A Tale of Two Mommies

…because more seems excessive…

Tag Archives: sleeping baby

All’s Well that…Ends

It was inevitable.  Actually, few things are as inevitable as this, yet I found myself watching the initiation of events occur in disbelieving slow motion.  The entire two-and-a-half hour car ride to see my husband’s family was blissful, aside from the brief stop to reattach the car seat after my son worked his magic.  My daughter slept because she’s good that way.  My son slept briefly, but when awake entertained himself with passing vehicles and singing before sleeping the remaining half-hour.  My husband and I chatted like married couples together over a decade do…when they still like each other despite mutual sleep deprivation.  The party also went well.  No other children but ours were present, but Mr. Man didn’t seem to notice.  Warrior Queen was vaguely unhappy all afternoon, but that isn’t terribly new.  She can be that way.  But, with every passing minute of content experienced by my family of four, an increasing creep of foreboding seeped.

We were thirty minutes into our return home.  My son was telling tales of the traffic.  I humored him with my agreement because I had no idea what he was saying.  Little Man was increasingly past the threshold of exhaustion, so what started as good humored giggles and pointing, amounted to other less endearing forms of entertainment.

My son gagged himself, belly chuckles with each more involved effort.  It was attention seeking, so my husband and I ignored him knowing full well where such things were headed.  We braced ourselves, and looked back that final time to see patriotic themed vomit flowing from his mouth from the berries he had earlier.  Cheer turned to sobbing spasms as we sought a rest area.  Kid clean-up was my responsibility; my husband taxed with the car.  Both were reasonably uneventful.  My daughter continued to sleep in the car…miracles do exist…  Mr. Man finally getting a grip, demonstrating all the sweetness that comes when a child wishes to lessen the potential angered rage of parents.  Tired and covered from random second hand vomit debris, I held my son as he cuddled into me; we waited for my husband to finish.

With everyone buckled, we were once again on our way home, almost an hour delayed.  The remaining journey blessedly uneventful if you exclude Little Man picking his nose and wiping his findings on the window.  My husband repeatedly pointing to the residual protein spill on my dress for the remaining duration of the drive…because that never gets old…

Once home, my daughter immediately awakened, screaming.  All annoying events include poop, this event no exception.  I happened to change her mid movement, but even as I anticipated the final remnants, it oozed everywhere and splattered, some on my eyelid. Mr. Man eventually turned in. Warrior Queen eventually stopped screaming. I eventually achieved a shower.  The final pieces of the evening a blur before I was able to greet my eyelids, but nothing was else was more welcome.

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Growing Pains

I lament my children growing older.  Even my warrior queen, short of three-months is aging too rapidly.  Only yesterday was she barely awake, now expresses preferences to be active, observing our household happenings.  My son asserts his increasing desire for independence.  It seems too soon he will no longer want me hovering, and perhaps that day is already upon me.  But, my humble plea to both, please, don’t hurry your current youth…I’m much too tired for the next step that approaches.

Three-years-old is supposed to be the earliest time for boys to begin their expressed desire to use the toilet like the rest of us.  Really?  My son is barely over the two-year mark.  It’s too soon for him to rip off his soiled diapers onto our carpet.  It’s too soon for Little Man to indicate he left a duce in his all-in-one undies for me to clean.  I am much to tired and ill prepared to begin the process of toilet training.  It was bad enough my son started walking and insisting on feeding himself.  The catastrophe left in his wake after those benchmarks will pale in comparison to trails of dung all over the house.  My kid is a seriously prolific pooper; I feel blessed if I only change his substantial diaper chips three times a day.

To make matters worse, my daughter isn’t sleeping as much.  Sure, her plentiful smiles are breathtaking, but they are sprinkled among strong stipulations to be cuddled.  I don’t think I have the energy and general wherewithal  to manage a potty training toddler in the midst of a sleep regression and an infant choosing to progress into consciousness in a timely manner.  It’s heartbreaking; they just grow up much, much too fast…

The Power of Song?

I sing to Mr. Man all the time.  I have a fairly terrible voice, but he doesn’t care, and sometimes it prevents him from launching feet into my chest and face while I’m attempting to change his diaper.  Little Man requests all sorts of songs throughout the day, and I love looking at his beaming smile during the multiple renditions of every childhood song I’ve had to learn throughout these two years.  Naturally, the Warrior Queen was along for the ride, unable to escape the tunes my son urged.

