that you'd normally freak out about but you mostly just have to keep your cool for the sake of your kid and your own sanity. If you're as neurotic as me, that's a tall order.

In a recent post, I lamented about the fact that my kid got hand foot and mouth disease, and I mused about what affliction would befall him next. I specifically mentioned pinworms. And guess what? A couple of months after HFM was over with, I got a call from my kid's school. *DUN DUN* 

I was at work and had missed the call from school. When I listened to the vague voicemail message, I immediately panicked and figured my kid had gotten hurt. I called back, expecting them to tell me he fell and broke his arm or something. Instead, the secretary attempted to explain that while his diaper was being changed after a poop, his teacher saw something hanging out of his butt, and she had to pull it out. She then informed me it looked like some kind of worm. After mentally breathing a sigh of relief that my kid wasn't maimed, a fresh wave of dread washed over me as I came to realization that he probably had pinworms. I had read about pinworms before. I was disgusted by them in general and horrified by the methods you have to take to confirm that your kid has them. For those who don't know, it involves flashlights and tape and checking your kid's butthole at night. I know, right?

I explained to the secretary that it was maybe pinworms and quickly commented that I had read it's a common occurrence in daycare settings, at which point she informed me that she'd never heard of them and that another administrator who had worked there for 20 years had never seen anything like it. Awesome, thanks ladies. The secretary informed me that they saved the worm so I could take a look at it. I told the secretary I would call my kid's doc to see what to do, hung up the phone and proceeded to internally melt down. As I said before, I had already read up on pinworms and knew what was in store for me. But I called the doc and spoke with the nurse a couple of times. I decided that after work I would hit the pharmacy and get the OTC med, which actually sounded pretty simple; one dose and then a follow up dose a couple weeks later. Pretty easy for such a disgusting malady. 

Fast forward to later in the evening after my kid has gone to bed. I'm getting ready to head out to the pharmacy to pick up meds, and I thought "lemme just take a quick gander at that worm they saved for me." I put some gloves on, open the plastic bag up and proceed to unwrap the paper towels and baby wipes that were stuffed in the bag. Obviously since they collected the specimen during a poopy diaper change, it was super pleasant to be pawing through a bunch of shit-stained wipes. Eventually I got to the worm in question. While it certainly looked like a little, white-ish, grub-like worm, I quickly realized with immense relief that it was definitely not a pinworm. Looked nothing like it. And then I recalled that the night before, my kid had zucchini noodles with his dinner. And I realized that's exactly what this was. A fucking zucchini noodle. Oh. Em. Gee. See, this is why a sense of humor is a necessary quality in a mom. 

I don't think I've ever been more relieved in my life, other than maybe when my kid was born healthy. With the giddiness of a fucking school girl, I broke the good news to my husband that we, in fact, do not have to get our kid out of bed that night and put scotch tape on his butthole to collect pinworm eggs. Nor do we have to launder every single piece of fabric our kid has come into contact with. YESSSSS!!!!! 

Honestly, the most mentally-taxing part of the whole scenario of my kid having pinworms was the idea of having to get him up in the middle of the night, two nights in a row, to check his butthole. Anyone with any sense knows you don't wake a sleeping baby; well, I guess pinworms and a poopy diaper are the exceptions to that rule. 

Little of this, little of that

A few things have been swimming around in my mind recently. First, the death of John McCain. I found myself transfixed while watching his memorial services, funeral and television tributes after he passed away. I don't know why; it's not like he was my Senator or anything. Maybe it was my admiration for his political stances in the last few years of his life. Maybe it was the abruptness of how quickly he died after declaring that he was stopping his cancer treatment, which only highlighted the glaring reality of our mortality. Maybe it's because my own father, though not as old as McCain, is retiring at the end of this week after a 50 year run, and I'm starting to think about what his twilight years will look like. I know lots of people whose parents passed when they were relatively young, and I'm grateful that I didn't have to deal with that when I was younger and way more self-destructive than I am now. Obviously I'm counting on my dad to be around for a long time to come, but as we're all aware, we are not promised tomorrow. I've been lucky enough to have both my parents around my entire life, and I'm not ready to face what life would be like without both of them.

