Day 4 of Migraine Week...
Ouch. Whimper.
It's Getting Dark in Here
Somewhere between waking and sleeping this weekend, a horrifying realization crept into my head. You know that letter The Molester gave to #1 Son recently, detailing his crimes against the boy? It's not just a confession and a key to his freedom. Oh, no:
It's a blueprint for future child molesters.
Puberty right around the corner, that letter in his hand, and children in the house. Of such things a mother's nightmares are made. And this mom can't seem to wake up.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Still Here, Send Help
A quick update to say I'm still alive and stuff. The kids are alive, too, which sometimes does not go without saying. I feel like I've been unconscious for most of the past week, but I'm certain I remember doing something lately, mostly trying to stop the kids from killing themselves and each other.
I've been worrying, too, but not as much as I'd expected-- probably because of the aforementioned lack of consciousness, which was induced by some meds my doc gave me to lower my blood pressure. You know, that wasn't on my list of ailments, doc. You really didn't have to. He says, "This stuff will probably make you tired." Oh, yeah, add that to the Percocet, the anti-anxiety pills, and the pain. How will I be able to tell? I wondered. Well, not waking up, ever-- that's a sign. That and not being able to move or even talk for the first hour after I wake up.
So here's the score: 3 rowdy boys, 1 comatose mom who's supposed to be watching them, 1 frantic man who has to somehow go to school, fix dinner, do homework, see to evening baths, clean the house, and run errands-- oh, and maybe get his homework and stuff done-- but who decides that we absolutely need to bake 3 dozen loaves of banana bread during the middle of the hottest days of the year... a mortgage and half a dozen other bills that need paying and a nice notice from our bank gently nudging us to please put some money into our account, and that nice fat check I was supposed to be getting has turned into vaporware...
So unconscious is a nice place to be, but I'd rather be capable of independent movement and rational thought about now. How about you?
I've been worrying, too, but not as much as I'd expected-- probably because of the aforementioned lack of consciousness, which was induced by some meds my doc gave me to lower my blood pressure. You know, that wasn't on my list of ailments, doc. You really didn't have to. He says, "This stuff will probably make you tired." Oh, yeah, add that to the Percocet, the anti-anxiety pills, and the pain. How will I be able to tell? I wondered. Well, not waking up, ever-- that's a sign. That and not being able to move or even talk for the first hour after I wake up.
So here's the score: 3 rowdy boys, 1 comatose mom who's supposed to be watching them, 1 frantic man who has to somehow go to school, fix dinner, do homework, see to evening baths, clean the house, and run errands-- oh, and maybe get his homework and stuff done-- but who decides that we absolutely need to bake 3 dozen loaves of banana bread during the middle of the hottest days of the year... a mortgage and half a dozen other bills that need paying and a nice notice from our bank gently nudging us to please put some money into our account, and that nice fat check I was supposed to be getting has turned into vaporware...
So unconscious is a nice place to be, but I'd rather be capable of independent movement and rational thought about now. How about you?
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Picking Up the Pieces
It's been such a day. I'm so glad I posted that 13 list last Thursday 'cause I need to have it in front of me while I sort things out. The notice that our bills aren't getting paid this week is just one of the last little touches that came in with The Man (TM) when he arrived at 10 p.m. with #1 Son. Sigh.
Last night, TM was pretty upset because he'd found the letter from the Molester and read it all the way through. This was supposed to be the final step in the Molester's getting "rehabilitated" (i. e., given a "get out of jail free" pass from the law and going back to a normal life, including contact with the victim). He had to write a nice letter, admitting everything he'd done, admitting that he knows it was bad, and saying "Gee, sorry." Why doesn't every teenager go out and commit crimes, I'd like to know?
So anyway. The court system in the county where the crime took place called and asked TM a while back if it would be OK to have #1 Son meet with the Molester and have him read the letter and whatever. TM said he'd have to see the letter before passing it along and would feel better not having him meet with the guy. So they said OK and sent him the letter. That's what we found last night, and with #1 Son coming home today, he was going to see it. TM spent all night lying awake in a cold sweat, thinking about the effect this would have on #1 Son. I did, too, having been through a similar trauma and knowing that even if it doesn't affect him much now, it will eventually. And it will make such a mess of his life.
