Mother’s Day Weekend with a Trip to the ER
I don’t really know how to describe this last weekend. Roller Coaster is, frankly, an injustice. It was much more than that. Mother’s Day was amazing. Full of family, good food and lots of laughter and play with the kids. I got a beautiful basket of flowers (that I really hope I remember to water!) and most importantly lots of hugs and kisses from my Ava.
The day before Mother’s Day? Day. From. Hell. No hyperbole. I’ve been through some truly awful things in my life. Nothing, and I mean nothing compared to this.
I don’t know how else to tell you except to start at the beginning. I hope that writing this all out, will somehow help me put it behind me. At least, start to. The day started off great. Ava and I spent a couple hours in the kitchen. We baked a cake and prepped pasta salad for dinner that night and the next. (our job was to bring the pasta for the Mother’s Day dinner). We were looking forward to her best friend Ella, and her mom, Shiela, a dear friend of mine coming over that afternoon. We planned a trip to the park and then back to our place for burgers on the grill.
Mid morning we set off to hit up a couple of thrift stores and then have lunch. Ava wanted to go to Dairy Queen, and since it was a pretty warm day, I had no problem agreeing. We ordered our food and sat down to wait. After a minute or so, Ava announced she needed to use the bathroom. So I took her back, and here’s where the fun started. She sat down and immediately began crying that she hurt and couldn’t go potty. She said it burned and hurt really bad. Ok. I immediately suspect a UTI. Problem? It’s Saturday afternoon. No Urgent Care places open. Next stop? ER. Can’t let this go until Monday.
We got checked in and had a pretty short wait considering how many people were there. I explained what was going on to the triage nurse, the next nurse and then the doctor. As I expected they wanted a urine sample. And that my friends is where the ship went off the rails. She tried. Bless her little heart she tried so much, but she couldn’t go. Even after a cup of cranberry juice. The doctor was insistent about getting something. (Please note here that after attempt one, she got a couple of drops out, and we were told, nope, not enough). So in comes two nurses and catheter. Ever had one of those put in? I don’t recommend it. Much less on a not quite four year old.
I had to hold her hands and hold her still while they tried. Three times. After try three, I drew the line. STOP. You’re done hurting my child. I have to write it out here. She screamed at the absolute top of her lungs. Her face and head was beet red. Her whole body shook with pain. And not only was I not stopping them, I was holding her down while they did it.
I know it had to be done. I know they had to try. I know she had to be seen to get meds so that we could kill the infection. I KNOW this. But I cannot get those images of her screaming in pain out of my head.
I still haven’t really let myself have “breakdown” over it. I’m afraid to. I’m afraid I’ll start crying and never stop.
At this point the doctor came back in and said she couldn’t diagnose her without something. I told her right then and there they weren’t laying another hand on my daughter. She looked at the “sample” Ava was able to squeeze out earlier and said that was enough to culture at least. At that point I wanted to slap the shit out of pretty much every person there. They really didn’t need to put Ava through that. Other than being money hungry, test running jackasses.
See I know a thing or two about UTIs. I also know that almost always a broad spectrum antibiotic will take them out. I also know that getting a successful result on a culture is only about 50%.
The doctor left and a nurse came back in asking if we needed anything. I said other than a prescription and our discharge papers, no we didn’t. About 15 minutes later we got both of those.
By that time my ex had arrived and we all went back to Dairy Queen and had an actual meal. Then we went to Walmart to fill the prescription and, as I put it, buy the poor kid any damn thing she wanted.
And what she wanted, as it turned out was this: 
She’s talked about it a few times since. The nurse kept telling me “Oh, she won’t remember.” Uh no, she remembers everything. Like the house we moved out of a year ago when she wasn’t even three yet. She says she doesn’t like going to the doctor anymore. I’m worried that from now on she’ll make that association.
On the whole, she seems to have moved on. I am trying really hard to do the same. But there is no hurt in the world like your child’s hurt. I’d have taken on any amount of pain to spare her that.
So. That’s how my Mother’s Day weekend went. I really hope yours was awesome.
Kisses Fix Everything, Don’t They?
You held up your finger to me for a kiss, having gotten it caught in the zipper of your pajamas. I obliged and asked you, as always, “all better?”. You nodded yes and turned over, with your thumb in your mouth and your special Red B in hand. Eyes closed, you drifted off to sleep, tucked into the warmth and safety of my arms.
