November 3, 2011 ~ Day 329 Growing

Our poor little princess has been under the weather this week.

No spunk. No spirit. No sass.

She's just a sweet little cling-a-roo.

Everywhere I go in the house, she trails after me pathetically crying -

"Mama. I want lap. Mama. I want Mama lap."

My lap has apparently become a mecca of healing and comfort.

(As any worthy lap should be...)

I actually take her incessant desire to sit on my lap as a huge compliment, despite the fact that it is really inconvenient when I need to say - use the bathroom, or wash the dishes. There have been a lot of meltdowns to manage this week.

The whole thing is just sad. Anyone that knows our two year old in person (and even most of those who have been reading this blog during the last year!) knows that she is typically a little ball of fire and fun.

I hate seeing her so peaked and wan. She's lost a lot of weight this week and you can really see it in her face.

Tomorrow morning I'm due to take her in for another chest x-ray.

If it turns out that she does have yet another pneumonia, that will mean treatment - and hopefully a fast turnaround.

Either way, I'm pulling for her to feel better asap.

* * *

What I've noticed this week, with not one but two of my children feverish and feeling ill, is how much calmer I seem to be about all of this than I would have been a year ago.

I remember this post I wrote last December, when I was literally sitting next to my daughter's bedside with tears in my eyes writing about her first bout of pneumonia. Almost out of my head with worry about her.

Yet one year later we're staring down the third time she's dealt with pneumonia... and somehow I've learned to take it all in stride.

The urge to freak out isn't really there right now.

I believe that my kid is going to be fine.

I'm not worried about taking her to the local Children's hospital... I've had to rush a child there three times this year (my son) and at this point the drive just seems par for the course. Not a big deal.

In fact, the more we've dealt with health issues over the past few years, the less importance they've had in my mind.

I guess I have always feared the things I did not understand.

The Unknown.

I have feared the unknown and harbored tremendous anxiety about situations over which I had no control.

Maybe this is because I grew up pretty white-bread and didn't really have any significant challenges as a kid.

Real life lay a little bit outside of the boundaries of my personal knowledge then. My brushes with it as a youngster - like when a close 15 year old friend died of leukemia - made everything I didn't understand seem so mythical, intense, dark and surreal.

Two decades later though, I guess I've finally wrapped my brain around the reality of some of the situations that I've dreaded the most:

- Death of a close friend
- Rejection by a lover
- Death of a parent
- Undergoing surgery
- Dealing with the injuries and illnesses befalling my children
- Grappling with serious challenges to my own health
- Facing an uncertain future

...and somehow, in every situation, the band plays on.

Not to say that everything has always worked out in the end.
That would be a big fat lie.

A lot of bad things have happened. A lot of endings were sad, not happy.

Yet, here I am... and things are okay.

Better than okay, in fact ~

I'm actually so grateful, so blessed by all of the hardships that have come my way in 35 years.

Each one of them served to make me a better person. A more devoted partner. A more patient mother. A more genuine friend. A better listener, and a woman of deeper faith.

Is it cheesy to admit that I needed this growth?

I would never have wished to learn so many hard lessons in such a short span of time... but I can guarantee that I really needed to go through every single challenge.

When my children are older and read through this blog, I hope they will not only feel that they've gotten to know me better - understanding my particular set of beliefs, idiosyncrasies and quirks - but that they can actually track my growth as a mother and woman throughout an entire calendar year.

We've all grown this year, as individuals and as a family.

Tonight, maybe because we've simply experienced more of life, the unknown seems less bleak and severe... more hopeful and friendly.

June 14, 2011 ~ Day 186 Four Years of Love with our 'Pazel'-Eyed Boy

Wouldn't you know it... I went to bed at 1:30am on the *one* night when my younger son would awaken at 2:25am screaming at the top of his lungs "MY TUMMY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MY TUMMY HURRRRRRRRRRTS!!!!!! and crying hysterically.

Then when I rushed in to him, wouldn't it make things just THAT much better to have him vomit instantly the moment I lifted him in my arms - covering both of us with his puke.

Compounding matters, wouldn't it be ironic if all of this was happening on his fourth birthday? So that when I called the on-call nurse around 4:00am to let her know that his fever had spiked to 104 degrees F and was still climbing (it peaked at 105) and she asked, "When is your son's birthday, Ma'am?" my voice would wobble just a little when I answered:

"Today."

