Ahhh, here it is. The season we all treasure: Flu/cold season...
Balls.
So last winter was pretty brutal for sickness in our house. Grace was spared mostly. But any little sniffle she picked up turned into a full fledge crazy nastiness that took up residence in poor little PBunk. That boy was sick more than he was well for probably the first year of his life. And we all paid dearly. ALL of us...like, including my neighbors.
So turns out, that whole theory about men being big fat BABIES when they are sick is true even when they are, in fact, babies. Let me ellaborate:
When Gracie is sick, she is totally mellow. I mean, yeah sure, she whines and is a little crabby. But for the most part, she lays on the couch, watches TV and really just wants to be left the eff alone (which is totally OK with me). Throw her a popsicle and fill her sippy cup now and then and you hardly know she's there. I never even knew when she was getting her teeth as an infant. One day I would just discover a new tooth in her mouth. That girl is tough. She is a hard core gangsta beatch...
And then there's Patrick...oh my sweet little Patrick. Now when Patrick is sick, in true male fashion, he is about to bring the pain to everyone around him. If he is miserable, you best believe you will be too. That boy basically crawls around wailing, whining, screaming and carrying on. Dear Lord...the carrying on!!! Now of course, if the midst of it all, I feel terrible. I HATE when my kids are sick (as I have mentioned a million times before). I feel awful and helpless and want to take away all their pain.
But in P man's case, I want to take away his pain, partly to relieve my own pain.
And when he was cutting teeth...literally people in the town over were well aware of the apparent torture that was happening inside his mouth. I am sure it pretty low on the fun scale to have a sharp object erupt through your gums. You would think evolution would have taken care of this predicament after gazillions of mothers have ranted and raved about being tortured by their teething babies. Come on, science. Or God...whoever is in charge of this stuff. What the hell??? Throw us a bone, would ya??
But I digress.
So today when I picked up Grace from school and the teacher told me she was complaining about a sore throat you can just imagine my reaction...
AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!
Then I proceeded to talk myself down off the ledge. Here is the brainstrom that took place in my head :
"SHIT, FUCK, GODDAMNITALLTOHELL!!! Ok, maybe she just had a dry throat. Juice will help. I will have her lay low today and load her up with Tylenol and cure her. I wonder if it is safe to make her take 25 Flinstone vitamins? Would it be wrong to quarantine her? Her room is fun! And I would bring her food (obviously). She'd be fiiinnnne!"
Then I realized that with this being Grace's first year of preschool, I am pretty sure it is safe to predict that we are all going to be sick A LOT this winter. It's no use. We are doomed.
So I did what any rational person would do. I bought bulk of Purell and Clorox wipes. This momma isn't going down without a fight. Be warned.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
Dear Gracie,
Tonight is the night before your first day of preschool. Right now, you are laying in bed next to me. You are such a beautiful girl. But, I cannot believe you are the same baby I had only three years ago. You are looking so grown up to me these days. You are getting so long and lean. Your beautiful curly hair is getting long. And yet, there are traces of that baby I held. I can still see her in there behind that grown up face, that independent will of yours.
I always think back to the night you were born. How long I labored, how much I had to fight for you. But you were worth any battle. I looked into your eyes and fell madly in love. Heaven and Earth moved when you arrived. I would never be the same. I loved you more than words could ever describe and there aren't enough moments in this lifetime to show you.
So I hope you'll just believe me. You are so special, so smart, so sweet. You make me so proud every day. You and I...we were made for each other.
This is a day I have dreaded since you were born. Selfishly, I want to keep you all to myself. But you have to go, my dear. You will learn so much. Have so many new experiences. And you deserve all the happiness and fun this world can offer you. I know there will bumps along the road, and some tears are inevitable. And this kills me. I have spent every day of your life trying to shield you from any pain, discomfort, hurt feelings that may come your way. And even though I can't be by your side every second, I am always standing right beside you, and I will always be there to catch you.
So, my love, now I have to share you with the world. Have fun. Learn new things. Be kind. Try your best.
I love you,
Mama
Summertime and the living was easy...
well...as easy as it could be with a preschooler and a toddler.