I could not sleep. I lie awake thinking of how I wish that I could always fix your worries with a simple kiss.
You’re a strange mix of baby and little girl, not really either one or the other, with a foot in both worlds. Some days you assert your independence to the fullest degree possible and others, you retreat to the safety and ease of having Mommy do it all for you.
It’s a new world we are navigating, with me having to decide when to hold on and when to let go. I feel breathless and dizzy thinking about how fast your life is traveling. Soon, too soon, you will be in preschool, surrounded by other children but without anyone with which you are familiar around you. You need this. I know you will love it. But my heart squeezes and skips a beat when I think about it. I remember how terrifying my first day of school was. But I have to keep reminding myself that you are not me.
What I do know is life throws us curve balls. Usually when we least expect it. I may not always be able to fix your problems with a simple kiss. I will always offer one, along with a shoulder to cry on, a hug, and an ear that will always be yours.
For now, I’ll continue to cherish the moments that are fixed with a kiss.
Facing Fears
Maybe you’ve heard of Operation Eleanor. If you haven’t I’ll give you the Reader’s Digest version: Do something every day for 30 days that scares you. Megan figured November would be a good month, because, hey, 30 days right?
Well, I started mine in October. What can I say, I’m a rebel.
It all started with a glance at the television. An ad for Toy Story 3 on Ice. Ava adores Toy Story. She loves Jesse and Buzz fiercely. I researched ticket prices and found that they weren’t as astronomically high as I feared. I asked some friends about taking Ava, wondering if 3 1/2-ish was too young. I got great feedback that, no, this is the perfect age.
So, I hit purchase.
Now, that is not the scary part. Nor is the fear of emptying my wallet on merchandise. (although, yeah that happened too, and I may be eating Ramen for the rest of the month)
The show was in Portland. At the Rose Garden. On the easternish side of town, which requires crossing the river. ON A BRIDGE. DANGER WILL ROBINSON, DANGER.
Because we all know that bridges are scary, scary death traps. Cars fly off of them daily and every second one collapses and people plunge into icy waters, right? No? You sure? Because that’s what my brain has been signaling to me for 38 years.
It’s not the bridge itself, really. I can do certain bridges without issue, as long as they are not too elevated, or have girders that encase the traffic as it goes across.
It’s the high ones. And Portland has a couple of doozies. Thankfully, this one was not the worst of the bunch, and frankly I’m not sure I could have done that one, even if it was for Ava. I just don’t know. I’ve always had a problem with heights, for as long as I can remember. I don’t even like standing on a chair. My palms get sweaty, my heart races, my legs and feet get tingly. My brain does some odd mixture of shutting down and screaming in blind panic. It’s not a pretty sight. My ex had to pull over on a freeway once, convinced he was going to have to slap me back to reality, ala Cher in Moonstruck.
This bridge had the added features of height, PLUS! an open airy feeling all around. Not a lot was put into vehicle-stopping devices on this sucker.
It didn’t really hit me until after I’d bought the tickets what I’d done. My brain panicked for a bit, trying to figure out a way out of it. A different route over a smaller bridge? Nope, would take too much time. When you’re in the car with a still potty training 3 year old, time is not your friend. Renting a car and driver was out, the expense alone made me never even consider that one. Nobody I could ask to drive us up there, it was too far and the show too long.
Nope, no way out of it. I had to do it. This is the thing about divorce. Before, I could have had my ex do the driving while I sat in the backseat and covered my eyes. Or hunkered down on the floor till it was over.
(yes, I actually did that once-on this bridge)
But being a single parent means that option is gone, and it’s on me to put on my big girl panties and deal.
So I did. I warned one of my best friends that I might be calling her before we crossed, just to have some distracting chatter in my head. You know, to drown out the internal shouting of “OH MY GOD WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE”.
But I didn’t need to. I stared at pictures of it for two days prior. I mentally pep talked myself. “You can do this.”
Our minds conjure up the worst imaginable and I think that is so that when the actual event occurs it’s never as bad as our imagination has led us to believe.
I memorized the number of feet. I calculated speed. I knew about how many seconds I’d have to be up there. I never looked to my left or right, I kept my eyes straight ahead.
I never panicked. I never even broke out into a sweat. I felt a rush of exhilaration when it was all over and I could not stop grinning. Ava smiled back at me in the rearview mirror, not having a clue what I was so slap happy about. I just whispered to myself ,”I did it.”