Today, TM was still tied in knots, so I tried to be as supportive as I could, despite feeling very, very sick. I had a sharp pain parked right over each kidney most of the day, which made everything just a little more difficult. I worried that it was the worry doing it, and I worried that it wasn't. I tried really hard to keep the little pirates in check all day, but as hyper as they were and as sick as I was, it didn't really work well. But I didn't want to worry TM, so I didn't say much. He spent a few hours at school and then most of the rest of the day and night on the road to get #1 Son, and he had worries of his own.
I'll give just an example of how my day was going while I worried about my husband. At bath time, I persuaded Pirate Boy to go first in the tub (yes, we do the old-fashioned "use the same bathwater" trick; I've mentioned how poor we are). Once he got into the warm, bubbly water, he was feeling pretty good about the whole bath idea, and so was his little brother. I tried to keep Punkin Boy out of the bathroom while his brother was bathing, mostly because he tends to try to add battery-powered toys to the bath water. But just briefly, the boy got away from me. I could hear splashing, which at our house is never good, and was on my way down the hall to stop the mayhem when the phone rang. It was a call I'd been waiting for, and it wasn't the news I'd hoped to hear, so that distracted me for a minute.
Then I heard the splashing again. I hurried to the bathroom and was halfway to the tub when my feet flew out from under me and lodged in various uncomfortable places (e.g., wedged under the cupboard) and at really uncomfortable angles. I was so shocked at the pain radiating from my hip that I forgot to yell for about 2 whole seconds. It took me just a little longer than that to figure out that no, I would not be getting up anytime soon. (At this point, TM was about 3 hours from getting home, so there would be no help.)
As maddening as the situation was, part of me was glad to have an object lesson that maybe the kids would remember for more than a minute, about why we don't splash water all over the bathroom floor. Punkin didn't care, of course. He climbed on my legs and sassed me when I asked him to step out of the bathroom. But my sensitive little Pirate Boy cried because of the consequences his actions had had for his mama. He not only buckled down and actually finished his bath, but he promised to get dressed immediately afterward and clean up the mess he'd made in the bathroom. He was as good as his word. I hope this lesson sticks, 'cause I really don't want to have to give the object lesson again.
So OK, you get the point: We had a challenging day today. At about quarter to ten, Henry Morgan (instead of Mama) went into the boys' room and threatened to keelhaul any pirate, no matter how small, who did not immediately stop fighting, put away his sword, and lie quietly for the rest of the night. They obeyed and were asleep before TM and #1 Son arrived maybe 20 minutes later.
And do you know what? All that worry was for nothing. Well, sort of. The evil maniac who calls herself #1 Son's "Mommy" had already reintroduced the Molester into our boy's life during his visit this summer without so much as mentioning it to anyone who would, say, have to cope with the fallout. 'Cause they've got to be a family, right? Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong... She wouldn't know what "family" means if an open dictionary hit her in the face.
The Man will be posting about his day soon, I can feel it. Go read it. I'll link here when it appears.
[Update: Here it is. Heartbreaking.]
Last night, TM was pretty upset because he'd found the letter from the Molester and read it all the way through. This was supposed to be the final step in the Molester's getting "rehabilitated" (i. e., given a "get out of jail free" pass from the law and going back to a normal life, including contact with the victim). He had to write a nice letter, admitting everything he'd done, admitting that he knows it was bad, and saying "Gee, sorry." Why doesn't every teenager go out and commit crimes, I'd like to know?
So anyway. The court system in the county where the crime took place called and asked TM a while back if it would be OK to have #1 Son meet with the Molester and have him read the letter and whatever. TM said he'd have to see the letter before passing it along and would feel better not having him meet with the guy. So they said OK and sent him the letter. That's what we found last night, and with #1 Son coming home today, he was going to see it. TM spent all night lying awake in a cold sweat, thinking about the effect this would have on #1 Son. I did, too, having been through a similar trauma and knowing that even if it doesn't affect him much now, it will eventually. And it will make such a mess of his life.