Speaking of fallibility, I threw my back out recently while playing with my toddler, and it has really opened my eyes to the fact that I chose to wait so long to have kids. I'm kind of regretting not having them when I was younger and in better shape. To add insult to injury, we're trying to get pregnant again, and nothing kills your confidence like throwing your back out at age 36. I say it all the time: I need to get back into the habit of exercising and paying more attention to my physical fitness. And as a mom of a toddler with a full-time job, also me: I have no time to do anything for myself. Of course this isn't entirely true. Instead of spending an hour at Target tonight, I could've worked out. Instead of planning drinks and dinner with my girlfriends, I could plan a walk on the canal. Here's the thing, though: by the time I'm done with my 8-hour work day, picking up my kid, making dinner with multiple interruptions from my kid, feeding the kid, cleaning up dinner, bath time and bed time routines, laundry, grocery shopping and whatever else needs to be done, I'm exhausted. I'm spent. So I allow myself time to sit and veg and drink wine and mindlessly scroll social media because I feel like I deserve it. I suppose with that mindset, though, I also deserve my sexy beer gut. Rock and a hard place. And now, we're trying to add another human to the fray. What? Why? How?

I had something else I wanted to put down, but I've forgotten what it is because now I'm thinking about what I'm going to make for dinner tomorrow.......and how much time I have to get my work trainings done before they're due...... and why I've been feeling like I'm on the verge of an ulcer for the past three days.....and maybe it's actually a heart attack...... and how it's crucial I get to bed earlier.... and oh look it's almost 11pm and I still have laundry to put in the dryer...... and I can't forget to get a new toothbrush out for my kid because he threw his in the trash yesterday...... and I still need to make a vet appointment for the cat..... and the dog needs his flea treatment........ and I need to get a card for my dad.......

MOM LIFE, YO. 

Ick

If you're a germaphobe like me, you'll be able to relate to my recent near-death experience in which my kid caught hand foot and mouth disease from daycare, and I almost killed myself out of disgust.

And then I caught it from him and felt like I was actually going to die. *cue the foreboding music*

On a Saturday, I had put my kid down for a nap and escaped the house for a bit to get groceries. When I got home, I walked into a shit show. Well, more of a puke show. My husband greeted me at the door, holding the crying baby while trying to maintain control of the baby vomit that was running down his shirt and arm. He informed me that when he had gotten the kid up from his nap, he attempted to give him a snack and a drink, but the kid puked two times and wouldn't stop crying. I grabbed my kid, felt how hot he was, walked to the kitchen to get the thermometer and then got puked on myself. Great! After taking his temperature and confirming that he had a fever, I gave my kid some Tylenol and spent the next two hours cuddling him in bed while he calmed down and rested. After a few hours, his fever was gone and we did a bland dinner of crackers and applesauce, just in case he was still pukey. He didn't puke for the rest of the night and never spiked a fever again.

The next day, he was seemingly fine and all better. No fever, no puking and his appetite was normal. Against my better judgment, we attended two family events that day with forewarning to everyone that my kid had a fever and vomiting the day before but seemed fine now. Nobody seemed too concerned, so I thought everything was ok.

(Bear in mind that just a week or so before, my kid's teacher had told me in confidence that HFM had affected several kids in an infant room and in another toddler room, and that the school had supposedly posted a notice at the front desk. Yeah, I never saw that notice. But whatever.)

Later that night, I noticed my kid had some red spots on his fingers. Since he tends to chew on his fingers when he's teething, which he was at the time, I didn't think much of it and just assumed that's what the redness was from. NOPE. Turns out, they were the tell-tale blisters of HFM starting to blossom on my kid. By the next day, he had very obvious blisters on his fingers, hands, feet and around his mouth. We could see one little blister on his tongue. Eventually, blisters broke out on his elbows, legs, butt and genitals. He pretty much had them everywhere except for his trunk.

Aside from what I assume was general discomfort and some itching, he seemed ok overall after that initial fever. His appetite wasn't as good; he didn't eat or drink as much in the ten days or so it took for the blisters to crust over and fade. He got extra clingy that week and stayed extra clingy for a couple of weeks after. But all in all, I suppose it wasn't that bad. I've certainly heard worse stories from other parents about their experience with their kid getting HFM.