I did. I made that bridge my bitch.
What’s up next? I don’t know. Right now I’m still on a high from conquering a long held fear. Pun very much intended.
Bitch, I'm a BUS!
**Ava was enthralled with the show. It was definitely worth all the anxiety.
Highs and Lows
When you squealed with delight and yelled “Sprinkles” there was no one’s hand to squeeze.
When you sang the ABC song all the way through correctly, there was no one with whom to exchange that knowing look of bursting pride.
When you climbed into my bed all alone, without even needing a pillow to use as a stepladder there was no one to hold out a hand for me to high five.
When I watch you sleep, there are no arms holding me, sharing the same feelings of wonder and joy at this beautiful, amazing creature that we created.
There is no one to call to take over for bath time when I’m exhausted and my back hurts.
There is no one to ask to take over helping you through your morning routine so that I can take a shower uninterrupted.
There is no one backing me up when I have to put you in a time out.
I can’t make quick runs to anywhere, because there is no one else at home to watch you while I do so. You go where I go.
When you squealed with delight at sprinkles I alone made that possible for you.
When you sang the ABC song, I got a private concert that was meant for my ears only.
When you climbed into my bed, I didn’t have to share your snuggles with anyone else. They were delightfully all mine.
When I watch you sleep, curled up in my arms, I drink in every moment of it, so glad that I get to hold you sometimes while you are sleeping.
I never miss an opportunity to make a funny face or tickle your armpits in the bathtub.
I get to make your breakfast each morning, and know that I am giving you a healthy start to your day.
No one is questioning my decision in why you needed that time out.
I have an amazing shopping buddy, who is awesome company. You go where I go.
Fridays are cyclical contradictions. Highs and lows. Last night I resisted the urge to run into your room and scoop you up in my arms. Instead I turned the volume on the baby monitor up a bit, and listened to your soft breath as it made your chest rise and fall, imagining in my mind that movement and your sweet face as you slept.
Terror. Loneliness. Joy. Fulfillment. Sadness. Emptiness. Gleeful anticipation. Contentment.
One constantly follows the other.
Up.
Down.
Highs.
Lows.
Imagine
Imagine a world in which your children only were tucked into beds under your roof two weeks out of every month.
Imagine a world in which mornings did not always include a sweet sleepy face saying “Good morning Mommy”.
Imagine a world, in which your baby did, said and tried new things for the first time and you hear about it afterwards.
Imagine not being able to see or touch the soft hair of the person you gave birth to, because the court says it’s not your day.
Imagine walking out of a house, hearing your child screaming for you, sobbing, and having to just keep walking. Because your parenting time has ended for the week.
Imagine having to give up all your carefully laid plans on raising your girl, because now you only have control over her environment on pre-planned out days.
Imagine worrying that her parents living in two separate places and no longer functioning as a family will harm her in ways you can’t even envision yet.
Imagine you go days without physical touch of another human.
Unless you’ve been there. You cannot imagine. You cannot know the heartbreak. You cannot know the tears that are shed, the sobs that echo off walls. You cannot know the longing for the feel of her little hand tucked into mine. You cannot know the twisting of my heart as I smile for her, never letting her know my sadness.
When I say I cry, when I say I shed tears over something, don’t tell me I’m silly. Don’t trivialize my pain.
You don’t know my heart. You’ve no right to judge my heart.
Be grateful for your life. If it’s as good as you say, you don’t need to tear down my already battered emotions with your superiority.
Imagine that small words, tucked into sentences, have the power to hurt.
I hope all you ever have to do is imagine.
So that I don’t forget…
Octopus is applepus.
Binoculars is knockers.
White fluffy dandelions are blowey blows.
Mud is muuuuuud (said in a Southern drawl worthy of your heritage).
Dancing is called singing.
Singing is done in a very soft voice, very monotone.
Your favorite blanket, Red B, is a she. You cuddle and hug her while murmuring “I love you so much, Red B”.
The toy stethoscope you got for Christmas is called your “Doctor peoples”.
You like to take my temperature with your toy “mometer”.
Nothing elicits more squeals than the slide.
You like to take paper and safety scissors and play “sciss”.
In addition to juice, you also like to drink eminade.
Your favorite place to sleep is cuddled in my arms. I hate to say no, even though I do some nights, because I know one day you will not want this closeness.