I know, I know...no posts for a while. But honestly, I was off having one of the best summers I can remember in a long time. I think that maybe I was just so happy to not be pregnant or recovering from a C-section this summer, that frankly, my standards were pretty low. But, nontheless, it was a fantastic summer filled with long sunny days by the pool, a few lazy weeks at the beach, fresh dinners hot off the grill with icy cold margaritas to wash it down (remember, I was pregnant last summer. I was due for a few beverages by the pool this summer). Here are few highlights from Bunker Summer 2011:
1.) OK...let's get the negative stuff out of the way first. So as I have said before, my little Patrick can have, how do you say... a tough personality (see previous blog "Our First Family Vacation"). Well, his little quirks became glaringly obvious this summer. So this may not be a popular statement, but Patrick has earned himself a nickname as of late. Since some days he is an absolute terrorist, we call him Osama. I didn't say it was tasteful, but you sure do get the idea don't you? There are some days that kid gets into everything humanly possible. He actually emptied out a cabinet, threw a box of Cheerios on the floor making a nice crunchy carpet in my kitchen and crawled INTO the cabinet, giggling all the while. Other days he literally crawls around the house holding onto my leg and crying. For what, you ask? Is he hungry, is he tired, does he want me to play with him? No, mostly he just wants me to pick him up so he can slap me and squirm out of my arms. So, yes sometimes I call him Osama. One morning I am pretty certain I am going to walk into his room to find him crouched in front of a video camera, holding a severed Barbie head, addressing his followers as to how to make their mother's twitch, punctuated with screams of "PRAISE ELMO!" Now most days, we sign a peace treaty and all is right in Dedham. But you can never let your guard down.
2.) There was a brief period in early summer where, unfortunately, my car air conditioning broke. Now you all know I already consider my car a torture chamber on wheels. Add 110 degree stagnant air to the incessant talking, whining, screaming, and requests for food from the back seat and I was pretty sure I found a new interrogation method for the government.
3.) So our Cape vacation was a success! I know you all were a little nervous after our mini vacation in the spring. But it was fun and relaxing and we made some awesome memories. My secret weapon ("the troops" aka Nana, Papa, Nana B., Grampa and all the aunties and uncles) made the vacation possible. Do you really need 25 people to take care of two kids? Yes...yes you do.
OK, guys...funny story...so the first night there all four of us were in the same bedroom (me, Pat, Grace and Patrick). We had Grace on a cot, P man in the Pack and Play, and Pat and I in the bed. So, you can see where this is going, right? Inevitably, Patrick wakes up, realizes we are all in the room and proceeds to scream his little lungs out. We try to bring him in the bed with us, try giving him a bottle, promised him a pony...nothing. It went on for about a half hour, until Gracie finally whimpers from her cot, eyes still closed "Mama, he's never gonna stop!" I hear ya, sister. Don't worry..Gracie's aunties took mercy on her poor little soul and let her sleep with them.
Aside from some minor bumps in the road, my kids had the time of their lives! They were true little beach bums and I cried crossing the bridge back to Boston.
4.) I realized that there is nothing better than dirty, tired kids at the end of of a long summer day. It just means they had a great day. Diapers full of sand, muddy feet, chlorine streaked hair - bring it all on! Feed them, give them baths and everyone is asleep by 7pm.
5.) Grace also earned herself a new nickname this summer. She is now Dr. Doolittle around these parts. That girl freaking loves her an animal. Or insect. She won't discriminate. She made friends with some ants that took over my kitchen. I found her crouched down on the floor whispering to the ants "Oh, hi little fellas. You know you're not supposed to be in here. You belong outside, sillies!" We spent many an hour at the zoo or stalking neighborhood animals (because you bet your ass there is not an animal joining the chaos in this house. Hell to the no!).
6.) Popsicles solve all the world's problems...this is a fact.
7.) Something miraculous also happened this summer. Grace started to actually LIKE Patrick. She, like, PLAYS with him. Without me begging her. She actually seeks him out. You have no idea how much easier this makes my life. To hear them giggling together, see them playing and loving each other is literally my reason for exisiting.
And now...summer is coming to an end. The days are shorter, the nights are chillier. I am pretty sure I still have post traumatic stress from our last winter. It was like living in a goddamn snow globe. So for now I am hanging on to these last few weeks where I am not a prisoner in my home and can soak up just a little more sun with my kiddos. Our days are getting busier and we are all getting back to routine. But, alas, the summer cannot last forever.
There you have it! Bunker Summer 2011 - the highlights!
I know, I know...no posts for a while. But honestly, I was off having one of the best summers I can remember in a long time. I think that maybe I was just so happy to not be pregnant or recovering from a C-section this summer, that frankly, my standards were pretty low. But, nontheless, it was a fantastic summer filled with long sunny days by the pool, a few lazy weeks at the beach, fresh dinners hot off the grill with icy cold margaritas to wash it down (remember, I was pregnant last summer. I was due for a few beverages by the pool this summer). Here are few highlights from Bunker Summer 2011:
1.) OK...let's get the negative stuff out of the way first. So as I have said before, my little Patrick can have, how do you say... a tough personality (see previous blog "Our First Family Vacation"). Well, his little quirks became glaringly obvious this summer. So this may not be a popular statement, but Patrick has earned himself a nickname as of late. Since some days he is an absolute terrorist, we call him Osama. I didn't say it was tasteful, but you sure do get the idea don't you? There are some days that kid gets into everything humanly possible. He actually emptied out a cabinet, threw a box of Cheerios on the floor making a nice crunchy carpet in my kitchen and crawled INTO the cabinet, giggling all the while. Other days he literally crawls around the house holding onto my leg and crying. For what, you ask? Is he hungry, is he tired, does he want me to play with him? No, mostly he just wants me to pick him up so he can slap me and squirm out of my arms. So, yes sometimes I call him Osama. One morning I am pretty certain I am going to walk into his room to find him crouched in front of a video camera, holding a severed Barbie head, addressing his followers as to how to make their mother's twitch, punctuated with screams of "PRAISE ELMO!" Now most days, we sign a peace treaty and all is right in Dedham. But you can never let your guard down.