Laying on the couch with my child in the wee hours of the morning, with him snuggling into me loosely wrapped in a single blanket and dosed with children's generic Motrin, I couldn't help think about how precious he is to us and how he deserves the best in life. Seems like over his four years, he's had to deal with more than his fair share of sickness and getting beaten up by both of his siblings.

I do believe that everything happens for a purpose though, and it strikes me that perhaps our son has suffered a little more than his brother and sister in order to give him a more grateful, adaptable spirit. He is so laid back and good natured - and he doesn't take life too seriously. As his grandparents like to say, he's a real trooper. These qualities are bound to serve him well throughout life.

Because his fever continued to climb and sleep for either of us was not a real option, I pulled out the five pages of photos and writing I'd just created for his school birthday celebration and read them aloud to him. His new school honors all birthdays by having parents write the "story" of their child's lives, complete with photos. For every year of life, they provide one page upon which parents are asked to write a description of that year for the child.

My son was given sheets for his "Birth" and then ages 1 through 4. I'd spent the better part of an hour putting together his life story before bedtime, recounting the special milestones that he experienced during each year - ranging from learning how to crawl out of his own crib (1st Big Boy Bed!) to learning how to use the potty, taking family vacations and learning how to ride his tricycle without training wheels.

Slowly we read through all of the pages together, with him pointing out different things he noticed in each of the photos of his life.

At 4:30am then, with his feverish little head tucked into my shoulder, I began to tell him the story of his birth.

"On the day you were born," I started, "the Sun was shining brightly. You came out of my tummy and into the world in a light and airy room... at the end of what had been a beautiful afternoon.

Your Daddy was there with me, and your Mima (grandma). They cried with happiness when they saw how perfect you were. You didn't cry though. Actually, you smiled. You were the only baby I had who came into the world smiling."

"How big was I?" he murmured.

"You weighed 7 lbs 10 oz."

"Is that a lot for a baby? Is that big?"

"You were a good size for a baby. An excellent, normal size."

"And what did I look like?" he asked.

"Well, you had a full head of hair. But your head itself was very pointy because sometimes it gets squished a little bit when the baby comes out of the tummy. (Don't worry though, by the next day your head looked like a regular baby head.) You had such a sweet face. And you had a really interesting birth mark on your back."

"Do I still have the birth mark?"

"Yes, you do. It is fading, but it is still there."

"And I had Pazel eyes? Pazel that were green with brown?"

"Hazel eyes? You have those now honey but when you were born, your eyes were actually blue. Most babies have blue eyes at birth."

"Was I talking? Did I talk to you when I came out? What did I say?"

"Well honey, babies don't usually know how to talk right away. You spoke to us with your eyes though, and through your smile. You made it clear that you were happy to be with us. We were incredibly happy to be with you too."

"Was my brother there? Was he in the room when I got borned?"

"No, your brother was back at your grandmother's house waiting to meet you. And do you know what? Your brother was THRILLED because the very first thing you did when you met him was to give him his first little guitar."

"I DID? Why did I do that?"

"Because you were happy to meet him. You wanted him to know that you were glad to be his brother, and that you wanted to be his friend too. You were a very sweet baby."

"Oh. Good. Mommy?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Did you and Daddy love me right away?"

"Oh angel. We loved you even before we met you. I feel like I've known you my entire life, even before I met your Daddy. We both love you so much; you and your brother and sister mean the world to us."

"I loved you right away too, Mommy. I remember."

* * * * *

Much moved by his innocent, heartfelt admission of love I cuddled my son and kissed the top of his scalp - which even through the hair still felt like it was burning up.

Silently but with a full heart, I thanked God for giving me such a sweet child. His good heart has illuminated our lives for four years now, and every new day is its own miracle.

At dawn, when his fever had broken and he was at last peacefully slumbering by my side, I thought back with joy to that very first moment when my husband, mother and I met and fell head over heels for him on the spot.

Sometimes life really does give you something perfect and beautiful.

Happy Birthday my angel. May you feel well enough to enjoy your special day of Star Wars toys, Chinese takeout and lemon cake...

...and may you look forward to many future decades of health and happiness, surrounded always by people who love you as much as we do.

February 26, 2011 ~ Day 79 Paging Dr. Mommy

About an hour ago my three year old started complaining about his neck. "My neck is sore, mommy!" he said, "I think my neck is too sore to take a bath."

