Oof. It has been quite the week around here. Nothing terribly traumatic, but let’s just say the Hatchling has begun to embrace her three-ness with a vengeance. Highlights have included a massive poop-on-the-sofa incident and the spilling of an entire glass of iced tea all over the keyboard of my laptop. (which, incidentally, appears to be relatively unharmed except for how I can’t type a capital w. I love Macs!) Anyway, around about the time I was obsessively scouring the couch upholstery and wondering just which part of my graduate education prepared me for cleaning up shit, I thought maybe it would be appropriate to acknowledge some of the many, many incredible things my mothers have done for me. Here’s an abbreviated list:
- read out loud to me incessantly
- enthusiastically responded to all my accomplishments, major and minor
- sewed everything from my Halloween costumes to curtains for my house to my wedding dress and all my bridesmaids dresses
- professionally edited my school papers whenever requested
- provided on-call medical advice and the occasional pharmaceuticals when needed
- sat with me and held me as I labored with my first child
- asked about my dissertation
- didn’t ask about my dissertation
- taught me how to cook and bake
- faithfully attended all my performances, and sent me flowers for every opening night
- made a welcoming home-base to return to from my travels
- took me on amazing trips to Europe
- spoiled your grandbabies rotten
- and most of all, taught me the meaning of unconditional love
I can only hope to do so many things for my girls. Happy Mother’s Day!
You know what makes an outing to the park on an absolutely lovely spring day somewhat LESS enjoyable? When your nearly-three-year-old makes one of her patented breaks for freedom combined with an attempt to steal another kid’s ball, thereby making it necessary for you to leap up, nursing baby still attached to your left boob, yelling COME BACK HERE RIGHT NOW and mouthing “I’m so sorry” to the other kid’s mom, at which point the baby comes unattached, leaving your boob right out there for the whole park to see.
Not that I’m particularly modest or anything. But still. It’s a little wearing.
The Sprout is (knock wood, throw salt over shoulder, sacrifice to the gods, etc.) an extremely mellow and easy going baby, which is a good thing considering the major conniption fits her older sister is giving me lately, but last night she got me but good in a manner that demanded to be blogged:
So all the houseguests have gone to bed, the Hatchling has finally quieted down and gone to sleep, and it’s just me and Mr. Squab waiting for the Sprout to settle down so we can go to sleep. I figure I’ll change her diaper so she’ll feel all nice and clean, so I put her down on the sofa and get started. She’s had a terrible diaper rash so once the, um, area is all prepared, I get some ointment out and lean in to make sure I apply it in all the correct places. I’ve applied maybe 1/2 of the salve when the Sprout … well, I’m not sure what to call what she did. Projectile shitting? A shart? The unholy marriage of gas and excrement? You get the idea. Did I mention how I was leaning in at the time? Yeah. You don’t know from bad parenting moments until your infant child has SHOT LIQUID POOP ALL OVER YOUR FACE. And yes, my mouth was open, since you ask. “Thank god you had your glasses on,” was Mr. Squab’s response (after running into the kitchen to get paper towels and water to help me clean up).
I tell you what, there is no way to prepare for something like that. But you can be damn sure I’m keeping my distance in all future ointment applying situations.
Amoxycillin is a wonderful thing. Took the Hatchling to urgent care and only one ear was infected but it had also ruptured – OUCH – and she had a lot of lovely congestion to boot. She haaaaaaaates the medicine (can’t blame her: it’s “orange dreamsicle” flavored) but we’ve been getting it down her gullet twice a day and she’s already feeling much, much better. Last night she only woke up once, a drastic improvement over the past three days. We’re lying low today but I think we’ll actually make it.
I have to say, I did not handle this sickness well. Usually I’m pretty good with the coddling and cuddling that goes with a sick kid, but for some reason – I’m guessing because I’m already low on energy reserves due to my fetal enhancement – I was going OUT OF MY MIND this weekend. I don’t think the Hatchling picked up on it (though poor Mr. Squab did) but by last night I was just losing it left and right. Part of it was the lack of sleep, but even more than that was the feeling of no escape from the sick kiddo. She was literally attached to me for 85% of the weekend – couldn’t sleep unless she was in bed with me, couldn’t be awake unless she was right up next to me on the sofa, and if I had to get up to, you know, pee or get something to eat, she would start mournfully moaning “oh, no … OH, no … OH, NOOOO!” in escalating tones until I came back. I could not get anything done, and even if I could have gotten away for a moment I was too damn tired to accomplish anything. It was just making me totally nuts – and, like, how churlish is that? Christ, it’s not her fault she’s sick. And as Mr. Squab truthfully observed, in a few years I’ll WISH she’d snuggle with me on the sofa for the whole day. But it wasn’t helping this weekend. And then I started thinking, crap, she’s basically just behaving like a little baby … and we’re having one of those soon … and what if THAT makes me crazy like this is? ACKKKKK. Because, you know, that kind of worst-case-scenario thinking is so incredibly helpful at all times. Ahem.
Anyway, I got some sleep last night and Mr. Squab put up some Christmas decorations and cleaned up the kitchen and rubbed my back and tried not to laugh at me for bursting into tears whenever anyone looked at me crosseyed. So today things are better. Onwards and upwards, right?
Tonight we were too tired to cook, so we went to a local diner for a quick meal as part of our comprehensive socialize-the-Hatchling-to-behave-in-public-spaces campaign. She did pretty well (for a 2.5 year old), but what was truly impressive was the dinner she ate, which was a nutritious combination of:
a) french fries
c) apple juice
d) ginormous chocolate chip cookie
After which, she went home and was bouncing off the walls from her sugar + carb high. There was dancing, there was singing, there was a lot of random spastic movement. THAT, my friends = good damn parenting.
Did I mention that Mr. Squab has been out of town for business since the wee hours of Friday morning? Not getting back until late tonight?
And that the Hatchling came down with a really bad cold this morning, and just barfed all over my bed after an extremely abbreviated nap?
And that I’ve run out of my nausea medicine because my clinic didn’t call in the renewal soon enough?
Yah. AWESOME weekend.
(I swear, I will try to post something positive tomorrow.)
Today the Hatchling and I were driving home from a playdate. Just before getting into the car, the Hatchling had tripped and scraped her knees and hands a little, so she’d been crying. She quickly calmed down, though, and was sitting calmly in her seat when I heard her say “Thank you!” in the tone that means she’s handing me something she no longer wants. I figured she was done with her water bottle, so I reached my hand back to grab it, and she placed something in the palm of my hand. I pulled my hand back to find … a booger. From her nose. In the palm of my hand. “Thank you!” she said politely, and I found myself saying “You’re welcome!” right back. As I was trying to dig in my purse for a tissue without running off the road, she handed me another one. “Thank you!”
At least she has manners. I guess.