2.) There was a brief period in early summer where, unfortunately, my car air conditioning broke. Now you all know I already consider my car a torture chamber on wheels. Add 110 degree stagnant air to the incessant talking, whining, screaming, and requests for food from the back seat and I was pretty sure I found a new interrogation method for the government.
3.) So our Cape vacation was a success! I know you all were a little nervous after our mini vacation in the spring. But it was fun and relaxing and we made some awesome memories. My secret weapon ("the troops" aka Nana, Papa, Nana B., Grampa and all the aunties and uncles) made the vacation possible. Do you really need 25 people to take care of two kids? Yes...yes you do.
OK, guys...funny story...so the first night there all four of us were in the same bedroom (me, Pat, Grace and Patrick). We had Grace on a cot, P man in the Pack and Play, and Pat and I in the bed. So, you can see where this is going, right? Inevitably, Patrick wakes up, realizes we are all in the room and proceeds to scream his little lungs out. We try to bring him in the bed with us, try giving him a bottle, promised him a pony...nothing. It went on for about a half hour, until Gracie finally whimpers from her cot, eyes still closed "Mama, he's never gonna stop!" I hear ya, sister. Don't worry..Gracie's aunties took mercy on her poor little soul and let her sleep with them.
Aside from some minor bumps in the road, my kids had the time of their lives! They were true little beach bums and I cried crossing the bridge back to Boston.
4.) I realized that there is nothing better than dirty, tired kids at the end of of a long summer day. It just means they had a great day. Diapers full of sand, muddy feet, chlorine streaked hair - bring it all on! Feed them, give them baths and everyone is asleep by 7pm.
5.) Grace also earned herself a new nickname this summer. She is now Dr. Doolittle around these parts. That girl freaking loves her an animal. Or insect. She won't discriminate. She made friends with some ants that took over my kitchen. I found her crouched down on the floor whispering to the ants "Oh, hi little fellas. You know you're not supposed to be in here. You belong outside, sillies!" We spent many an hour at the zoo or stalking neighborhood animals (because you bet your ass there is not an animal joining the chaos in this house. Hell to the no!).
6.) Popsicles solve all the world's problems...this is a fact.
7.) Something miraculous also happened this summer. Grace started to actually LIKE Patrick. She, like, PLAYS with him. Without me begging her. She actually seeks him out. You have no idea how much easier this makes my life. To hear them giggling together, see them playing and loving each other is literally my reason for exisiting.
And now...summer is coming to an end. The days are shorter, the nights are chillier. I am pretty sure I still have post traumatic stress from our last winter. It was like living in a goddamn snow globe. So for now I am hanging on to these last few weeks where I am not a prisoner in my home and can soak up just a little more sun with my kiddos. Our days are getting busier and we are all getting back to routine. But, alas, the summer cannot last forever.
There you have it! Bunker Summer 2011 - the highlights!
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Our First Family Vacation
So last week, Pat had to take a business trip to the Cape. He convinced me it would be super fun to bring the kids down and treat it as a "mini vacation".
Mommy lesson #8 - There is no such thing as a "vacation" with kids. The two just can't coexist. Well, not without two or three live in nannies and an excessive amount of alcohol.
So I decide to be a good mama, and give this whole vacation thing a try. Even though my sensible, logical side SCREAMED out in rebellion as I spent SIX hours packing for only two nights. But the side of me that wants to be supermom, and give my kids beautiful memories of a fun-filled childhood won. And I totally blame her for the chaos that ensued.
I woke up early that morning, ran down my lists of things that needed to come with us - bottles, formula, toys, clothes, snacks, medicines in case of emergency, the Pack and Play, extra blankets, cell phone chargers, pacifiers, lovey blankets, valium for mommy...etc. etc. etc. I fed kids, packed the car, packed said kids in the car and took off for our family vaca.
Much to my delight, the kidlets passed out in the car. I actually rode most of the way in silence. This was a wonderful beginning to my vacation. I could totally deal with this. After about an hour and a half and an extra large ice coffee later, I had pulled off the highway and was en route to our hotel. And then it happened....