Now, the real tragedy: I caught the HFM from him (how could I not?), and it was ROUGH. The last time I was really sick, it was a bad sinus infection that also brought on bronchitis. This was so much worse. I haven't had the flu in many years, but the HFM made the flu look like a fucking hangnail. I can't remember the last time I felt so horrible, to the point that I couldn't function. I mean, the night it hit me, I didn't finish my glass of wine. I KNOW, RIGHT?? I had the world's worst headache and sore throat, coupled with body aches from hell. I had hot flashes earlier in the day, and by the evening I was freezing my ass off. This torture lasted for about two days before I even started to feel marginally better. I'm usually not one for medicine, but I ate pills like they were candy, just to get through the day and be able to take care of my kid. Screw waterboarding. Real torture is taking care of a toddler while you feel like you're knocking on Death's door.

Overall, I was sick for about a week; the first two days were the absolute worst of it. I did get blisters as well, on my hands and feet. They basically felt like pins and needles for about five days, which wasn't great but also wasn't the worst scenario possible. My husband didn't get as sick as I did. He had a sore throat for about a week, that's it. Lucky bastard.

Now that HFM has come and gone, I'm curious as to what's next. Mono? Norovirus? Lice? Pinworms?? Gee, I can hardly wait.

Gratitude (long post)

I wasn't in the middle of anything particularly significant or special; I was fixing my kid's breakfast or lunch. I'm sure I was feeling tired and openly looking forward to his nap later so I could have time to rest or catch up on housework or whatever. I think I was waiting on something to finish cooking on the stove or in the microwave, and I looked over at the back of my kid's head as he sat in the adjacent dining room, eating Cheerios while he watched Tec the Tractor on the laptop (yes, I'm the bad mom who lets her kid have screen time while I get his food ready to keep him from whining and trying to escape his high chair). At first I felt a "oh, just another mundane morning in our lives" type of feeling, which, I admit, sometimes makes me a little wistful for my life before I was a mom. But then, as I have done almost constantly on a daily basis since it was revealed to the public, I thought about the children and parents who were separated when they came to the US border to seek asylum. It hit me like a ton of bricks: I am the luckiest bitch that ever was.

Here I am, standing in the kitchen of my house, with a bounty of food to fill my baby's belly, with running water and electricity, with AIR CONDITIONING, with my husband upstairs getting dressed, with my dog and my cat hanging out ready to eat food that my kid throws on the floor, with nothing to do today because it's the weekend, with a stable job waiting for me on Monday, with my car in the driveway, with no fear of untimely death or disease or violence on the near horizon, with EVERYTHING I COULD POSSIBLY NEED. But most importantly, my family is mere steps away from me. My baby is safe and sound, sitting there waiting for me to feed him breakfast but enjoying the video he's watching on the internet while he waits. My husband is upstairs getting dressed and will later do yard work and watch the kid so I can go spend time with dear friends who I haven't seen in months. After that, I will take my kid to his grandparent's house who love the shit out of him and he might swim in their pool and definitely get to play with an abundance of toys and see his aunts and uncles who also love him to death. I want for nothing. My child has everything he needs and an army of family and friends who love him beyond words. And the cruel reality is that there are so many men, women and children in the world who have a fraction of the opportunities, luxuries and comforts that we have, if that.

I won't lie; I used to not give much notice to local, national or world politics. I didn't pay attention because that stuff didn't affect me. What did I care about laws regarding public education or healthcare? That stuff didn't apply to me. I was young and privileged and worried about boys and mean girls and shopping at the mall and shit. It honestly wasn't until 9/11 happened that I actually started to take heed and care more about the world I live in and the people that coexist with me. I actually started forming my own opinions about social issues and politics and people and that kind of shit, whereas before I would just go along with whatever I was told was right and wrong by my parents. To admit that to myself now feels a little shameful, but it is was it is. I guess I figure we all have those defining moments in our lives when change and transition occur.

