Mom's do not get sick - Revisited

No new comments? Apparently I am the only one going though this contrary to popular belief :-)
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Holy Cow Moment ?:  My child is a cold remedy...

As I lay on my daughters bedroom floor analyzing how I need to clean her carpet I realize that sometimes the worst situation really isn’t that bad.  I’m sick, I feel like I might toss my cookies and my ears hurt like someone is taking a ice pick to my Eustachian tube – yes I learned some medical terms.  I had to crawl from my room to answer the dire call of my eight month year old.  Her world is ending no doubt at 3am in the morning.  

As I gently and not very gracefully pull her tiny squirmy body from her crib and gently yet quickly set her on the floor with her nauseated mommy it occurs to me that this sort of sucks.  But does it?  She doesn’t see me as sick, she sees this as playtime and freedom.  Mommy is her favorite jungle gym, sour tummy or not.  Her sweet little hugs almost make you feel less sick.  It still doesn’t stop me from calling my husband and making him panic – no he isn’t a bum he is working a swing shift so he wasn’t home at the ripe hour of 3am.  This goes back to earlier posts of making sure the husband pays even if it really isn’t his fault. 

My adorable daughter who has worn her self out and is now ready for her back to sleep nursing oddly enough cooperates and snuggles next to me on the floor that needs to be cleaned badly, how has it gotten so bad?  I should lay on the floor more often for perspective.  Anyway – she falls asleep and now we wait for daddy, who is panicked and feeling terrible, to come home and place sleeping infant into her bed and rescue mommy from her prison on the carpet. The carpet I can’t get past that I need to clean and if I weren’t sick I would be washing it at 3am.  

Holy Cow, remember when you used to be the baby when you were sick?  Now you feel like Hercules.  Illness what illness – except as soon as your child is back to sleep out comes the sick feelings again.  Who knew Children were sort of like Tylenol Cold or Dayquil or whatever your choice of cold remedy is.  They work for 4 hours and if you don’t take some more – or if your child is back to being stress free- you feel like crud again. 

Surviving Parenthood

Post in comments your horror stories so I don’t feel alone.  We all have so many its going to be hard to pick – you know like that time the darling child projectile pooped on the wall, or the first diaper when the baby slid down it (thank you hospital for the inclined bed) and proceeded to get tar poop all up her back, or that time……….

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Holy Cow moment ?:  When someone says you will have good months and you will have bad months no one ever says – you will have BAD months.  Capital BAD – as in the apocalypse can’t hold a candle to this kind of bad. 

My child although the center of my world (by necessity this week rather then because of my undying adoration), isn’t making being a mommy easy.  I could take Sunday when we didn’t sleep – AT ALL, I could handle Tuesday when we slept for roughly 3 hours, I could handle Wednesday when – well you get the picture.  What pushed me over the edge was when at midnight I picked up my coughing child to comfort her and BAM – projectile baby spew everywhere.  I will spare you the details. But at this point I gently sit down the adorable ball of mess that has somehow been linked to my loins and now I just stand there.  I am soaked, arms being held away from my body in pure confusion as to what to do next.  What does one do in this situation?

Well I will tell you what this mom did.  I very methodically removed my clothing in order to avoid any additional mess.  I then removed my child’s and we had bonding time until I could muster up the comprehension that I now needed to redress each of us and clean the crib, the carpet, another load of laundry, keep the dogs from licking the mess up and keep the baby company.  I repeat no one ever prepares you for the BAD weeks.  Halfway into cleaning up this fabulous mess, that had to occur at midnight, I call my husband who is lucky working, lucky for him not me or his ears.   Bless the mans heart he does offer to come home; but like any headstrong, frustrated woman in the throngs of chaos we decline.  Why you ask?  To make the man in our lives pay for something.  Who knows what the poor guy is paying for but he will be forced to listen to us cry, blow up, sob and lastly become rational again.  So for mom’s there are BAD weeks for dads there are pure HELL weeks. 

How do men stay in a marriage with a woman and children?  Well in my case I think it’s fear.  Would you want to leave an insane person who could most likely figure out stalking, man slaughter or torture techniques that the agent worlds used to  use?  I think not. (Actually in my case I am lucky and it turns out he loves us even if I am a bit crazy and our child a little bit of a pain.)

I survived, I really really did.  But I question if my sanity is in tacked.  HAPPY FRIDAY!!!!!

Holy Cow I really thought I was a rational person.  I thought I handled crazy well; wrong.  An eight month old has beaten me.  One more win for the child and one more loss for mom.  Maybe the infant years are really to prepare us for the losing battles of when our children are teens, when the fights are verbal and might just hurt a little more.  Oh right – the whole child bearing process is a learning period for something else – IT NEVER STOPS.  There should be a metal similar to the Purple Heart for surviving parenthood. 

What do you mean you can’t read my mind?

This applies to all women not just moms - the most recent encounter I have had though has been since I became a mom and now the energy to say what I want has apparently evaporated. 

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Holy Cow Moment 5:  Twas the night before work and all through the house not a creature was stirring not even…oh wait mom was. The night before Christmas lies, mothers never sleep, so someone is always stirring.  Husbands and dogs on the other hand apparently do not. 

 At 2:30 in the morning as the baby’s cries are heard over the monitor, almost in surround sound since the monitor and the baby’s room really aren’t too far apart, the blurry vision of an exhausted mom tries to focus and figure out what the heck is going on.  The husband is sleeping, soundly I might add, along with the dogs, but not the mother.  I stumble to the bathroom and can feel the anger growing, I grab my robe and stomp – well it sounds more like an enraged rhino (yes I compared myself to a Rhino, at least it wasn’t an elephant).  Why isn’t someone else waking to the baby’s distress? 

What is really going on in my head is, “if I have to be up everyone one else should suffer too.”  I’m getting more and more mad the more everyone sleeps - except of course for my daughter and myself.  I stomp some more, mumble under my breath and finally toss the pillow onto the sleeping husband.  He is now awake – not coherent but awake.  I feel a little better.

Later that day, since this is a weekend, the baby is being a wonderful joy – for awhile.  She starts to get fussy while I am grabbing laundry from upstairs; my mom instinct says that she probably needs a diaper.  I get downstairs and what do I see?  My husband sitting there with the baby on his lap, still fussing.  I stomp by (I apparently stomp a lot), I am once again mumbling under my breath also. 

The holy cow moment that should come as no surprise is – My husband can’t read my mind.  So what I learned is if the baby needs a diaper just tell him, if you want him to change her diaper at 2:30 in the morning just ask him.  He never said no he just isn’t wired the same as me.  I actually see this as an inconvenience  – “God please feel free to make ESP part of evolution to make men more efficient. – Amen.”

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5 days to Thanksgiving!