Holy shit...I had to pee. It was the worst I had ever had to pee in my entire life. It hit me like a ton of bricks. I was sweating, about to pee my pants and I was driving frickin' back country roads. There wasn't a gas station, not a restaurant, nothing! Even if I did find somewhere to pull over...the kids were sleeping. And if I woke them up, they would be crying. Then I would have to drive another 30 minutes with screaming kids. And quite frankly, even if I did find a public restroom, the pee situation was so severe, I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to get the kids out of their carseats fast enough before I peed my pants. But I did have a travel potty....
Do I really have to spell it out for you people??!?! Yes, I peed in my daughter's travel potty while pulled over on the side of the road. No big deal! And, no, I am not ashamed. It's called improvising, people. And I was relieved (physically and emotionally) and rode the rest of the way with sleeping kids.
Anyway...after another half hour or so, and with kids who are now awake, hungry and crying, I pulled up to our hotel. Actually, I pulled up to our COUNTRY CLUB!!! A country club?!?!?! This can't be right. That stupid navigation system must have malfunctioned. Did I seriously just pull up to a ritzy country club in a ten year old car filled with McDonalds wrappers, dirty diapers and two babies? A man came up to the car, and said "Welcome, ma'am. I'm Eddie and I'll be taking care of you today. May I take your bags and valet your car?" as he peers into the backseat at my mountain of bags and screaming demon children.
"Oh, Eddie...do yourself a favor and just run."
The very nice people at this country club showed us to our room and that is when Patrick lost his mind. My poor baby just didn't know what to do with himself. If I took anything away from this trip, it was a fresh new insight into the personality of Patrick. Apparently, P man doesn't dig new places. He actually just crawled around the room wailing and looking downright pissed. The crying and whining got so bad that Grace was actually crawling around on the floor and preteding to cry. She totally mocked him.
While Patrick was busy being a terrorist, Grace actually had a really good time. She loved the hotel, the beach and all the new adventures we had. So that made me feel like I did something right. She is at the perfect age for travel and Patrick is at the worst. Ah well...such is life.
Anyway, the next three days are a little bit of a blur. There were 4:45am wake up calls from Patrick, an attempt at the beach (which ended with a very sandy and unhappy Patrick), some restaurant visits that I'd rather not talk about, some whining and tears (from me this time) and finally me packing up the kids a day early and throwing in the towel. I had had enough.
Now go ahead and ask me what my plans are for July...
a vacation down the Cape...for two weeks. Yes, seriously. But this time I am bringing reinforcements. Pat and I can't go it alone. I am bringing the troops, aka aunties and uncles :-)
Mommy lesson #8 - There is no such thing as a "vacation" with kids. The two just can't coexist. Well, not without two or three live in nannies and an excessive amount of alcohol.
So I decide to be a good mama, and give this whole vacation thing a try. Even though my sensible, logical side SCREAMED out in rebellion as I spent SIX hours packing for only two nights. But the side of me that wants to be supermom, and give my kids beautiful memories of a fun-filled childhood won. And I totally blame her for the chaos that ensued.
I woke up early that morning, ran down my lists of things that needed to come with us - bottles, formula, toys, clothes, snacks, medicines in case of emergency, the Pack and Play, extra blankets, cell phone chargers, pacifiers, lovey blankets, valium for mommy...etc. etc. etc. I fed kids, packed the car, packed said kids in the car and took off for our family vaca.
Much to my delight, the kidlets passed out in the car. I actually rode most of the way in silence. This was a wonderful beginning to my vacation. I could totally deal with this. After about an hour and a half and an extra large ice coffee later, I had pulled off the highway and was en route to our hotel. And then it happened....
Holy shit...I had to pee. It was the worst I had ever had to pee in my entire life. It hit me like a ton of bricks. I was sweating, about to pee my pants and I was driving frickin' back country roads. There wasn't a gas station, not a restaurant, nothing! Even if I did find somewhere to pull over...the kids were sleeping. And if I woke them up, they would be crying. Then I would have to drive another 30 minutes with screaming kids. And quite frankly, even if I did find a public restroom, the pee situation was so severe, I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to get the kids out of their carseats fast enough before I peed my pants. But I did have a travel potty....
Do I really have to spell it out for you people??!?! Yes, I peed in my daughter's travel potty while pulled over on the side of the road. No big deal! And, no, I am not ashamed. It's called improvising, people. And I was relieved (physically and emotionally) and rode the rest of the way with sleeping kids.
Anyway...after another half hour or so, and with kids who are now awake, hungry and crying, I pulled up to our hotel. Actually, I pulled up to our COUNTRY CLUB!!! A country club?!?!?! This can't be right. That stupid navigation system must have malfunctioned. Did I seriously just pull up to a ritzy country club in a ten year old car filled with McDonalds wrappers, dirty diapers and two babies? A man came up to the car, and said "Welcome, ma'am. I'm Eddie and I'll be taking care of you today. May I take your bags and valet your car?" as he peers into the backseat at my mountain of bags and screaming demon children.
