I tried again on Thursday, but I suppose I was still too exhausted and burned out that I could hardly keep myself from banging my head on the keyboard and then falling asleep.

I guess what I’m saying is, it’s been a rough week.

Since the broccoli barf incident, things went steadily downhill until we reached the point where Claire was vomiting 10+ times a day from coughing so hard, lethargic, burning hot, and just the saddest little girl you’ve ever seen.  I thought my heart couldn’t break any more, until another puking episode required yet another bath.  As I set her down next to the bath to take off her onsie and diaper, her little legs were visibly shaking from being so weak and tears ran down her chubby cheeks.  I tried valiantly to fight back the tears myself, but my heart just couldn’t take it anymore.  Truly, there is nothing worse than seeing your child in pain or discomfort and not being able to do a single thing about it. 

On Sunday we went to the Urgent Care to see if we could get Claire back on the road to recovery, where they took chest x-rays and gave her injections of antibiotics and all sorts of other torturous things, only to discover a couple days later from her regular pediatrician that she was MISDIAGNOSED (AARGH!)  and I now have a several hundred dollar medical bill coming my way and my little girl did not get any better.   

So in the midst of all the not sleeping and barf cleaning and soothing and fretting and whatnot, Brady’s body decides the sinus/cough thing he had been fighting for a while just wasn’t enough.  On Tuesday night he suddenly started experiencing extreme pain in one of his ears, to the point where he was almost in tears.  After a few agonizing hours he felt a pop, some relief, and fluid began draining out.  I sent him to the doctor the next day and sure enough, he had an ear infection.  Later that night, the other ear did the same thing.  You should see his pillow after having fluid draining from both ears all night.  In fact, I could probably post a picture…what?  No?  That’s gross?  Well, that’s no fun.  So anyway, the man can’t hear much but is on the mend at least.

Add to the mix some stressful changes at work, and then summer semester starting for both of us yesterday!

WHEEEE!!!

How’s your week been?  Better, I hope!

The past few days she has positively oozed cuteness from every pore.  I’ve been priveledged to spend plenty of uninterrupted time with her, which feels rare these days considering the hectic schedule I am constantly trying to keep up with.  She has been playful, talkative, cuddly, and curious.  We’ve had conversations about everything under the sun (some of it I didn’t understand, but she sure seemed to be interested!)  We’ve read books over and over with her sitting on my lap, pointing to pictures and giggling.  We’ve sung songs and played in the park and she let me kiss her chubby cheeks as much as I wanted to. 

This morning she greeted me with her usual cheery, ” ‘I Mama!” as I walked in her room to get her up.  She jabbered as I got her ready for the day.  We said hello to the world as we opened the blinds to let the sun in, and I told her I would make her a waffle for breakfast. 

“Faffle!” she exclaimed, her face lighting up as I put her down to get things ready.

“Faffle!”  she chirped over and over, stamping her feet in a happy dance, her little fists balled up in excitement and a smile on her face.  “Faffle!”

It’s times like that I wish I could put under glass to preserve for a later time when I know things may be challenging.  I do my best to capture the moment in my mind, but just like all the other moments I’ve tried so hard to preserve I know time will dim the edges and make it blurry and hard to recapture. 

Still, I am grateful I will have the memory, even if it is imperfect.  Someday I will likely get a letter like this tucked under my pillow, and I’ll wistfully remember the day I was my daughter’s hero because I made her a “faffle”:

I found this today on one of my favorite websites- PassiveAggressiveNotes- and it cracked me up.  Not exactly the love note mom was hoping for, I’m sure!  I suppose it could be worse though, right?

You carry the baby inside you for 9 months.  You’re exhausted, sick, misshapen, and swollen.  You lovingly note every kick and turn and anticipate the day the discomfort will all pay off.

You endure pain and stitches and sleepless night after sleepless night.  You change diapers and cuddle and coo and rock and sway and bounce and then you do it all again.

You love.

And you worry.  Oh, how you worry!  And you know the worry will never end.

And you love some more.

And then…

Cold, hard REJECTION.  Your toddler that you nurtured and sacrificed for and loved and worried about wants nothing to do with you.  She buries her face into her daddy’s shoulder when you try to say hi to her in the morning.  She bypasses you as she reaches her arms out to be held by her daddy.  She bawls when he leaves in the morning and pushes you away.

KID, I AM YOUR MOTHER.

