Why is it everything hits at one time?   Life is much like an a snowball in an avalanche.   Problems start out small and only grow bigger and faster with each passing day.   I’m sure I’m making our problems into issues bigger than what they are, especially considering the real problems of the world. 

Yesterday was my first day at home in my official capacity of SAHM (Stay At Home Mom for those of you who are horrible with acronyms).   I don’t want to mislead my readers into thinking that I was under the impression that SAHMs are glamorous roles, because they’re not.  Everything you see on television and read in magazines isn’t true.   Most of those moms have in-house nannies, maids and cooks, so while they may be a “SAHM” they’re not exactly on the same playing field as the rest of us non-celebrity, middle-income SAHMs. 

Davey is still suffering from the remnants of having the croup last week.  No longer is he tortured with the barking cough, now it’s the cold with the incessant runny nose, the wet cough that shows he’s breaking up the mucus in his chest, but also the gagging that follows as he can’t seem to get rid of the broken up gunk he’s coughing up.   Sleeping is miserable for all parties involved and unfortunately any routine I had planned to set this week is immediately out the window.   Having a sick child, who by the way is also teething, means you fly by the seat of your pants.  

I spent the better part of yesterday walking around with him in my arms as he cried in misery most of the day.   He’s not running a fever and there’s really nothing more that can be done for him.   The cold has to run its course and well the teething will be ongoing for quite some time.   I had my whole first day set up, but unfortunately that plan was a waste of my time.   The good thing?  I have a lifetime ahead of me to accomplish some of the things I want to accomplish each day, things that aren’t directly affecting Davey, like organizing a bathroom, loosing about 20 pounds and getting back into my 3 + mile a day runs, even cleaning baseboards and blinds.   All of this stuff takes backseat and since I’m not working at a normal 9-5 job, it means I have all the time in the world.

The downside to being a SAHM is merely in the monetary sense.   We have one less income, so anything superfluous can’t be attained.   Any sort of frivolous item has to wait until we save up the money which is something we’re not used to.  And of course now that I’m not working and we’re on a stricter budget things seem to break around the house, like the receiver for the television or the Blu-Ray player (both of which are Sony and this is the 2nd time in my life I’ve owned something Sony that has broken.  I’m done with these jokers!).   The good thing about the broken items is that they aren’t necessities. 

What is a necessity is a smiling, happy baby.   A necessity is having a well-rounded (physically and figuratively) baby.  So having a day of sweeping with a baby in my arms, folding clothes with a baby in my arms, wiping snot, changing diapers, breathing treatments, feedings and one on one time with my little Bubbaloo is all in a day’s work.  I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I don’t remember much about my grandparents.  My Granny died when I was six, my Grandma when I was 15.  My Papa died before I was born, and my mom’s dad was never really around, at least not in the grandfather capacity.  My husband has 3 grandparents still living, so Davey has 2 Great Grandmothers and 1 Great Grandfather.  And of course Davey has his Grammy and Grandpa (my husband’s parents) along with Mimi and Papa (my mom and dad).  We’re all very fortunate to have such a support network.   I’m finding myself more and more thankful for them everyday.

The thing I’m learning about grandparents is that they can also be used for my selfish purposes.  Ok, Ok, before all of you start getting upset with me and spatting out words like selfish, disrespectful, manipulative and inconsiderate, hear me out, or er read me out!

I’m not sure if it’s because grandparents have raised their own kids at some point in the past, but they seem to have this innate ability to be more to their grandkids than what they were to their own kids.   It’s very rare to hear the word “no” come out of a grandparent’s mouth when talking to their grandchild.   And in most cases, well at least in mine and my husband’s, we quickly rank second to our son at least in our parent’s eyes.  

And since I’m learning that grandparents are so eager to have time with their grandchildren and so eager to please them and make them happy, I’m taking advantage of it especially with my parents.  (cue the devious laughter)

Today after church, we went to my parent’s house for lunch and a little bit of R&R and recharging of our batteries.  You see, I enjoy seeing my parents.  I love them with all my heart and I’m truly thankful and blessed to have them in my life, but when it comes down to it, my parents will gladly take the side of my child as opposed to me.   And, hey, I’m ok with that!  Because basically it means I can pawn Davey off on them for a few hours, so that I can have some time to myself.  Granted I’m still in the house, sometimes same room, as Davey when we’re at my parents, but knowing that my mom will willingly take him out of my arms as soon as I’ve nursed him puts a smile on my face.   This is way better than a spa treatment!