"Oh, Eddie...do yourself a favor and just run."
The very nice people at this country club showed us to our room and that is when Patrick lost his mind. My poor baby just didn't know what to do with himself. If I took anything away from this trip, it was a fresh new insight into the personality of Patrick. Apparently, P man doesn't dig new places. He actually just crawled around the room wailing and looking downright pissed. The crying and whining got so bad that Grace was actually crawling around on the floor and preteding to cry. She totally mocked him.
While Patrick was busy being a terrorist, Grace actually had a really good time. She loved the hotel, the beach and all the new adventures we had. So that made me feel like I did something right. She is at the perfect age for travel and Patrick is at the worst. Ah well...such is life.
Anyway, the next three days are a little bit of a blur. There were 4:45am wake up calls from Patrick, an attempt at the beach (which ended with a very sandy and unhappy Patrick), some restaurant visits that I'd rather not talk about, some whining and tears (from me this time) and finally me packing up the kids a day early and throwing in the towel. I had had enough.
Now go ahead and ask me what my plans are for July...
a vacation down the Cape...for two weeks. Yes, seriously. But this time I am bringing reinforcements. Pat and I can't go it alone. I am bringing the troops, aka aunties and uncles :-)
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Dear God, how did I survive that week??
Last week was one of the hardest I have faced as a mommy to date. Let me just make this one point perfectly clear..there is nothing more distressing, more heart-breaking than staring into the face of your sick baby. I count my lucky stars that the sickness that plagued the Bunker house was treatable and manageable. It always makes me think of those poor parents whose babies may not be alright after a quick course of antibiotics, or a little Tylenol. Dear God...I cannot even imagine.
Let me also admit, I don't handle it well when my kids are sick. Yes I know I am a nurse. I have medical training. I take care of patients. But those patients aren't my kids. There is a little part of me that (irrationally) panics whenever my kids are sick. I think it is the overwhelming desire to take their pain away. I would take on every illness they will ever encounter just to spare them the common cold...
I didn't say it was logical! Just another of my neurotic attributes I suppose.
Alright...so let me fill you in on this fun filled week we had here in our house.
I had worked a double shift on Sunday (7am-11pm). Towards the end of said shift I was starting to feel a little crappy. Sore throat, achy.
"Shit...I am getting sick!" was all I could think. It totally sucks being sick when you are a mom. There are no such thing as sick days. Those kids could give a shit that you feel like you got hit by a truck..they want their goddamn waffles...and make it snappy, woman! But you know what is worse than feeling like shit and being a mother?
Feeling like shit and simultaneously having KIDS that feel like shit. Because let's face it: your well being doesn't matter that much on a GOOD day. But on a sick day...pffft
So I drag my sorry ass home after my sixteen hour shift and crawl into my bed. Only to be awoken in the wee hours of the morning by a feverish little P man. I give him some Tylenol, feed him a bottle, rock him until we both fall asleep in the rocking chair.
The next morning, he is still slightly feverish, but the Tylenol seems to be keeping him comfortable. I make a pediatrician appointment for later in the day and we all hang out in our pajamas all day. Not too bad.
I bring my little man into the pediatrician's office and we proceed to see the only pedaitrician in the entire practice that I can't stand!!! They were running on holiday hours, so you get what you get (and you don't get upset...as I tell Grace). She looks in his ears..."Oh there is some fluid, but no infection." She looks in his throat..."It's red, but highly unlikely to be strep". She looks at his poor little crusty eyes..."I think it is just allergies". Then Dr. Dumbass proceeds to send us on our merry way with the brilliant diagnosis of "VIRUS".
We go home, get back into our pajamas and hunker down. Patrick and Grace go to bed. I head out to Target to buy Easter basket stuff...because you know what is a barrel of laughs? Going to Target on very little sleep, feeling like ass and fighting crowds at 10 o'clock at night after taking care of sick kids all day. I was still wandering through aisles at closing. They turned the lights off on me. I remember when I used to close down bars and they turned the lights ON to tell you to hit the road. Let me assure you, both are equally upsetting. Happy frickin' Easter.
I get home. I decide I want to check on Patrick before going to sleep. I walk into his dark room, he is snoring like a little bulldog. I put my hand on his little face. He is absolutely burning!!! I pick him up. He is bright red, with eyes crusted shut and looks like a wet noodle. I take his temperature...104.5. ONE HUNDRED AND FOUR POINT FIVE. Every rational nurse thought that I had once had in my head went flying out and I turned into a hysterical mother. I page Dr. Dumbass who proceeds to be (surprise, surprise) useless. I strip him down to his diaper, give him medicine, a cold bottle and held my poor sick baby. We, again, fell asleep in the rocking chair and I knew he was safe.