Did I do something wrong?  Do I not sing enough songs or make enough silly faces?  Are my hugs inferior?

The guilt sets in.  Maybe I’m too impatient.  Maybe I’m not around enough.  I work too much…maybe…maybe…maybe…

Or maybe it’s just a classic case of a Daddy’s Girl.  And I am grateful that my girl has a daddy who loves her.

All I can say is my future boys better be Mama’s Boys.

Generally speaking, when it comes to raising my daughter I rely on a mix of advice from the experts and my own gut instinct.  I basically treat anything from my pediatrician’s mouth as The Gospel that must be obeyed.  He seems like a pretty down to earth guy that knows what he’s doing, and I assume he knows a whole lot more than I do.  So far he hasn’t led me astray, so I still trust him.

However, I am very wary of old wives’ tales and such.  Overall I just think its a load of crap and tune it out as much as possible.  I’ve learned that in most instances my motherly instinct will serve me much better when taking care of my child.

One instance in particular really drove this message home.  Let me preface this story by saying that generally speaking I tend to be a bit of a worrier.  Ok, maybe I should be more specific:  I worry a LOT.  More than I should.  And I knew that with a new baby I would be a bundle of nerves and anxiety, so I made the conscious decision to not be an overbearing mother and to try to relax.  Certainly our loving friends and family members would not hurt my child, so there was no need to be completely neurotic as others held and cooed over her, right?  So during the first month or so and often in new situations I was constantly repeating to myself, relax!  Everything is fine!  Most these people have their own children, and they’re ok!  A little dirt never killed anyone…just relax.  Relax!  RELAX ALREADY, WOMAN!!

Anyway, on with the story.  Claire was six weeks old and we were visiting family for the weekend in another town.  That Sunday we ended up basically doing a tour of the town so family could see our newborn child.  Why the various family members didn’t come to where we were staying rather than us visiting each home individually is beyond me, but hey, who am I to argue? 

Well, I should’ve argued.  Poor little Claire was strapped in her carseat, then taken out, then back in, then out, then in…all the while being passed around from stranger to stranger at each location.  We stayed at one house for a while to visit, as the family there had just barely had a baby a few days before and a few other people were stopping by to visit.  At that point, Claire reached her breaking point and began wailing.  Every adult woman present and about half of the men seemed to feel it was their moment to comfort the screaming child, and all manner of comforting commenced, but to no avail.  At some point in all the commotion the women determined that she had a gas bubble that was bothering her.  “Yes!  A gas bubble!” they all said, and suddenly the comforting ended and the thumping on the back began.  Maybe if I put her over my shoulder!  THUMP THUMP THUMP  No?  How about if I lay her over my arm and thump her back that way?  THUMP THUMP THUMP  Hmm, still no?  “Give her to me, I have a technique that works every time!” some complete stranger says, and my poor baby gets handed off to be pounded on the back by some lady I’ve never seen in my life, all the while still screaming.  “Should we try some infant gas medicine?” someone from the crowd cries, and before I knew it drops were being put in her mouth.

Where was I during all this you ask?  I was standing on the sidelines telling myself to relax.  I didn’t want to come off as the overprotective mother by snatching my baby away while all these well-meaning and loving people were trying to help.  But all the while, my instincts were SCREAMING at me that I knew what was wrong with my baby.  I knew it wasn’t gas, she’d never struggled with gas before.  I knew that the only reason she was screaming was because she longed for some peace and quiet.  She’d been driven around and manhandled for the last two hours, and frankyly, she was sick of it.  She wanted a cozy place to sleep without interruption.  It seemed as though every particle of my body knew this, but I was trying to fight it. 

When I could take it no more, I swooped in, grabbed my unhappy baby girl, and ran for the car while shooting a look to my husband that said you better follow me or this is the last time you’ll ever see me!.  Fortunately for him he caught on, and we zipped off in the car with little explanation to the rest of the well-intentioned family members.  We were actually supposed to make another stop before being done for the day, but this time I was wise enough to put my foot down.  My daughter needed a nap, and she was going to get it no matter what anyone said.

Sure enough, as soon as we got back to my husband’s childhood home where we were staying fo the weekend, I swaddled my baby and laid her in her pack and play.  Within seconds she was out like a light, and she slept soundly for a good two hours.  I felt validated, and proud, realizing that I did have a mother’s intuition after all.  I knew how to care for my child and what her needs were.  I just wish I had had the guts to speak up about it earlier.