I was able to accomplish a half hour nap today as well as some solitude to read a book.  My husband took advantage of a nice recliner with a massager built-in while also taking a nap and the entire time we didn’t hear Davey cry and we didn’t hear him fuss.  He stayed curled up in his Mimi’s arms and slept!

And, oh yeah, one more thing about grandparents…not only are they awesome as babysitters, but they’re free and in some cases we can actually come away with clothing and toys for Davey, which we did today!  So, I’m here to say that grandparents rule!   Make sure they develop a bond with your child especially for your own sanity.

Thank God for grandparents and more specifically for Mimi today.  

I’ve blogged about this before, the feeling of helplessness, the feeling of being lost, the feeling of running down a darkened hallway without a door, no way out. 

I’ve conquered a lot of things in my life, but I don’t know if I”ll ever be able to conquer motherhood and maybe I’m not suppose to.   Maybe we’re not suppose to be a pro at motherhood, because it is constantly changing.   No way is one childhood instance the same as another.   No two children are the same and no two mothers are the same in how they handle adversity. 

Davey has croup which is nothing more than an amped version of a cough, at least at this point that’s what it is.   He doesn’t have a whole lot going on with it, but to hear such a profound sound like that of a barking seal coming from my baby is a bit overwhelming for me and leads to that feeling of helplessness.

For the most part, he’s a trooper about it.  I try my best to keep him from crying since that seems to make breathing a lot harder on him.   We go through breathing treatments of sitting in a room of steam, breathing it in, and then immediately to the cold air of a freezer.   He’s 20 weeks old, what else can be done?

And I guess what hurts most is that I can remember as a child wanting nothing more than my mother’s arms when I felt sick.   Being held by her always made me feel better, but my son doesn’t seem to be the same way.   My arms aren’t quite so comforting and boy do I feel like a craphead of a mother.  What does that say about me that I can’t seem to comfort my own child?

It’s something new every day, an adventure and a whirlwind tour through Babyland that I don’t want to miss.

Little things that I took for granted, intricacies that didn’t matter too much, now seem to take center stage with everything.   For example, my dog, she’s always had this one chicken that she likes to sling around as she practices her typical hunter instincts of breaking its neck.   I used to watch her and occasionally would laugh about it, but then it became a routine and sometimes mundane so my attention began to turn elsewhere.

Now let’s mix Davey into the equation.  I’ll do my best to offer up a visualization that will not only make you smile, but perhaps even illicit a bit of a chuckle, a true test of my writing skills.

Tonight, after we arrived home from daycare, I put Davey in his Jumperoo which is nothing more than a glorified baby walker from the days of my childhood with the exception that the Jumperoo is stationary.   There are three arms that hook onto the tray, suspending it and the seat in mid-air.  Inside these arms are bungees that are adjusted just to the point of Davey’s toes touching the ground. 

Most nights he’s placed in the Jumperoo and he jumps around, making oohs and aahs with an adorable coo thrown in there as well.   He watches me and his daddy intently, an occasional smile crossing his face.   His little head bobbles along while his arms are stretched out to the sides grasping for whatever toy is on the tray.   Occasionally, Dixie will come over and try to lick his face before slowly backing away and at that point Dixie will climb onto her bed and completely ignore her brother.

Tonight; however, was a different story as Dixie decided to play attack dog with her chicken toy, who we’ve joyfully named Cocky (that’s for all of you South Carolina fans out there), and Davey continued to bounce around, but with his eyes focusing on Dixie and all of her glory.   I watched Davey as he intently kept his eyes on Dixie.   Up and down, up and down, he went.   Side-to-side went Dixie’s head as she slung her chicken around.   Davey’s feet danced along as he continued to jump, his eyes unblinking and his mouth open, drool coming down the side.   Dixie would take a break, the chicken dangling from her mouth, its head on one side and the legs and torso on the other.   She snorted like a horse and then turned to face Davey, who took one long unblinking look at Dixie before throwing his head back and with a cacophony of sounds starts laughing as he continues to jump up and down.