Fresh or cooked spinach is a no go, but put it into spinach dip? You will devour it.
You make friends so easily, running up to children on the playground and yelling “Hi, kid!”.
You like to wink at me during dinner, something I spent months teaching you to do. It’s our special thing. To wink and smile as we enjoy our meal.
You love touch now, something you spent so long avoiding. Your hand will seek mine. Your cheek will press against mine. Your back will press against my tummy as we cuddle.
You can dress yourself from head to toe. One morning you took off your pajamas and dressed yourself as a surprise while I was in the shower. I was so very proud.
Every day, you make me proud. You’re smart, and funny and I adore every single day with you.
One day you’ll be grown and off on a life of your own. I write these things so that when that time comes, I will remember. So that I don’t forget.
Love,
Mommy
Not a step back, but maybe to the side
It’s no secret around here that I struggle with self esteem issues. I have for 38 years. I’ve made some remarkable strides in dealing with those. Life’s circumstances have me facing the world on my own, and a new-found self confidence has been emerging.
However, it’s fragile. Tentative. Which almost seems like an oxymoron, but that’s what happens when you feel inadequate and just LESS than for your entire life. Changes don’t happen overnight and for someone who struggled for so long, it’s not hard to experience something that will knock me back a step.
I’ve been learning how to accept help. I’ve been learning how to take a compliment gracefully. I’ve been learning that who I am is ok, even great at times, and lousy at others. I’ve learned that it’s ok to fail, and to not try to appear perfect.
Today I feel like I just took a leap backward.
A simple comment on a Facebook post. The implication that my daughter’s father is her primary caregiver. The implication that the child doesn’t even HAVE a mother. I wanted to yell, scream and shout at this woman. “SHE HAS A MOTHER! AN INVOLVED MOTHER! A mother who sings her baby girl to sleep every night. A mother who takes her on shopping trips and to the playground. A mother who worries over her, watches her play. A mother who helps her learn things and then stands back to watch her attempt them on her own. A mother who prepares her meals and gives her her allergy meds every morning.
I know it’s not this woman’s fault. Somehow, it’s what she was led to believe.
I don’t have to justify myself to her. Or to anyone. I know what kind of mother I am. I’m a really good mother.
As usual, I have my friends to thank for helping me put it all into perspective. I love that they will tell me when I’m freaking out over nothing.
Thank you for reminding me that what anyone else thinks does not matter.
Little Glass Houses
We all live in a glass house of some sort. There is always something about each and every one of us that we wouldn’t want to be judged upon.
I’ve written before about this. Why do women judge each other? We judge based on weight, eye color, hair color, clothing, nail polish color, and oh yes, how we raise our kids.
I don’t have any new answers to this. I’m just sick of the mom wars. Why aren’t there any dad wars? Are they simply more comfortable in their roles than we are? More confident?
The latest study by some “experts” and I use that term loosely, finds that working mothers have children who are ill more often than mothers who stay at home with their kids. They say things like ” Maternal employment imposes a burden on a mother’s time and may result in the poorer supervision or care of her children”
Wait.
Hold the phone.
Did they really just tell me that because I work, I am poorly supervising my child? So I guess all that time I spend looking at ingredient lists on boxes, cans and bags is a result of my poor supervision. Or the fact that each time Ava gets juice in stead of plain water, and I water down that juice with 75% water so as to keep a lid on her sugar intake, that’s the poor care they are talking about.
Should we talk about how she’s only had the flu once and never really had a cold? Sure she’s fallen and bonked her head or her knee. Show me a two and half year old who hasn’t, working mom or not and I’ll call you a liar.
And the fact that I make sure she gets her two vitamin chews each day, wow, I’m a real fucking slacker, aren’t I?
Their other assertion is that working moms have dirtier houses. Um. Maybe you can’t eat off my floors, but I’ll guaran-goddamn-tee you they’re not teeming cesspools of germs, either.
I know plenty of moms who don’t work who have homes that I would not dare to eat a meal in.
Let’s get this straight once and for all. It’s not whether or not we work outside the home that defines who and what we are as mothers. That boat sailed the moment a child was born. You are who you are.
My choices and the things I do for my daughter are right for her. Some nights we do fast food because we are running late. Most of the time we eat a home cooked meal, that’s relatively healthy. Some days Ava gets a cookie or some “Ms” (M & Ms). Some times she even gets a whole cup of juice, without the water to dilute it.