I’m also perpetually reading stories to my son.  All varieties from well written to garbage that I can’t remember receiving.  It doesn’t matter what it is; he just loves a tale.  When my daughter had the room to move in my belly, I often felt her flipping a certain way whenever I read a book to my son.  Once she ran out of room, such movements stopped, but I felt confident she continued to enjoy the entertainment.

Now that my fierce girl is born, it is too early to know if she will enjoy books on the level as her brother; I hope so.  But, undeniably my singing provides comfort I never expected.

My first indication was seconds after her birth, wailing as all newborns do when thrust into the outer world.  My singing calmed her so quickly it didn’t completely register at the time.  If my husband hadn’t recorded it, I might not believe it almost a week later.

As I did with my son, I held my daughter throughout those first days in the hospital singing even when she was asleep.  When she was unhappy and uttering her discontented squeaks, a chorus of some random tune would be hushed in melodic breaths, and she would settle.

One occasion occurred just after I fed her a bottle.  Within minutes of my placing her in her hospital Tupperware container, she began to fuss, clearly not ready to be on her own quite yet.  I returned her to the crooks of my arms, wide awake she focused on my eyes as I sang.  With every ounce of effort she kept her eyes open, but they became heavier as the moments passed.  My girl fought sleep as long as she could, peering through barely visible slits before losing the fight.  The slumber kept that time, but I continued to hold this sweet girl who already knows what she wants.  And, times such as these I’m only too happy to oblige.

In Sickness and in Health…But Mostly Sickness…

It’s Christmas, and by not celebrating we always inadvertently celebrate.  This year my son and I are blessed with a cold.  He’s been sick every two weeks for the last few months.  This is the first time I’ve had an illness in the last year.  I shouldn’t complain, but I will…This stinks…  My eyes are itchy.  My nose is itchy and running, albeit less than yesterday.  I can’t see through the fountain of tears, thanks to the perpetual proclivity of my eye duct work this fine supposedly winter’s day…  During one of my hourly toilet calls spaced throughout the night, I became acutely aware that my throat was absolutely killing me.  Thank goodness for small miracles; that has significantly abated.  I’m not sure if all the tea I’m sucking down has impacted that blessing, but I’ll use any excuse I can to make myself this beverage, so we’ll call it the reason to give myself permission to continue to stain my teeth.  I figure my dental appointment is in a month-and-a-half; he needs to earn his professional credentials.

Cold aside, I’ve forgotten what a good night’s sleep is like, but it seems that last night was particularly heinous;  I kept the Warrior Queen awake in the process of my comfort seeking gyrations.  Feeling her stir throughout the overnight hours was the best part of remaining awake from two to four in the morning, but that probably makes me a terrible person.  Consequently, she seems to be out cold this morning; she’s barely moved, which is highly uncharacteristic from my future Taz.  In any case, she made a noble effort to stir as I carted Little Man in this little wagon that is really purposed for obscenely large Lego-type blocks.  I haven’t really exercised all week, so I think she just appreciated the gesture.  With all of my flatulence, I’m sure hearing the rhythm of my heartbeat while I’m in motion is a pleasant diversion.  But, alas, thirty minutes later, she is sleeping again.

A sick little man is not quite so glorious as a stowaway who doesn’t complain all that much.  He’s been upset all morning because we won’t let him gnaw on the various cords in one of our desk drawers that he can apparently open even though the handles were removed.  Even with a spare USB cable, my son wants no part of the alternative.  Thankfully, my husband is home and healthy, giving me a moment to write this post and reflect on the banalities of family life…under a cloak of plague…

All of this yuckiness on a day that I’ve never liked and I think of our soon to be larger external family when two kids will be sick at the same time and probably both of us.  No one will be sleeping.  Every one will be cranky and in need of a nap, but a slumbering peace will not fall on our humble household…It never does when you most need it…  It will be absolutely miserable and draining, but sometimes even when my moist Mr. Man is looking up at me with the pained eyes of someone who hasn’t fully embraced every expression of demonstrating one’s misery, I think how amazing it is to experience all these small, uncomfortable moments that I will soon forget baring this written notion.  But, then again, maybe I’m just a bit loopy from sleep deprivation and a face I want to rip off just to make the itching stop.

 

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