Today, TM was still tied in knots, so I tried to be as supportive as I could, despite feeling very, very sick. I had a sharp pain parked right over each kidney most of the day, which made everything just a little more difficult. I worried that it was the worry doing it, and I worried that it wasn't. I tried really hard to keep the little pirates in check all day, but as hyper as they were and as sick as I was, it didn't really work well. But I didn't want to worry TM, so I didn't say much. He spent a few hours at school and then most of the rest of the day and night on the road to get #1 Son, and he had worries of his own.
I'll give just an example of how my day was going while I worried about my husband. At bath time, I persuaded Pirate Boy to go first in the tub (yes, we do the old-fashioned "use the same bathwater" trick; I've mentioned how poor we are). Once he got into the warm, bubbly water, he was feeling pretty good about the whole bath idea, and so was his little brother. I tried to keep Punkin Boy out of the bathroom while his brother was bathing, mostly because he tends to try to add battery-powered toys to the bath water. But just briefly, the boy got away from me. I could hear splashing, which at our house is never good, and was on my way down the hall to stop the mayhem when the phone rang. It was a call I'd been waiting for, and it wasn't the news I'd hoped to hear, so that distracted me for a minute.
Then I heard the splashing again. I hurried to the bathroom and was halfway to the tub when my feet flew out from under me and lodged in various uncomfortable places (e.g., wedged under the cupboard) and at really uncomfortable angles. I was so shocked at the pain radiating from my hip that I forgot to yell for about 2 whole seconds. It took me just a little longer than that to figure out that no, I would not be getting up anytime soon. (At this point, TM was about 3 hours from getting home, so there would be no help.)
As maddening as the situation was, part of me was glad to have an object lesson that maybe the kids would remember for more than a minute, about why we don't splash water all over the bathroom floor. Punkin didn't care, of course. He climbed on my legs and sassed me when I asked him to step out of the bathroom. But my sensitive little Pirate Boy cried because of the consequences his actions had had for his mama. He not only buckled down and actually finished his bath, but he promised to get dressed immediately afterward and clean up the mess he'd made in the bathroom. He was as good as his word. I hope this lesson sticks, 'cause I really don't want to have to give the object lesson again.
So OK, you get the point: We had a challenging day today. At about quarter to ten, Henry Morgan (instead of Mama) went into the boys' room and threatened to keelhaul any pirate, no matter how small, who did not immediately stop fighting, put away his sword, and lie quietly for the rest of the night. They obeyed and were asleep before TM and #1 Son arrived maybe 20 minutes later.
And do you know what? All that worry was for nothing. Well, sort of. The evil maniac who calls herself #1 Son's "Mommy" had already reintroduced the Molester into our boy's life during his visit this summer without so much as mentioning it to anyone who would, say, have to cope with the fallout. 'Cause they've got to be a family, right? Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong... She wouldn't know what "family" means if an open dictionary hit her in the face.
The Man will be posting about his day soon, I can feel it. Go read it. I'll link here when it appears.
[Update: Here it is. Heartbreaking.]
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Thursday 13: Counting My Blessings
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What are you thankful for?
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Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Updates and Stuff
I have updates on some of the things I've mentioned lately.
- I got some results back on my diabetes test, and yes, it looks like I've got the early stages of it. I'll be talking to the doc again on the 21st about what to do next. I won't be giving up chocolate. That's my plan, and I'm sticking to it.
- Ta-da! Dorothy and her family got their house, by virtue of a last-minute miracle. It's quite a relief for everyone who cares about them. I can't wait to go visit.
- My Geocities site is still missing. They say they're working on it. Whatever.
- I was just about to send an invoice for the white paper I worked on this spring, billing by the hour, when the guy in charge of the project sent me a note. "Please invoice me for $400 per page" he said. Holy freaking cow. That'll more than double the bill. All righty then...
That's the news and I...am...outta here!
Little Loves
I've been a little stressed and cranky this week for various reasons, including my inability to afford those little hormone pills anymore, and I've been hurting worse than usual for similar reasons. So, by the end of the day I'm often completely wiped out.
Such was the case Monday night. When it came time to put the kids to bed, I was half-dead, and they were wound up. My painkiller was fading in/out between doses, and although I knew it was only a matter of time before I felt better, this was the time I was dealing with.
