Dear Pea,
You have started talking in your sleep. I might die from cuteness overload
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Monday, November 26, 2012
Failings?
Dear Pea,
I was so hopeful that we would not have to give you Tylenol during your first year. So determined to make that a last last resort, praying that acupressure and gua sha and homeopathic remedies would be enough. But with your last illness, your temperature rose and after a sleepless night of wailing and discomfort, we called the doctor who told us to give you Tylenol, and we did immediately. Half a dose only, because your mama is crazy. It was like magic. Within 15 minutes, you settled down, your fever dropped and you slept most of the day. And were 100% better 48 hours later, with only a bit of a runny nose to show for your awful cold.
Giving you Tylenol felt like failing on my part. Why can't I keep you healthy? Why did we have to turn to drugs? Why can't I make you better on my own? And, then, as soon as it was administered and you felt better, I laughed at my own neurosis. I don't have control. I never did, I never will. I have to make the best choice in each case and sometimes that's Tylenol. Duh
Other ways that I have failed my expectations:
It has been so long since I updated this blog, so of course there have been more advancements. You pull yourself up more and more these days and let go for a few seconds, testing your balance for standing on your own. You are very happy to be without me in certain situations: babysitting at the Y (finally you've realized it's a whole room of toys that you don't have at home! And other kids to play with! Awesome!), hanging out with your grandparents (Thanksgiving you played for hours on end, not missing me as I was cooking or chatting with my friends, drinking wine) and anytime you're with Daddy. I've been teaching more and making more appointments and you're so totally fine with me gone. You also are quite the adventurer. You love exploring all the places in our apartment, especially the bathroom. You are way more into your toys, spending hours during the day taking them off shelves and playing with them. You also love being thrown in the air and hanging upside down.
I was so hopeful that we would not have to give you Tylenol during your first year. So determined to make that a last last resort, praying that acupressure and gua sha and homeopathic remedies would be enough. But with your last illness, your temperature rose and after a sleepless night of wailing and discomfort, we called the doctor who told us to give you Tylenol, and we did immediately. Half a dose only, because your mama is crazy. It was like magic. Within 15 minutes, you settled down, your fever dropped and you slept most of the day. And were 100% better 48 hours later, with only a bit of a runny nose to show for your awful cold.
Giving you Tylenol felt like failing on my part. Why can't I keep you healthy? Why did we have to turn to drugs? Why can't I make you better on my own? And, then, as soon as it was administered and you felt better, I laughed at my own neurosis. I don't have control. I never did, I never will. I have to make the best choice in each case and sometimes that's Tylenol. Duh
Other ways that I have failed my expectations:
- I did not want you watching TV at all in your first 3 years, and then only very sporadically. Well, you love watching TV with Daddy and he loves watching it with you and you are being exposed to sports and music and language and are happy and healthy.
- I couldn't imagine you sleeping in our bed at all, let alone for almost 11 months (and no end in sight). I thought it would be uncomfortable or strange or hard on Daddy and me. It's actually the greatest thing ever-we all sleep so well and it's so nice for both of us to wake up to your smiling face and your cheerful chatter
- I thought I'd feel more judgement from the outside world and less sure of myself and my choices. There are moments, to be sure, but they are so far less than I anticipated. We are figuring it out and we don't really care what other people think or say. How freeing!
toy wreckage in your wake
caught trying to investigate under the bed
UP!
We spend a lot of time like this
scattered blocks in the background, curious Pea coming to investigate the camera
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
What's hard and what isn't
Dear Pea,
I am loathe to admit this. But it's true, and I can't only talk about the good things. You are sick a lot. Not terribly ill, not really sick, but colds and viruses have hard their way with you many many times. It seems to rotate between congestion and belly aches. Most recently, it was both: massive runny nose, stuffed up head, vomiting and diarrhea. There was one day last week when I thought I was going to have to take you to the ER because you weren't keeping anything down, but it passed. You refused all food except breast milk and took so much less than usual that I had to pump to relieve my discomfort for three days. You nursed yourself to sleep only to throw up. You got diaper rash from the diarrhea. You bit your hand while we changed your diapers, needing something in your mouth to soothe the gum pain but too impatient to find a teething toy. It was awful.I wondered how I could have brought you into this world to suffer so much, and you are not a "succumb to the suffering" kind of person. Through all of the discomfort, vomiting and congestion, you still laughed and smiled and enjoyed The Muppets.