I must have made it back to my bed at some point that night. It is all a little hazy. But the next morning I awoke to Gracie gently tapping me and saying "Mama, my eyes feel funny". Nothing like a raging case of pink eye to start your morning. What's that you say, Dr. Dumbass? Allergies, huh? I ought to sneak into your house and have my kids rub their faces all over your pillow. What? It's just allergies, so it can't be contagious.
Stupid.
Anyway, after the night from hell and a full day of ridiculously high fevers, we are back in the pediatricians office. Thankfully, we did NOT see Dr. Dumbass, but a lovely doctor who apparently actually passed medical school and could easily diagnose in a mere 2 minutes what was a very obvious double ear infection ("raging" was the way he described it, I believe) and pink eye (for both kids). We walked out with drugs and lollipops and stickers. I was now armed against the plague.
So we headed back to our petri dish to do some more marinating and begin the healing process. And then I had a little bit of a psychotic break...
So I sent the hubster out to pick up the kids drugs. Amoxicillin for P and eye drops for both. It takes FOREVER (or in my head what seems like forever as I am carrying around a very sick and miserable boy who is waiting for his meds so he can just go to bed and sleep this all off). I am up in Patrick's room, rocking him in the rocking chair. Pat comes back from CVS, hands me the bags of drugs. I open them...there are only eye drops. Where are the antibiotics...where are the %@#ing DRUGS???
You guys...I spazz out. I basically throw the baby at my mother (who was there to help...poor thing). Throw on sneakers and walk out of the house, braless, in a t-shirt and puke stained sweat pants. I raced to the pharmacy and I was out for blood. I cut the line. I so totally had crazy eyes and I am pretty sure they pushed a panic button or something. "MY HUSBAND WAS JUST HERE AND YOU DIDN'T GIVE US WHAT WE NEEDED AND MY BABY IS SICK AND..."
And then a petite little pharmacist in a feeble voice says "Ma'am...your husband is on the phone."
In my rage I had forgotten my cell phone. My husband called the pharmacy to get in touch with me. I can only imagine how the opening of that conversation went. "Hello. I am looking for my wife...yes, that crazy screaming woman who is threatening violence over Amoxicillin." Through the receiver I hear "Jill, the medicine is here in a separate bag in the counter". I close my eyes, hand the girl the phone, and slink out of CVS.
Yeah. Not a shining moment.
Anyway, the fever raged on for another 12 hours or so (we actually hit 105.4). But when we woke up that next morning, everyone seemed to be on the upswing. I finally took my own self to the doctors. While listening to my lungs, she asks "what took you so long to get yourself here?"
Because I am a mother...I don't have time to be sick.
Let me also admit, I don't handle it well when my kids are sick. Yes I know I am a nurse. I have medical training. I take care of patients. But those patients aren't my kids. There is a little part of me that (irrationally) panics whenever my kids are sick. I think it is the overwhelming desire to take their pain away. I would take on every illness they will ever encounter just to spare them the common cold...
I didn't say it was logical! Just another of my neurotic attributes I suppose.
Alright...so let me fill you in on this fun filled week we had here in our house.
I had worked a double shift on Sunday (7am-11pm). Towards the end of said shift I was starting to feel a little crappy. Sore throat, achy.
"Shit...I am getting sick!" was all I could think. It totally sucks being sick when you are a mom. There are no such thing as sick days. Those kids could give a shit that you feel like you got hit by a truck..they want their goddamn waffles...and make it snappy, woman! But you know what is worse than feeling like shit and being a mother?
Feeling like shit and simultaneously having KIDS that feel like shit. Because let's face it: your well being doesn't matter that much on a GOOD day. But on a sick day...pffft
So I drag my sorry ass home after my sixteen hour shift and crawl into my bed. Only to be awoken in the wee hours of the morning by a feverish little P man. I give him some Tylenol, feed him a bottle, rock him until we both fall asleep in the rocking chair.
The next morning, he is still slightly feverish, but the Tylenol seems to be keeping him comfortable. I make a pediatrician appointment for later in the day and we all hang out in our pajamas all day. Not too bad.
I bring my little man into the pediatrician's office and we proceed to see the only pedaitrician in the entire practice that I can't stand!!! They were running on holiday hours, so you get what you get (and you don't get upset...as I tell Grace). She looks in his ears..."Oh there is some fluid, but no infection." She looks in his throat..."It's red, but highly unlikely to be strep". She looks at his poor little crusty eyes..."I think it is just allergies". Then Dr. Dumbass proceeds to send us on our merry way with the brilliant diagnosis of "VIRUS".