Dixie stared at Davey for a few moments looking a bit bewildered at the hysterically laughing baby who still has his head thrown back as he laughs and jumps up and down.   Finally she took a deep breath and started slinging the chicken around once again and we’re back to the same old, same old. 

I wonder what goes on in Davey’s head when he sees his sister acting ridiculous.  Is she like a toy to him or a live action super hero?   And what about Dixie?   I’ve wondered for years what she thinks and what she sees through her eyes.   I can’t wait until I have 12 hours a day to watch the two of them, to see what sort of mischief they get into, to watch their interactions with each other.   I suppose it’s the little things as well as the bouncing babies and playful dogs that makes life smile.

I’m pretty competitive by nature.   I see someone doing something better than me and it pushes me harder.   I want to not only do better than myself, to beat my own previous record, but to also beat other people who I see as my equal.  I want to one up everyone.

At times I wonder if this mentality could possibly impact my son.   I’m constantly perusing the web to find out where my son is in regards to the standard milestones.  

Davey will be 20 weeks old on Wednesday, and he’s already rolled over for the first time three weeks ago, sat up on his own two weeks ago, and has managed to hold onto the sides of the table and steady himself as he stands just last week.   My doctors tell me I have an overachiever on my hands and I can’t help but say I’m thrilled.   This past weekend he grabbed toys off of shelves and even managed to grip the lip of my husband’s glass of water and tip it over on the table immediately following that with a devious laugh (although, I”m unsure if he knows it was devious.)

The doctors tell me he’s off the grid on his height, but is average on his weight and I find myself to be a bit bummed out by that.   I want him to be bigger than the other babies born around the same time as him.  This leads me to want to feed him all the time and plump him up, but am I taking it too far?

I want to encourage him to walk as quickly as possible.   I’m trying to get him to talk faster than other babies and my plan is (was) to have him reading by the time he’s 2.   Again, am I taking things to the extreme?   Is my competitive nature ruining my child or is it all healthy?  

I want Davey to be way smarter than I am.  I’m pretty mediocre, my husband’s pretty smart.   Perhaps if we combine the two together we’ll have a little genius on our hands.   Should I just let him be a baby?   Is it wrong to want more for my child than what I had? 

This afternoon I started working on a curriculum for Davey starting next week, my first week as a stay at home mom.   I want to teach him sign language.  I want to learn Spanish so that I can teach him a foreign language.   I want to teach him words and letters, colors and sounds.   I want to start exercising his brain so much, but perhaps I’m going into overload.  

Is this standard mother behavior or am I abnormal?

Unfortunately, children don’t come with an owner’s manual.   There is no step by step process to raising a child, nor are there scenarios with different solutions that can be customized to your needs when raising your child.   I suppose that’s a good thing since life isn’t black and white, it’s multicolored and no book written can really offer up solutions or how-to’s for everything our children will encounter.   I still wish; however, that I could find one to at least guide me. 

Yesterday I encountered some things in the world that alarmed me, things that I suppose I’m a bit naive about or perhaps I’ve had my head stuck in the sand.   

There’s a lot of hatred in the world, a lot of animosity towards each other and the desire to conform with the status quo, while it may be the easiest thing, isn’t always the right thing.   At what point is it alright to buck the system, so to say?   Is there a limit to be reached?   Should I tell my son to stand strong in his convictions even in the face of threats?   I don’t really know.  

I’ve turned my back on my Lord in the past.   I believed that He never cared for me.   I resented Him for the pain of taking away my brother and all I could think about was me, me, me and what I thought I wanted and needed.   I have since come to accept the Lord back into my life and it has become by far the greatest thing to ever happen to me.  

I have a new sense of happiness, of fulfillment, of love and understanding and compassion.   I don’t fear for myself any repercussions for standing strong and firm in my beliefs and shouting them from the rooftops.   What I do fear is my son suffering because I’ve encouraged him to stand strong.    I fear the day when my son turns his back on God.   I fear the day when he NEVER turns his back on God, but instead stands strongly on the front lines as one of God’s many soldiers.   I fear this because of the world today.

At what point do I tell my son that he needs to stand strong and at what point do I tell him to back down?   Do I even tell him to back down from his beliefs?  

I want to teach him by example.   I want him to see how strong his father and I are and how strong he can be.   I just worry that it may hurt him and he may suffer.  