That was hard.
Every time you're sick, it breaks my heart. Every time you're sick and you ignore the sickness and still are happy, it shatters my heart. It is my mom's spirit in you-the refusal to be negative, the beauty in your world enough to overtake the ugly. I miss my mom so much, every day, every moment. It's like an enormous void that will always be there, growing larger and larger each day as the things that I can't share with her get more and more numerous.
That is hard.
Since your most recent illness, you have grown in leaps and bounds developmentally. You chatter and repeat words: "cashew" "butt paste" "Obama," in addition to your correct usage of "bye bye" "up!" "Dada" "Mama" and "yum." And "yum" is in response to finally finally eating solid foods. You LOVE pizza (oy), carrots, cheese, broccoli (that's what gets the most "yum") spinach, olives, lentils, bread, coconut oil, apples, chicken, ground beef and chocolate. Not so into eggs or avocado, but I keep giving them to you when I eat them.
I am loathe to admit this. But it's true, and I can't only talk about the good things. You are sick a lot. Not terribly ill, not really sick, but colds and viruses have hard their way with you many many times. It seems to rotate between congestion and belly aches. Most recently, it was both: massive runny nose, stuffed up head, vomiting and diarrhea. There was one day last week when I thought I was going to have to take you to the ER because you weren't keeping anything down, but it passed. You refused all food except breast milk and took so much less than usual that I had to pump to relieve my discomfort for three days. You nursed yourself to sleep only to throw up. You got diaper rash from the diarrhea. You bit your hand while we changed your diapers, needing something in your mouth to soothe the gum pain but too impatient to find a teething toy. It was awful.I wondered how I could have brought you into this world to suffer so much, and you are not a "succumb to the suffering" kind of person. Through all of the discomfort, vomiting and congestion, you still laughed and smiled and enjoyed The Muppets.
That was hard.
Every time you're sick, it breaks my heart. Every time you're sick and you ignore the sickness and still are happy, it shatters my heart. It is my mom's spirit in you-the refusal to be negative, the beauty in your world enough to overtake the ugly. I miss my mom so much, every day, every moment. It's like an enormous void that will always be there, growing larger and larger each day as the things that I can't share with her get more and more numerous.
That is hard.
Since your most recent illness, you have grown in leaps and bounds developmentally. You chatter and repeat words: "cashew" "butt paste" "Obama," in addition to your correct usage of "bye bye" "up!" "Dada" "Mama" and "yum." And "yum" is in response to finally finally eating solid foods. You LOVE pizza (oy), carrots, cheese, broccoli (that's what gets the most "yum") spinach, olives, lentils, bread, coconut oil, apples, chicken, ground beef and chocolate. Not so into eggs or avocado, but I keep giving them to you when I eat them.
chicken sausage and spinach
This is easy
It's never a mystery when you want to be picked up (both arms in the air, imploring facial expression), when you want to eat (grab the food out of our hands or dive for a breast), when you are tired (head to the floor or couch), when you want to play (crawling at a high speed towards something to pull yourself up on, or to climb over, or to take out of its place) or when you like something (applause!).
pulled up on the window sill, about to pull everything off the sill
creating your own obstacle course over a TV tray
pulling down all your toys and grocery bags and dancing on your knees
This is easy. This is fun! Communicating with you is truly amazing, you are completely your own person with your own desires and emotions.
One of my mama friends was talking about her baby and how amazing it is that she "made" him. I know a lot of people feel that way, and it's quite literally true. But I don't feel like I made you. I feel very detached. I feel like you were always your own person and you came through me. Like I had no control over anything to do with you. You are your own force, your own light. I just get to witness, to try to keep you safe and teach you what I know to be true in the universe.
That is a privilege. It is awesome in the original meaning of the word. It is easy. It is hard. Much like love.
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