When I became a mom, I opened up a whole new level of crazy. I am crazy in love with my baby. I am crazy worried about him all the time. I am crazy obsessed with doing everything right and being a good parent. I am crazy in the fact that I crave time alone but when I get it, all I think about is when I get to be with my kid again. I had a co-worker tell me that once I became a parent, I would cry all the time, at anything and nothing. And man, it's so true. I can shed tears at the drop of a hat. I should pursue a career in soap opera acting right fucking now. Everything makes me cry and FEEL. I really do have all the feels now. So when I see these images and read these stories and think about these parents being separated from their children, I feel pain and sadness and rage. I feel despair and hopelessness. Dude, it's not even me that's going through this shit show right now, and I feel broken by this situation. I literally cannot imagine what these people are going through.

Think about it: you're trying to escape a horrible situation, whether it be gang violence, domestic violence or anything like it. You are probably fairly poor. You have very few options, but the one option you do have is to try and make it to another country where you'll have a better chance of watching your babies grow up safe. So you sell off your belongings, you say goodbye to family and friends and you travel--hitchhike or walk or whatever--towards a light at the end of a tunnel of your impossible situation. And when you finally reach the end of that tunnel, after weeks or months of traveling with young children which has to suck in so many ways, you find yourself arrested, detained and separated from your babies. Your heart and soul. They're ripped away from you and you don't know where and you don't speak the language and you have no money and you don't think there is anyone who can advocate for you. All you wanted was to be safe and for your children to be safe. And now you don't know where they are because they were taken from you. THAT IS INSANE.

There are a lot of things that we can be passionate about. We can care about all the things, all the time, and there's certainly no shortage: refugees, famine, access to clean water, democracy, freedom, the environment, gun control, natural disasters, healthcare, animal rights, human rights, starvation, war, human trafficking, gay rights, racism, violence, etc. I embrace my bleeding heart, and even though sometimes I feel like worrying about all these things is not a healthy place to be, mentally, I feel it's my duty as a privileged person in this world to do so. Refugee parents being separated from their kids has almost completely consumed my mind and my heart. The idea of not knowing where your child is, is inconceivable to me. I've spent hours reading about the topic, agonizing about the pain that both the parents and the kids are going through HERE, IN THE UNITED STATES, A FIRST WORLD COUNTRY. WHAT. THE FUCK. 

I'm not entirely sure what this post should focus in on, but the point I wanted to make in all my ramblings is this: I am the luckiest. And I hope I never take that lightly or for granted. My kid and I won the fucking life lottery here, and I hope that even in the most mundane of moments, I feel extreme gratitude for all that I have. I hope I raise a child who understands this and can express empathy for those less fortunate than him.  So much suffering is happening all around us, and we cannot sit idly by and be ok with it. 

Taking this shit show on the road!

I once had a co-worker tell me that after his kid was born, they didn't leave the house for the first couple years. They didn't take vacations, trips, outings, visits to grandma's house...nothing. Why? Because of all the shit you have to take along for the kid. I remember thinking, "oh it's probably not that bad; you're exaggerating." After my kid was born, I certainly did feel like there was a lot of stuff to remember to take with you, even for just a trip to the store or a visit at someone's house. But it was manageable and really not that big of a deal.

Fast forward to our first road trip with our one year old. Wow. So. Much. Stuff. I think I spent $200 on stuff for the kid: food and snacks (perishable and non-), baby-proofing equipment for the hotel, drinks, hand wipes, sunscreen, meds, toiletries. And then I had to organize everything in two totes. And I had to make sure the diaper bag was stocked. Also, don't forget the pack n play with mattress, umbrella stroller, baby carrier, bag of 1,000 diapers and wipes, my own suitcase, cooler for perishables.... *ragged breathing* I thought packing a suitcase for myself was just about the worst chore in the world. This took my hatred of packing to the next level, because it forced me to plan ahead of time and buy shit ahead of time and start the packing process ahead of time since I was packing for a small army of one. If you know me well, you know I'm the person who's still packing at 2am when the flight is at 8am and I've accomplished nothing despite the fact that I started packing at 7pm because I thought drinking would make the chore more tolerable but oh look it just made me too drunk to get anything done. Yep.

