Ever since E started daycare, the germs have poured into our home nonstop. We keep passing them around, and I honestly don't remember the last time that all three of us were healthy.
After a two week long cold, the little guy was finally on the mend, and after two whole days without green boogers (oh the small victories of parenthood!), he started coughing again. Only this time it was a different kind of a cough. I could notice he was really having a hard time breathing. I grew up having asthma and nasal allergies, and the thought crept in that perhaps my son had inherited those genes and was battling something similar in his own little body.
We spent the weekend wondering if he had a new cold, or if he had some form of allergy or chronic respiratory track condition. He was needy, and not in a very good mood, barely napped on Sunday, and spent the entirety of Sunday night coughing. We never had to go in and comfort him, he barely woke up, but his cough was almost constant, so we didn't really have a restful evening.
On Monday morning, with a fever of 102, we headed to the doctor.
He prescribed some medicine via a nebulizer, and so began our week: take the prescription to the pharmacy, then the toddler back to the house to nap early because nobody slept the night before, after the shortest nap in history, head back to the pharmacy to pick up the prescription via the drive-through, and drop off the prescription for the nebulizer machine itself which you thought you could get elsewhere for cheaper, but admit now you won't have the time or energy to do that research.
Head to the store to pick up something ready made for dinner, because all your child wants to do is "Mommy pick you up" (all 36 pounds of him), then back to the pharmacy. Drive up to the window, to be told that you have to come in because the machine won't fit through the drive-through exchange box. Get the child out of the car and carry him to get the nebulizer, which wasn't covered by insurance and is almost $60 (there was one online in the shape of a Fire truck that was cheaper than that!). Head back home to bargain with your two-year-old to put on the mask and inhale the vapor that will hopefully help him breathe better.
That was Monday. Yesterday, the fever had risen and would not go down, so we called the doctor and he prescribed some antibiotics for what he believes to be a case of walking pneumonia. Because we live in the world of corporate America, the last time our doctor prescribed something over the phone for our family, he had to make multiple calls to 1-800 numbers only to be bounced around from one operator to the other, for hours. So this time, he asked us to have the pharmacy call him.
Get the toddler into the car and drive to the pharmacy, ask the pharmacist to call the doctor, who is not in the office yet. Call his direct number, which he doesn't answer (for the first time ever since you've been his patient!) leave a message. Leave the pharmacy and hope for the best. Go back to double check they will call you when the doctor calls in the prescription. Actually leave the pharmacy.
Hours later, drive back to the pharmacy to check in, and call the doctor again yourself if needed: prescription is ready! They just forgot to let you know!
Go back home and administer antibiotics. Hope for the best!
Today is Wednesday. He still has a fever, although much lower than in the last few days. He seems to be feeling a tiny bit better but still only wants mommy. To be held, cuddled, nursed (there goes weaning which we started a few weeks back, but that's another post entirely!) picked up. For mommy to sit with him, for him to sit on mommy. Mommy, mommy, mommy.
For the last few days, I have tried my hardest to let go of the need to do anything and focus solely on his needs. On holding him, and cuddling him, and kissing him. On singing him songs, and dancing with him, on playing with him, and giving in to watching tv (which we've only done while on vacation to the Dominican Republic last month) and even letting him hold my phone to look at videos of himself to get him to nebulize.
I have struggled with finding that even space between letting go, giving in, and still maintaining some form of order in my life and our home. The to-do list (to which I admit, I'm a bit of a slave to) has kept growing, without much getting crossed off it. The Leo in me gets a little tweaky when this happens. And being that we are weeks away from the Holidays, we have more engagements than usual on the calendar, and more errands to run.
Yet at the same time as I acknowledge the challenges of not having a village, of raising a toddler in a culture that ultimately does not support motherhood as many other developed countries do, and of simply having a sick kiddo, while still trying to manage a household, a job, starting a business and taking care of myself, I can't help but feel grateful.
Yesterday, the thought: " I get to stay at home with my sick baby" kept coming back to me. I breathed deeply in solidarity and gratitude as I thought of all those moms who would give anything to be able to stay at home with their sick kid, and instead have to go to work, to a job that they may love, or may hate. Yet they don't have a choice.
Grateful, that when my son fell off the window seat and did a backflip in the air, before falling flat on his back on the kitchen floor, I was there to watch it, to see it first hand instead of getting a call and being told the story. Grateful that I could call my husband, and share the scare with him. And even more grateful that shortly after, he was able to come home and spend the rest of the afternoon working from home, being with us, as we navigated the new waters of treating walking pneumonia and watching for any signs of back or neck distress after a major fall.
I like to joke that I was raised in the religion of Murphy's laws. My dad has a few large posters listing the laws in his office, and often referred to them when we told him stories of things that happened to us during our day.
Motherhood, and raising a kiddo, has definitely been a huge exercise in those laws. And this week is proving to continue to be that way.
This morning, after being so proud of myself for surrendering to the task at hand and E's needs, and being constantly present with him since we woke up, I snapped at my husband for saying something that made me feel that I wasn't watching him well enough. As I tried to settle my emotions, while still playing with E, and without losing my cool with him, tears streamed down my cheeks. Hubby came over and brought me a second cup of coffee, apologizing for any misunderstanding. He didn't mean that and he was sorry if it made me feel that way.
I managed to remove myself from E's sight long enough to lock the bathroom door behind me. Only to find out that: Yay! I have my period!
Oh, Murphy! Thanks, Buddy!
Every morning (or every morning I remember to do so) I pick some cards from two decks. One is a motherhood deck and the other a yoga deck.
Of the motherhood deck I ask: What affirmation will best support me in mothering E today. And of the yoga one, What quality will best support me today. I then try to use them as intentions, or gentle reminders for myself to guide me throughout the day.
I count my blessings now, enjoying a warm bowl of tomato soup and veggies while I type these words during E's nap (hey, at least he's napping, KNOCK ON WOOD!). And as I do, I catch sight of the messages my cards had for me today. Since E needed constant attention this morning, I had him help me draw them, so we ended up with three instead of one from the first deck:
The message from the second deck was simple: I accept nourishment.
As I think of these throughout the day, I can't help but smile, for as true as it is that this game of mothering is Murphy's laws at its best, it's also true that sometimes, the universe sends you the exact message you need, at the exact moment you need it, to give you the strength to carry on. All we have to do is listen.