I am not the best mother ever. I am not the worst mother ever. I am not the mother to your children. You are not the mother to mine. I do what’s right, and what works for us. I may not be the best mother, but I am the mother my daughter needs me to be.
The “experts” can kiss my ass.
How I Got My Groove Back – The Holiday Version
Last Christmas, Ava was only 18 months old. She wasn’t really into the whole lights, presents, gorge-yourself-until-you-spew aspect of the holiday. I was only mildly disappointed in her reaction to the 80 billion Christmas lights we strung up in the house. I knew her time was coming.
Fast forward a year. Ava is now 2 1/2. Every Christmas decoration we pass makes her giggle with delight. In Target, we spend a good hunk of our time just sitting in the tree section while she gazes wondrously at all the lights and exclaiming CHRISTMAS TREE over and over for the whole store to hear. It does no good to ask her to turn her volume down a bit. She’s simply too over come with excitement.
A house on our street has their yard decorations up, complete with an inflatable Charlie Brown and Snoopy, who just happen to be one of Ava’s current obsessions. I slow down each night as we near that house so that she can get a good look. Hearing the delight in her voice? Makes my heart oh, so happy.
I decided about a week ago I was going to get Ava her very own little tree. One that was pre-lit (she adores the colors of the lights). I hit up Target on Wednesday, only to discover they were sold out. Crap. I had been imagining the joy on her little face for days and I left highly disappointed. Not to be defeated, I cruised through Wal-Mart last night. Ding, ding, ding! Winner. A tree, and 4 packs of non breakable ornaments for under $30. SCORE!
I packed it all in my car, and picked up Ava. We headed home and had dinner. I kept the tree in my car, wanting to surprise her after she ate. I knew if I brought it out before dinner, my chances of getting her to actually eat anything would be worse than my chances of winning the next Power Ball.
While she played on the floor with her cars, I sneaked out to my car and brought in the tree. I de-boxed it. (If that’s not a word, it should be) I straightened out all the branches. I grabbed the video camera with one hand, and the tree with the other and headed down the hall.
That girl simply exploded with joy. I’ve never seen her so full of happiness and excitement. We plugged it in, and I opened up all the ornaments. We spent 15 minutes with her directing where they should go. Then? An hour admiring it. And saying CHRISTMAS TREE!
This morning, it was the second thing out of her mouth. When I left for work, she was sitting beside it, getting ready to direct her father on where it should be placed next in the house.
That little girl once again reminded me of what this season is about. Family. Joy. Doing something for others. She’s my family. Making her happy is all that I need. She may not remember this Christmas. But I certainly will. Thank you, baby girl. For giving me so much joy. I hope I can always give as much back to you.
New Normal
Last night I slept alone.
It was time.
Gone are the days of turning over at night, taking comfort in knowing there is someone there beside me. Someone who would hold and protect me. Someone with whom I could share my fear after a night mare, or to talk me down during a panic attack.
Truth be told that person hasn’t existed in a long time. We’ve just been two people sharing a bed. No true connection.
As much as I would like to turn back the clock, and have a do-over, I have to keep moving forward. If I allow myself to keep looking back, it will paralyze me. I can’t allow that to happen.
I spend my evenings alone, in quiet solitude. Sometimes with the television, sometimes with my iPod or Blackberry and Twitter to keep my company. Ava goes to bed early, leaving me with several hours to fill before it is my turn to fall into slumber. This is my new normal.
Mornings are spent in silence. Sitting beside someone who is at once familiar, and yet a stranger. No words are spoken, not even good byes. The new normal.
In the weeks and months to come, there are going to be so many more changes that will usher in the beginning of a new era. Papers will be filed. Our home will be going on the market. I will begin the process of finding somewhere new to live.
I am both terrified and oddly excited at the prospect. Terrified to be doing it alone. Nobody to help me make the hard decisions. Terrified at the thought of weekends and nights without my daughter. But excited to find a place that will be mine. Excited to build a home for her, and for me, that will be warm, inviting and safe.
I hate that we are about to turn her world upside down. Not just one new place, but two. The days of having both her parents under the same roof, giving her reassurance when she is anxious or frightened, gone. I don’t want her to have to come to terms with a new normal. Life as she knows it is all about to change.
God, don’t let us fuck it up.
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