So after some struggle to get the boys to calm down for prayers and lullabyes, I was about this far from smacking someone, and that wasn't going to be OK. On impulse, I said to Pirate Boy, "Would you like a hug?" He stopped bouncing on the bed and looked at me intently. "Do you need a hug, Mama?" "Oh yes, baby, I do," I quavered.
As Pirate Boy plopped on my lap and squeezed me, a little voice reached my ears. Punkin was playing on the floor with some plastic people, and he was saying, "Are you all right, sweetheart? Is everything OK?" Puzzled, I asked who he was talking to. His response? "You, sweetie. Are you all right?" "Yes, baby, I'm fine now."
Such was the case Monday night. When it came time to put the kids to bed, I was half-dead, and they were wound up. My painkiller was fading in/out between doses, and although I knew it was only a matter of time before I felt better, this was the time I was dealing with.
So after some struggle to get the boys to calm down for prayers and lullabyes, I was about this far from smacking someone, and that wasn't going to be OK. On impulse, I said to Pirate Boy, "Would you like a hug?" He stopped bouncing on the bed and looked at me intently. "Do you need a hug, Mama?" "Oh yes, baby, I do," I quavered.
As Pirate Boy plopped on my lap and squeezed me, a little voice reached my ears. Punkin was playing on the floor with some plastic people, and he was saying, "Are you all right, sweetheart? Is everything OK?" Puzzled, I asked who he was talking to. His response? "You, sweetie. Are you all right?" "Yes, baby, I'm fine now."
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Arrgghhhhh!
No, I'm not being particularly piratical; that was a scream of frustration. My pirate Web site has disappeared, and Geocities/Yahoo is claiming it no longer exists. I had just posted a new entry! I'd been doing various things on it for nearly an hour, and suddenly it doesn't exist? Grumble, grouse.
I was already feeling cranky because of the rigamarole I had to go through this morning. I was getting my blood tested to see if I have diabetes yet, or if we have to look elsewhere for the cause of my feet hurting all over, all the time. It wasn't so bad at first; even though I had an empty stomach (except for the pint of exceedingly sweet soda syrup), I felt fine and I had a book to read for the 3 hours I was (supposed to be) there. The first couple of blood draws weren't bad, either. After the second, I had cotton taped to the inside of both elbows, but it wasn't painful. The third one came and went; I had a second poke on one of my elbows, but again, not too bad. At this point, I was getting pretty thirsty, and the lab assistant said she'd bring me some water. Well, she didn't, and before too long, I was feeling dizzy and sick. When they called me in for the fourth blood draw, I was so dehydrated they couldn't get into my veins-- any of my veins. And believe me, they did try. The backs of the hands are the worst, and they didn't work either. Eventually, they managed to find some blood in my forearm and sucked it out quickly while I fought back the tears.
Then and only then did they offer (and mean it) something to drink. I slurped down some orange juice and staggered to the door. The lab techs had left me alone-- and they'd left my last vial of blood on the counter. I told them about it as I left, but I didn't stay to see whether they went back for it. I was too anxious to get home. It was nearly noon, and I was near fainting. Considering that, I did remarkably well when, a mere 50 yards from my street, a train decided to park across the road for half an hour.
So anyway, it really wasn't that bad. Really. But in my attempt to keep my stomach empty for this test, I didn't take my anti-depressant meds this morning (nor, may I add, my painkiller), and as a result, I'm a bit moodier than usual.
I guess I need to focus on my blessings and caring more about others. Like my dear soul-sister Dorothy, whose family might be out on the street tonight because some people (including her own biological family members) refuse to pay their bills to the point that Dorothy and her husband and kids are about to lose their new house. I could just scream. Arrghhhh! Ah, that's better.
I was already feeling cranky because of the rigamarole I had to go through this morning. I was getting my blood tested to see if I have diabetes yet, or if we have to look elsewhere for the cause of my feet hurting all over, all the time. It wasn't so bad at first; even though I had an empty stomach (except for the pint of exceedingly sweet soda syrup), I felt fine and I had a book to read for the 3 hours I was (supposed to be) there. The first couple of blood draws weren't bad, either. After the second, I had cotton taped to the inside of both elbows, but it wasn't painful. The third one came and went; I had a second poke on one of my elbows, but again, not too bad. At this point, I was getting pretty thirsty, and the lab assistant said she'd bring me some water. Well, she didn't, and before too long, I was feeling dizzy and sick. When they called me in for the fourth blood draw, I was so dehydrated they couldn't get into my veins-- any of my veins. And believe me, they did try. The backs of the hands are the worst, and they didn't work either. Eventually, they managed to find some blood in my forearm and sucked it out quickly while I fought back the tears.