So our strategy was to leave in the evening after dinner so that we could eat at home as usual, put the kid in his jammies and head out with the hope that he would ride for an hour or so and then fall asleep. We ended up getting out of the house about an hour past what we'd planned (no surprise there), but it worked out pretty well because he rode just fine until he fell asleep. We drove about halfway, until about 2am and then checked into a hotel to get some sleep. (Aside: I had never booked a room before at 2am, and it wouldn't actually let you do it online, so I had to call on the phone and book the room! On the phone! Whaaaaa??) We successfully transferred the sleeping kid from the car to the hotel room, but of course the little booger woke up when we took him out of his car seat. Luckily, he only stayed awake for a few minutes-- confused by the hotel room since he had fallen asleep in the car and also fascinated with the light on the thermostat. Eventually he did fall asleep, and we got a taste of what co-sleeping is like with a one year old. For me, it wasn't too bad because in his perpendicular position, I had the head side, and the hubs got the feet end.

The next day, we ate a nutritious McDonalds breakfast in the room while my kid ran around exploring all the new, unfamiliar ways to hit his head on stuff in the room. Then we were back on the road for several more hours of driving. Again, the kid rode like a champ. It's challenging to find ways to "entertain" a toddler who can't yet form words or sentences, but lots of singing and handing snacks over to him seemed to do the trick. Plus, my kid likes staring out the window at the other cars and trucks anyway.

The journey home was a little different in terms of time of day we departed, but I couldn't have asked for a better experience with the nugget. We left after a late lunch and pretty much decided we were going to drive straight through. No joke, the kid fell asleep like 20 minutes into the ride, despite having had a nap like three hours earlier. He slept until I made the judgment call to stop for dinner while there was still daylight and wake him up so that we didn't have to deal with an alert, hungry child at 9pm while searching for an open restaurant in BFE. Probably the best mom call I've made to date. We woke him up, ate some dinner, ran around the parking lot of Wendy's for about 20 minutes, changed into jammies and got back on the road. It didn't take too long for him to fall asleep again, and he slept until we rolled back into town and got home around 1am.

I don't mean to brag, but I'm gonna, because the idea of traveling with a one year old scared the shit out of me. My kid's first time on an airplane was GOLDEN. My kid's first road trip in a car was GOLDEN. I know I've probably jinxed myself for future travels, but I've gotta say it--hell, shout it from the rooftops: MY KID WINS THE GOLD MEDAL FOR TRAVELING THIS YEAR. Let's hope this winning streak continues! *fingers crossed*

(Late post!) Song for mama

(Late post re: Mother's Day)

I heard Tupac's "Dear Mama" today, but not Boyz II Men. Guess I'll have to play it on YouTube while I write about my Mother's Day.

Since Remy was only three months old on my first official Mother's Day, I feel like I didn't yet have enough real life experience of being a mom to really define what the day meant for me. As of this mother's day, Remy is almost 15 months old, so I've had a little over a year to be his mom and reflect on my experiences thus far.

At the risk of sounding like a boring cliche, being a mom really is the best job in the world, but for a variety of reasons. It's more than just loving this little person you've created and are now responsible for. Obviously my love for him is infinite and boundless and sometimes completely indescribable. But the ways in which being a mom have innately changed me are significant and sometimes unexpected. For example, I've always been somewhat of a bleeding heart anyway. But now that I have a kid, my heart bleeds three times as much for just about anything and everything. I read an article about an abused child: I cry. I see a movie and a little kid is feeling scared, I tear up. A coworker's brother-in-law dies, leaving behind young kids: I can't even talk about it without crying.

I worried about needless shit before. I worry about EVERYTHING now. Is he cold at night? Or is he too warm? Is he getting enough to eat? Is he eating good stuff? Is the tag on his shirt itchy? Shit, I forgot to brush his teeth today. Does he get too much screen time? Is he developing too slow? When will he give up his paci? Is he on point with talking? What if he falls off the couch and breaks his neck? Will he adjust ok to his new classroom? Why are his poops hard? Are his shoes supportive enough? Will he make friends easily? Will he be a kind person?