We happened to be in the bathroom (to take the aforesaid bath) at that moment so I handily whipped out the ear thermometer from the medicine box to check for a fever. Lo and behold... nada mucho. 99.1. Nothing to write home about, at least not yet.

Still, I'm edgy. I called the nurse at our pediatrician's office - an office that is now a 25 minute drive away, but probably worth sticking with because they offer evening hours until 8pm every day, Saturday hours until 5pm AND Sunday hours during flu season. I left one of the typical cheerfully paranoid messages for which I am probably famous around their office after bringing all three of my three children to them for every major illness over the past six years:

"Hi. This is ___________. I am calling about my son ______________, whose birthdate is June ___, 2007. Our phone number is ______________. The reason I'm calling is, well, my son has just started complaining about his neck hurting, and that worries me, because my husband and I know of someone here in San Diego that died of acute bacterial meningitis about a month ago. So I just wanted to ask what the symptoms of meningitis are and what to look out for. I mean, I'm not worried or anything. But I just want to be sure to ask. So that if he gets worse, I will know what to do. Thanks. His name is ______________ and you can reach us, again, at this number _______________."

I can literally picture the nurses standing around the office answering machine laughing and rolling their eyes in a good natured way. "There she goes again!" they say, "That poor woman really needs to relax! You'd think after three children, she'd chill out a little!"

I wish I could! I wish I could just escape to a tropical island with some delicious fruity and alcoholic beverage, a great book and maybe (if he's lucky!) my husband to lay next to me on the beach. We could just lounge there under the hot sun peacefully, enjoying the sound of waves crashing on the shore and birds faintly chirping. And nothing else. Not one other sound - especially not the frantic crying and whining I am listening to at this very moment as my husband gives the evening bath.

But I can't turn my back on my kids when they are sick, or at any other time. So it comes down to figuring out what "real" sickness looks like, and sometimes that is hard to do. Sometimes it seems worse than it really is, and other times it seems a lot better than it really is.

Once when my little son was 18 months old he developed a 104 degree fever that wouldn't break for two days and I raced him tearfully to the pediatrician to discover that he had a mild case of Hand-Foot-Mouth disease (Coxsackie virus) and that there was nothing we could do for it but give him popsicles until the virus passed.

Another time we waited a week to take our daughter to the doctor when she was running a 103.5 degree fever that went down with Tylenol but wouldn't seem to break - because we thought it was just a cold or flu that would pass, and she actually turned out to have a double ear infection and pneumonia! My sons have been tested for strep throat four times. Two times they actually had it... two times, they didn't.

Basically it never seems safe to assume anything about their health, positive or negative. You'd think after six years I'd know all of the signs to look for and have all of the acetaminophin dosages memorized by heart but I ask the same questions every time, because the idea of any of my little people being seriously ill terrifies me to the point that my IQ drops about 40 points every time I place a call to the after hours nurse.

I also often wonder why it is that my children typically manage to get sick on Friday evening anywhere between 9pm and 3am, rather than at some reasonable hour like say, noon. I guess this falls under the heading of Murphy's law but I'll be darned if it doesn't seem like my personal law by now.

My theorem would look something like, "If it seems to be the worst possible moment for a child to become ill, and if neither parent slept well last night, then YES, the child will be feverish and vomiting until morning ~ when they will likely make a miraculous recovery".

A dermatologist I once met told me that he and his wife were sick for the first eight years of their children's lives but after that developed fantastic immunity and never got sick again. That gives me hope - we've still got over two years to go to show that we can match their mettle! In the interim I'm working hard to build our immune systems with healthy food, and my family gets good sleep and good exercise but I can't claim to do either of the latter myself.

The telephone has yet to ring with a call from our nurse, but I think I'm off the hook for tonight. After being too sore to take a bath, my little son ate a large dinner and then told me that his neck was feeling much better and he thought it had just been "hungry". No fever combined with a healthy appetite and no other pains leads me to believe that maybe he just strained his neck somehow, possibly when he was riding his bike earlier in the afternoon.

According to Dr. Mommy, odds are 99% he's going to be just fine.
RX: Two hugs and three kisses and a lively bedtime story.

I'm still ready for that tropical vacation though. And as long as I'm dreaming, I'm going to throw in a beachside masseuse and a really sumptuous all day meal with lots of gorgeous courses and plenty of dessert, just for me. No-one ever gets a tummyache in paradise, right?