Then and only then did they offer (and mean it) something to drink. I slurped down some orange juice and staggered to the door. The lab techs had left me alone-- and they'd left my last vial of blood on the counter. I told them about it as I left, but I didn't stay to see whether they went back for it. I was too anxious to get home. It was nearly noon, and I was near fainting. Considering that, I did remarkably well when, a mere 50 yards from my street, a train decided to park across the road for half an hour.
So anyway, it really wasn't that bad. Really. But in my attempt to keep my stomach empty for this test, I didn't take my anti-depressant meds this morning (nor, may I add, my painkiller), and as a result, I'm a bit moodier than usual.
I guess I need to focus on my blessings and caring more about others. Like my dear soul-sister Dorothy, whose family might be out on the street tonight because some people (including her own biological family members) refuse to pay their bills to the point that Dorothy and her husband and kids are about to lose their new house. I could just scream. Arrghhhh! Ah, that's better.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
It's Still a Little Glitchy...
...but I've started a pirate Web site, just for fun. Visit me there if you want. I'll get it polished up when PageBuilder decides to work again, but meanwhile, I've posted a few things. Let me know what you think.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
On a Lighter Note...
To lighten the mood a bit and celebrate my FINALLY being done with that awful technical white paper I've been working on since February, I give you:
Meaningless Memes!
My aura is bruise-colored:
My Inner European is...
I'm BATMAN
You scored as Batman, the Dark Knight. As the Dark Knight of Gotham, Batman is a vigilante who deals out his own brand of justice to the criminals and corrupt of the city. He follows his own code and is often misunderstood. He has few friends or allies, but finds comfort in his cause.
Which Action Hero Would You Be? v. 2.0
created with QuizFarm.com
...and Einstein
So, what are my ideal careers?
Strange, not a single action hero on the list.
Meaningless Memes!
My aura is bruise-colored:
| Your Aura is Violet |
 Idealistic and thoughtful, you have the mind and ideas to change the world. And you have the charisma of a great leader, even if you don't always use it! The purpose of your life: saying truths that other people dare not say Famous purples include: Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jr., Susan B. Anthony Careers for you to try: Political Activist, Inventor, Life Coach |
My Inner European is...
| Your Inner European is Russian! |
 Mysterious and exotic. You've got a great balance of danger and allure. |
I'm BATMAN
You scored as Batman, the Dark Knight. As the Dark Knight of Gotham, Batman is a vigilante who deals out his own brand of justice to the criminals and corrupt of the city. He follows his own code and is often misunderstood. He has few friends or allies, but finds comfort in his cause.
Batman, the Dark Knight | 71% | ||
Lara Croft | 67% | ||
Maximus | 63% | ||
The Terminator | 63% | ||
Indiana Jones | 63% | ||
Neo, the "One" | 58% | ||
El Zorro | 54% | ||
The Amazing Spider-Man | 54% | ||
James Bond, Agent 007 | 54% | ||
William Wallace | 46% | ||
Captain Jack Sparrow | 46% |
Which Action Hero Would You Be? v. 2.0
created with QuizFarm.com
...and Einstein
So, what are my ideal careers?
Career Inventory Test Results
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Friday, June 30, 2006
The Mommy Track
I was going to work on my novel tonight. I was. But then I decided to visit the bloggers who've recently visited me, and what with one thing and another, I've got something on my mind.
Kailani told about her journey of miscarriage and heartbreak between her first and second daughters and how blessed she feels. Here, Interstellar Lass was pondering over her ability to get pregnant without even trying much and her subsequent tubal ligation after two children. Now in a happy (2nd) marriage with a childless man, she's wishing for more children, with him. It's a tough thing. I won't burden you with my thoughts on their situations; go read their posts.
As I read and responded to these posts, my train of thought zoomed down some well-worn tracks. The memories followed me as I did the dishes, my mind got tangled up in knots, and eventually I realized I had to get this out of my brain or I'd be paralyzed. So here goes.
