Not Always Sunshine and Roses
I really need to go to bed; it’s late, and I’m getting the hubby pull of, “Are you coming to bed?” I don’t blame him. I always hate to be the first one in bed; I like knowing that we both are snuggly folded under the covers and that I’m not going to be awakened by a later bed intrusion. But I’m also feeling the pull of writing something to post. I went postless yesterday, since Sundays are my self-prescribed day off, a day I’m hoping to let be His alone, with my mouth sealed tightly shut while I try to glean from anything He might want to say to me; this hasn’t yet trickled into my Sunday conversations or the rest of my life dealings, but maybe if I start somewhere…
So now is the only time I’ve had to sit down and write a bit. I’ve had two very sick, very tired, and thus very grumpy children to take care of all day, and when I wasn’t doing that, I was editing a transcript for my court-reporting mother, who I’m paranoid will read this and be thinking in the middle of the post, “Now, why isn’t she working on my transcript?” Yet despite the paranoia, I write on. I figure I can spit something out in 10 minutes here before I go hit the hay, and therefore keep the both of us happy, my harassing writer voice and my taskmaster mama.
Unfortunately, the only newsworthy item I have to offer is my two-year-old’s bout with diarrhea. There is nothing that will prepare you for this terrifying occurrence in your child’s life (and I use the word terrifying because your first instinct as the parent in this situation is to run far, far away). I remember when Abby had her first episode of it. She was about Esther’s age now, and I was also pregnant at the time, and not just pregnant….overly pregnant, like now. The most vivid part of that event was taking Lysol and a damp rag to the contaminated hallway carpet on my hands and knees while bawling on the phone to my grandma about how my world was crumbling down around me. Of course, I was also sick with the same stomach bug at the time, and from that perspective things obviously looked dismal. Added to that was the fact that she wasn’t potty trained and her bouts were like machine gun rounds, no warnings, no time to run for cover, no pausing to reload. Wham!
This time around I definitely feel more like the seasoned professional in the game; I know the steps that have to be taken, when to take them, how to move from step to step and stay relatively composed about it, and also the appropriate places to panic (like when your half-naked toddler is roaming freely about the house instead of sitting on the potty chair where you last put her). There is the added bonus this time of a four-year-old who can open doors and trash cans for soiled-hands Mommy. And this bug onset, as compared to last, has been a relative breeze. Esther has only had one episode that required any subsequent sanitizing ritual (Lysol has found permanent residence here; we should look into buying stock). She’s almost fully potty trained now, and I can’t tell you the relief this has been, especially at this exact moment. There’s nothing that makes a person happier than knowing their offspring can put all of their biological waste into the communal sewage pipes, along with the rest of civilized society.
So I’m sorry this post isn’t more uplifting. But really, you have to know the full story behind what goes on around here because parenting isn’t always sunshine and roses.
So now is the only time I’ve had to sit down and write a bit. I’ve had two very sick, very tired, and thus very grumpy children to take care of all day, and when I wasn’t doing that, I was editing a transcript for my court-reporting mother, who I’m paranoid will read this and be thinking in the middle of the post, “Now, why isn’t she working on my transcript?” Yet despite the paranoia, I write on. I figure I can spit something out in 10 minutes here before I go hit the hay, and therefore keep the both of us happy, my harassing writer voice and my taskmaster mama.
Unfortunately, the only newsworthy item I have to offer is my two-year-old’s bout with diarrhea. There is nothing that will prepare you for this terrifying occurrence in your child’s life (and I use the word terrifying because your first instinct as the parent in this situation is to run far, far away). I remember when Abby had her first episode of it. She was about Esther’s age now, and I was also pregnant at the time, and not just pregnant….overly pregnant, like now. The most vivid part of that event was taking Lysol and a damp rag to the contaminated hallway carpet on my hands and knees while bawling on the phone to my grandma about how my world was crumbling down around me. Of course, I was also sick with the same stomach bug at the time, and from that perspective things obviously looked dismal. Added to that was the fact that she wasn’t potty trained and her bouts were like machine gun rounds, no warnings, no time to run for cover, no pausing to reload. Wham!
This time around I definitely feel more like the seasoned professional in the game; I know the steps that have to be taken, when to take them, how to move from step to step and stay relatively composed about it, and also the appropriate places to panic (like when your half-naked toddler is roaming freely about the house instead of sitting on the potty chair where you last put her). There is the added bonus this time of a four-year-old who can open doors and trash cans for soiled-hands Mommy. And this bug onset, as compared to last, has been a relative breeze. Esther has only had one episode that required any subsequent sanitizing ritual (Lysol has found permanent residence here; we should look into buying stock). She’s almost fully potty trained now, and I can’t tell you the relief this has been, especially at this exact moment. There’s nothing that makes a person happier than knowing their offspring can put all of their biological waste into the communal sewage pipes, along with the rest of civilized society.
So I’m sorry this post isn’t more uplifting. But really, you have to know the full story behind what goes on around here because parenting isn’t always sunshine and roses.
Comments
The thing to remember is that you did get through Abby's episode and lived to tell about it, and when these "lovely" days present themselves -- you'll get through it as well and then you have the warm-snuggly-making-it-all-worth-it times. And actually, if you didn't have days like this, then the warm-snuggly-making-it-all-worth-it days wouldn't mean quite so much.
Here's the other thing. I'm not wondering why you're not working on my transcript every second of the day. I KNOW you're a mommy of a 4 and 2-year-old, for goodness sakes and I also know that you need this "time away" for yourself and I ALSO know that I LOVE your blogs, look forward to them every single day and am disappointed when I go to your blog and there's nothing new. So keep up the good work. You're such an incredible writer.