We go home, get back into our pajamas and hunker down. Patrick and Grace go to bed. I head out to Target to buy Easter basket stuff...because you know what is a barrel of laughs? Going to Target on very little sleep, feeling like ass and fighting crowds at 10 o'clock at night after taking care of sick kids all day. I was still wandering through aisles at closing. They turned the lights off on me. I remember when I used to close down bars and they turned the lights ON to tell you to hit the road. Let me assure you, both are equally upsetting. Happy frickin' Easter.
I get home. I decide I want to check on Patrick before going to sleep. I walk into his dark room, he is snoring like a little bulldog. I put my hand on his little face. He is absolutely burning!!! I pick him up. He is bright red, with eyes crusted shut and looks like a wet noodle. I take his temperature...104.5. ONE HUNDRED AND FOUR POINT FIVE. Every rational nurse thought that I had once had in my head went flying out and I turned into a hysterical mother. I page Dr. Dumbass who proceeds to be (surprise, surprise) useless. I strip him down to his diaper, give him medicine, a cold bottle and held my poor sick baby. We, again, fell asleep in the rocking chair and I knew he was safe.
I must have made it back to my bed at some point that night. It is all a little hazy. But the next morning I awoke to Gracie gently tapping me and saying "Mama, my eyes feel funny". Nothing like a raging case of pink eye to start your morning. What's that you say, Dr. Dumbass? Allergies, huh? I ought to sneak into your house and have my kids rub their faces all over your pillow. What? It's just allergies, so it can't be contagious.
Stupid.
Anyway, after the night from hell and a full day of ridiculously high fevers, we are back in the pediatricians office. Thankfully, we did NOT see Dr. Dumbass, but a lovely doctor who apparently actually passed medical school and could easily diagnose in a mere 2 minutes what was a very obvious double ear infection ("raging" was the way he described it, I believe) and pink eye (for both kids). We walked out with drugs and lollipops and stickers. I was now armed against the plague.
So we headed back to our petri dish to do some more marinating and begin the healing process. And then I had a little bit of a psychotic break...
So I sent the hubster out to pick up the kids drugs. Amoxicillin for P and eye drops for both. It takes FOREVER (or in my head what seems like forever as I am carrying around a very sick and miserable boy who is waiting for his meds so he can just go to bed and sleep this all off). I am up in Patrick's room, rocking him in the rocking chair. Pat comes back from CVS, hands me the bags of drugs. I open them...there are only eye drops. Where are the antibiotics...where are the %@#ing DRUGS???
You guys...I spazz out. I basically throw the baby at my mother (who was there to help...poor thing). Throw on sneakers and walk out of the house, braless, in a t-shirt and puke stained sweat pants. I raced to the pharmacy and I was out for blood. I cut the line. I so totally had crazy eyes and I am pretty sure they pushed a panic button or something. "MY HUSBAND WAS JUST HERE AND YOU DIDN'T GIVE US WHAT WE NEEDED AND MY BABY IS SICK AND..."
And then a petite little pharmacist in a feeble voice says "Ma'am...your husband is on the phone."
In my rage I had forgotten my cell phone. My husband called the pharmacy to get in touch with me. I can only imagine how the opening of that conversation went. "Hello. I am looking for my wife...yes, that crazy screaming woman who is threatening violence over Amoxicillin." Through the receiver I hear "Jill, the medicine is here in a separate bag in the counter". I close my eyes, hand the girl the phone, and slink out of CVS.
Yeah. Not a shining moment.
Anyway, the fever raged on for another 12 hours or so (we actually hit 105.4). But when we woke up that next morning, everyone seemed to be on the upswing. I finally took my own self to the doctors. While listening to my lungs, she asks "what took you so long to get yourself here?"
Because I am a mother...I don't have time to be sick.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Monday, April 11, 2011
True Confessions
I realize it has been a while since I have thrown some of my mommy ideas out there. Well, for those of us here in the Northeast, it was a brutal winter. Frankly, I think my brain is just now thawing out and I am actually able to have cohesive thoughts. We were literally buried in 10 feet of snow, with blistering cold weather. I had an active toddler and a clingy baby. Let's just say we did a lot of movie watching. I think my brain is permanently damaged from the amount of Wiggles I was forced to watch. And I will start twitching at the opening notes of "Fruit Salad...yummy yummy".
In better news, we have had a few 60 degree days, the sun is out, the snow is gone and my winter fog is clearing. Being able to get outside and breath some fresh air has done wonders for my outlook on life. So, onto the blogging.
As Spring arrives, I feel the need to do a little mental spring cleaning. A little spiritual purging, if you will. I am ready to get some stuff off my chest and share it with all of you. Here are some Mommy Confessions from me to you...