My daddy once told me that he was so glad I was born a girl, because he was afraid my beliefs and convictions and my opinions and ability to head butt the status quo would have gotten me hurt in my life.   While it hasn’t physically, it has emotionally.  I want to protect my son from this, but also instill in him strong values and beliefs.   How do I do that?   How do I protect him from everything that he faces in the world?   How do I arm him so that he can defend himself from zealots?   How do I begin to raise my son?

What does that mean exactly?   Is it meant to a be a compliment or is it an analogy?   Does it mean that someone or something is sleeping intently?   I suppose I’ve never really understood the real meaning of that saying, but either way…my son is sleeping like a baby!   And guess what!?!?!  That’s what he should be doing since he is a baby!

We were blessed with a beautiful baby boy inside and out, but we still had our own little anomalies where he was concerned.  I guess we still do and since he is a baby, we will continue to experience those anomalies. 

One of the things I never expected, although it was foretold, was that my child would need to be swaddled in order to sleep.   I thought, this is ridiculous!  I’ll just lie him on his back and he’ll go to sleep.  Not the case.  As matter of fact, not even CLOSE to the case.   My son ended up needing to be swaddled regardless of whether it was a mid morning or late afternoon nap or just to sleep through the night.  I actually wondered how long we would have to deal with this.  I even bought bigger Swaddlers as he was getting much too long for the others.  

2 weeks ago, Davey started rolling over.   He’s a bit ahead of the curve there as he wasn’t even 4 months old yet.  And although, he was rolling over I didn’t take into consideration that he would do it while he slept.   So, the following morning after his first day of rolling over, I found my son, arms wrapped tightly against his body, sleeping soundly on his tummy with his head rolled to the side.   I immediately panicked as thoughts ran rampantly through my head.  

Of course, he had survived the night, rolling over without his arms being free.   Of course, he slept soundly, not a peep from him to wake me or my husband, but what if, just what if he rolled over onto his tummy, his face down on the mattress and he was unable to breathe?  He could suffocate and I’d never know!   I’m already an OCD, worry wort of a mother, let’s just couple the thought of me sleeping through my son’s death and imagine how much of a nutso I would be!   Psych wards would love me!

Yes!  Those were my thoughts.  So, I told my husband no more swaddling.  I didn’t care how long it took Davey to fall asleep, if he would even fall asleep at all.   My rationale was that I wasn’t going to get sleep if we did swaddle him, so why not just NOT swaddle him.  Problem was, as stated before, he’d NEVER fallen asleep without being swaddled.  

One week and 4 days ago we went “cold turkey” in the de-swaddling department and surprise, surprise…my son is sleeping through the night!  I think he actually sleeps better now that he can freely move throughout the bed.   And freely move he does!

This child can do a completely 360, flip over, kick on his mobile, and even push himself onto his knees to sleep!   It’s absolutely amazing!  And the best part…my husband and I are sleeping like babies as well.  

Too bad I just spent $40 on Swaddlers the week BEFORE he started rolling over.   What a waste that was!

What does that clear colored Pedialyte taste like and what about the Keflex medicine Davey had to take?  And then there’s the breast milk and the formula.   What do they taste like and can my baby taste them already?  Is one more appealing to the other?

My husband and I had this conversation last week as we noticed how quickly Davey would take down the Keflex, but not the Pedialyte.   The Keflex, with its Pepto Bismal pink coloring hinted of a scent of strawberry, so to us it seemed appealing and obviously it did to my son as well. 

The Pedialyte had a scent of flavored water, something not too strong and with zero sugar, but when we tasted it, my husband and I were not impressed.   And neither was Davey considering the fact that the child could be starving and still wouldn’t drink the Pedialyte.   So, all of this led us to question whether our child has taste buds and are they fully developed?   At what age do they start developing and what characteristics do they have and by that I mean will he get his sense of taste from me or from my husband?

According to research I have read, a baby’s taste buds develop at 5 months when he is still a fetus.   So once he’s made his grand entrance into the world, he has fully functioning taste buds, but what formulates them?   Will Davey have an aversion to coconut as I do or will he absolutely loathe the taste of lemon cakes, as his father does?  

 

I hate it when people are picked on, made fun of, or just treated differently because of their appearance.  It’s a normal part of society and our day-to-day interactions with each other.  And if you remember correctly from one of my previous blogs, I too at times can be superficial and vain.  Unfortunately, I don’t appreciate society’s obsession with vanity projected onto my child. 