Being a mom is exhausting. I've never had to plan ahead so much in my life. They say women already have like a thousand times more things running through their brains than men do. With kids, it's a BILLION more. We've got multitasking down to a fucking art, people. Because we HAVE TO. If we didn't remember the snacks and the bottles and the food and the laundry and the diapers and the lotion and the outfit changes and the burp cloths and the sunscreen and the strollers and the socks and the sun hats and the teething beads and the drool bibs, the world would implode on itself. This is not to say that dads or other parental figures don't do their fair share, but the role of mom has facets that you can't even imagine until you're knee deep in a Google image search on baby diarrhea. But even on my most tired of days, I almost never pass up the opportunity to rock my boo to sleep. I enjoy my nights off when I get to have dinner with friends or family, and my husband takes the wheel for the evening.  But truly, I feel unbalanced and discombobulated if I'm not there when he goes to bed for the night. It's weird, but true.

As my baby gets ready to transition to the toddler room at daycare, I think I finally understand a little why women choose to have multiple kids; like more than just two. For us, the idea of having more than one kid (or any at all) depends heavily on finances and what that picture looks like. It's never occurred to me to have more than two kids, because when I think about how that looks I usually hone in on the financial aspect first and foremost. But as my kid gets older and starts looking more like a "toddler" and less like a "baby," I understand way more why the idea of more babies could be appealing. My little guy is growing up, and as much as I want him to stay a baby forever, it ain't gonna happen. As difficult as my first few months were as a new mom, I long for the days when my baby was, well, a baby. And the older he gets, the bigger that ache gets. And how can I alleviate that ache?? Have more babies, right?? Now, I don't know if this is why other women choose to have multiple kids. But I could see it being the reason why I would.

This Mother's Day, my gift to myself was a little necklace with a monogram of my kid's first initial. It might be trite, but it means a lot to me and helps me feel like I'm carrying my baby around with me all day. See, I told you I'm twice as much of a bleeding heart as I used to be.

Don't blink

In the latest edition of mom digest, here's a newsflash: don't stress too much over some developmental milestones, because they will eventually arrive. (Thank you, Capt Obvious!)

A huge stressor for moms, at least for this one, is all the milestones and firsts that your baby is supposed to have in their first year or two of life. The parenting apps and blogs I read when my bug was born are chock full of information on both physical and cognitive development for babies in all months of life. Naturally, this means that if my baby wasn't doing what the app or blog said he should be doing at x months old, I would get worried. I would start ruminating over the possibility of a problem with him. Even if it felt silly to get all worked up over, I would still worry under the surface. For example, my baby didn't start pulling himself up until he was about 10 or 11 months; there's a kid in his class who is pulling himself up at 8 months. Another example: my baby didn't cut his teeth for at least 4 or 5 months after I started having posts about cutting teeth show up on my daily parenting app alerts. It seemed like my kid took his sweet time until he finally started sleeping through the night. Incidentally, I stopped sleeping through the night and wake up several times to check on him. Is that irony or insanity?

In this case, these are not life or death situations, just minor anxieties. But they feel huge at the time. Every little thing that's not textbook feels like a potential disaster, and all us moms want is for our kids to be healthy and normal in their development. So here's my life lesson takeaway so far that seems like common sense but still needs to be repeated for the anxious, paranoid moms like me: every kid is different. Every kid moves at their own pace. Pending any serious cognitive, behavioral or developmental delays, your kid is fine. He will cut those teeth when his gums are good and ready. He will crawl when he's feels like it. He will say "mama" when he's feeling sad and needy. He will say "dada" every other second of every day. He will walk when he feels confident enough to try. He will take a flying leap out of a bouncy chair when he sees the other kid in his class do it. He will start sleeping through the night when his rhythms regulate. He will get to whatever stage/level he's supposed to be at when he gets to it. 

It's challenging all the time for me to not compare my baby to others, in terms of his abilities and his development. It's a mindset I don't enjoy, and every time I'm able to step back and tell myself that it's useless to compare him to others, I do feel a little more convinced of how silly it is to do this. But in the meantime, I'll just keep writing down his milestones in his baby book and beam with pride and joy at the plethora of things my baby is learning to do every day. Seriously, don't blink. Progress and milestones happen in an instant.