1. My kids watch TV...I won't go into specifics about how much TV, but it is a decent amount. In fact, now that Grace has given up her afternoon nap, I actually encourage TV watching in the afternoon for a break.
2. Grace eats sugar. Candy and ice cream and cookies. She is a lollipop addict. Oh...and she eats McDonalds...probably once a week. Sometimes she eats McDonalds, immediately followed by candy and all while sitting in front of the TV.
3. I do things with Patrick that I would never have even dreamed of doing with Grace. Case in point - I let him sleep on his belly as an infant. Come on...he freakin' loved it! It was a move of sheer deperation one night. After listening to him scream every time I lay him in his crib, I finally flipped him on his belly, rubbed his back and we all slept like babies. I also propped his bottle on pillows/blankets or whatever else I deemed appopriate when he was in his car seat to keep him quiet. Because of this he learned to hold his bottle for himself at 6 months. Poor guy realized at an early age he was going to have to just do some things for himself.
4. I feel as though I don't read to Patrick enough. I try to make the effort. Really, I do. But usually, me trying to read to him, turns into him clawing at and chewing on the book, and, frankly, I just don't have the time.
5. I love Grace. I love that she is so smart and well spoken. But sometimes I just want to look at her and politely ask her to SHUT THE *#$% UP!!!! I didn't realize it was possible for a human being to speak so much. She talks from the minute she wakes up to the minute she falls asleep. And she basically begins every sentence with "Mama..." Have you any idea how many times I hear the word "Mama" on a daily basis??? Let me break it down for you. Last week on our way to the mall, I counted how many times she said the word "Mama" in the car. It was 29 times. 29. And that was in a 20 minute car ride. You do the math.
6. I am very lucky that my job allows me the flexibility to be home with my kids and take care of them. And I do love being with them. But there are some days I literally skip out the door to work. My twelve hour shift, on my feet, taking care of people is a welcome BREAK.
7. I hate playing make believe. More specifically, I hate playing Barbies (which just happens to bne Grace's favorite game). I fantasize about burning those goddamn Barbie dolls.
8. As hectic as my life is, and as much as having kids is really hard work, I still feel like I want more babies (eventually).
So there you have it.
Now accepting nominations for Mother of the Year.
In better news, we have had a few 60 degree days, the sun is out, the snow is gone and my winter fog is clearing. Being able to get outside and breath some fresh air has done wonders for my outlook on life. So, onto the blogging.
As Spring arrives, I feel the need to do a little mental spring cleaning. A little spiritual purging, if you will. I am ready to get some stuff off my chest and share it with all of you. Here are some Mommy Confessions from me to you...
1. My kids watch TV...I won't go into specifics about how much TV, but it is a decent amount. In fact, now that Grace has given up her afternoon nap, I actually encourage TV watching in the afternoon for a break.
2. Grace eats sugar. Candy and ice cream and cookies. She is a lollipop addict. Oh...and she eats McDonalds...probably once a week. Sometimes she eats McDonalds, immediately followed by candy and all while sitting in front of the TV.
3. I do things with Patrick that I would never have even dreamed of doing with Grace. Case in point - I let him sleep on his belly as an infant. Come on...he freakin' loved it! It was a move of sheer deperation one night. After listening to him scream every time I lay him in his crib, I finally flipped him on his belly, rubbed his back and we all slept like babies. I also propped his bottle on pillows/blankets or whatever else I deemed appopriate when he was in his car seat to keep him quiet. Because of this he learned to hold his bottle for himself at 6 months. Poor guy realized at an early age he was going to have to just do some things for himself.
4. I feel as though I don't read to Patrick enough. I try to make the effort. Really, I do. But usually, me trying to read to him, turns into him clawing at and chewing on the book, and, frankly, I just don't have the time.
5. I love Grace. I love that she is so smart and well spoken. But sometimes I just want to look at her and politely ask her to SHUT THE *#$% UP!!!! I didn't realize it was possible for a human being to speak so much. She talks from the minute she wakes up to the minute she falls asleep. And she basically begins every sentence with "Mama..." Have you any idea how many times I hear the word "Mama" on a daily basis??? Let me break it down for you. Last week on our way to the mall, I counted how many times she said the word "Mama" in the car. It was 29 times. 29. And that was in a 20 minute car ride. You do the math.
6. I am very lucky that my job allows me the flexibility to be home with my kids and take care of them. And I do love being with them. But there are some days I literally skip out the door to work. My twelve hour shift, on my feet, taking care of people is a welcome BREAK.
7. I hate playing make believe. More specifically, I hate playing Barbies (which just happens to bne Grace's favorite game). I fantasize about burning those goddamn Barbie dolls.
8. As hectic as my life is, and as much as having kids is really hard work, I still feel like I want more babies (eventually).
So there you have it.
Now accepting nominations for Mother of the Year.
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