We are still undergoing treatment for my son’s severe case of eczema.  Thankfully, yesterday we were able to finally attain his medication and creams in order to calm the inflammation and he’s well on his way along the road of recovery and not a minute too soon.

I suppose I’m an over-protective momma because lately I’ve been a bit too aware of the public reaction to my poor baby’s face.  Mostly the gasps and shocked faces are coming from older members of society, which I suppose they have a “get out of jail free” card because of their age.   The geriatric population seems to lose that filter in their brain that encourages them to not speak what they’re thinking, the older they get.  

So, I’m looking forward to taking my son out in public now that his face doesn’t look like he’s been baking under an intense solar lamp for 24 hours day.    I’m looking forward to no longer getting the expression of smelling dog poo and trying to conceal it from people.  You all know what I’m talking about….

It’s the whole, “I’m smelling dog poo, but I don’t want someone else to know that I think it’s on them so I try to hide my shock and keep my nose from turning up and my eyebrows from furrowing” expression.   I’m sick of it.   If I get one more person looking at my son in that way, I’m likely to go Momma Bear on them and start tearing them apart limb by limb. 

Becoming a mother has brought on a whole new level of protection and not just for me but also for other children.   Children can not always help the cards they are dealt and adults shouldn’t find a way to make it so obvious that medical conditions are occurring.  

I look at my son and I see the most beautiful baby God has ever created.   Sure, his face isn’t silky smooth and soft like many other babies and he may have the occasional pock mark brought on by the atopic dermatitis, but his glowing smile, alertness and all around love for anyone that comes into his life is amazing.  And unfortunately, I don’t think everyone is deserving of his wonderful grace.   So for all of you who may look at my child and gasp about his appearance or even be outspoken as to what he’s going through, be careful about what spills out of your mouth, lest you deal with the wrath of this Momma Bear.

I watched for years as my mother took care of my younger brother throughout his fight with leukemia.   I marvelled at how strong my brother was, but never really put much stock in my mother’s strength.   She was a superwoman, still is, but I didn’t understand the suffering she went through watching her child as he was beaten down.   I never thought I would understand it, at least not until now.

Davey isn’t suffering from any life threatening disease, but he is suffering from the painful and uncomfortable side effects of being diagnosed with atopic dermatitis.   And watching him as he vainly scratches and rubs his face and head, shatters my heart into a million pieces.  

Atopic dermatitis is a chronic skin disease that mirrors severe eczema.   It is a triad that includes asthma, hay fever, and eczema which means that my child may suffer from all or just one of these conditions.   At this point, it’s just the eczema.

Yesterday morning found us at the dermatologist’s office, at a mere 4 months of age, as my husband and I were at our wit’s end as we have attempted to find ways to get his dry, scaly, itchy, and sometimes bleeding skin under control.   To this point, all of our attempts have been futile and I’ve become disgusted with myself as a mother.

Nothing is more painful than knowing that your child is suffering and there’s nothing you can do.   I find myself wanting to take his pain from him.   Let me carry that burden upon my shoulders, not him.   He’s a child and shouldn’t have to suffer. 

Cuddling him in my arms doesn’t make him better, since contact with my skin and any sort of topical creams I have put on seem to exacerbate his discomfort.   He sleeps with socks on his hands at night because mittens won’t stay on and his unconscious efforts to relieve the itching have found him looking like he’s been thrown into a fight with a cat.  

Lukewarm baths of baking powder, an old wife’s remedy to relieve itching, have also failed.   I look at my son most mornings and want to cry for him, and not because his poor face is scarred from the remnants of his scratching, but because I can’t do anything to help him.  I have failed him as a mother and nothing is more painful that not being able to comfort your child. 

Today we’re awaiting a pre-authorization for a topical steroid type cream that should put the disease into remission.   Unfortunately, the insurance company is refusing to pay for the cream (which will cost us $200 out-of-pocket) until they have received some frivolous paperwork from our doctor.   The pre-authorization could take up to 2 days to complete and even then it’s not guaranteed that insurance will pay for it.   So, until that point, I continue to lose sleep at night and cringe with disgust (not at my son) each time my child cries out in discomfort.