First, I have to say that as I grew up, I always wanted to get married young (20-ish) and have kids, preferably several of them. It was just something you did. Just so you don't worry, I also wanted to be a glamorous international spy, a hard-nosed editor, and a writer of movies and books. I'm still working on the last one.
However, my plans for marriage and parenthood went awry. When I was 24, I married my college boyfriend and agreed to put off children for a couple of years. It's a darn good thing I did. Not that I thought of it as good at the time. Especially when my biological alarm clock went off. Once he did agree we could start "trying," the process was a constant source of misery to me (especially while my hormones weren't being regulated by lovely b.c. pills). It was made worse at the time by my ex's attitude, which can be summed up in these quotes:
"I don't want to have children until I've done something with my life!" (spoken in a wail, and prompting the inevitable response: "Well, when were you planning to start?" He was 26 at the time, and had been out of college for 3 years. He still didn't have a job.)
"You'd make a lousy mother. Even your plants die; how do you think you could keep a child alive?" (Idiot. And I was an idiot for even considering this idea seriously.)
"I read that masturbating at least once every 24 hours keeps the sperm count too low to fertilize an egg." (Apparently this was true. He thought I wouldn't catch on. Gack.)
Without knowing anything else, you can see why that relationship didn't last much longer. The rest of it wasn't any better. And I had wasted most of my 20s on it.
When I was 30, I married a sweet, wonderful, and intelligent man who was also a single father. #1 Son was 3 at the time, and The Man agreed that we ought to start trying for a baby right away, so that they'd be semi-close in age. Well, I got pregnant right off the honeymoon, and we were ecstatic. (I think I've blogged about this before.) Eleven weeks into the pregnancy, the doctors found a lethal birth defect, and at 17 weeks, the baby was born and died. Leaving the maternity ward with no baby to take home was much more painful than the 30 hours of labor that preceded it.
Trying again was nerve-wracking in a way I'd never experienced. Chucking my beloved career, leaving Hawaii, and taking a low-paying job in a place I'd never been, I could handle that. But taking the risk of losing another baby... ouch. It was scary. I had an emotional breakdown on the anniversary of my baby's death. I panicked when the doctors sent me for ultrasounds; knowing that the previous problem was a one-in-a-million fluke didn't help.
At seven months, I had to be hospitalized for a heart...well, problem. I described a similar episode here... Once they got my heart stopped and started again, they put me through a ton of tests, including an ultrasound scan of my heart. None of the good results did anything to convince me that this pregnancy was going to be any more successful than the previous one, despite having lasted longer. I couldn't shake the feeling that no matter how long I was pregnant, I was simply incapable of producing a viable offspring.
On my due date, I had a major panic attack while in the doctor's office. I was hospitalized again and sedated heavily. That Friday, they promised, they would induce labor if the baby hadn't come yet. Well, he didn't. (In fact, to this day, I've never spontaneously gone into labor, unless you count--- well, that will come later.) Early Sunday morning, my Pirate Boy was born by c-section after a LONG and excruciating labor. And do you know what? As I held him in the recovery room, he was all I could think about. He was my whole world.
That's one wonderful blessing that comes from having known the pain of losing a child: Any child you have in the future becomes more precious to you than you could have imagined. Especially the one that comes first. It was probably best that I was that devoted to this baby son, because I had to go through some stuff for him. But I would have given my life if necessary. And even though I knew what was involved, I felt that I'd like to have another baby.
We started trying when Pirate Boy turned 2, and I got pregnant right away, though I didn't have medical confirmation. In fact, it was just about the fourth week when I started to bleed, so I thought I'd been wrong. But no, I wasn't. I was on vacation, it was my anniversary, and I was having a miscarriage.
We kept trying, and succeeded again right away. This time, my suspicions of pregnancy were confirmed by the fact that I had a small tachycardia every day starting in the fourth week. I spent most of my pregnancy having to lie down for a couple of hours every afternoon. My feet started swelling in the first trimester, and I felt like the entire pregnancy was a little touch-and-go. But the tests showed no problems, and when my red-haired punkin was born 8 days early by elective c-section, he was tall and strong and ready to play football.
As I lay on the table waiting to be stitched up, the doctor asked again whether I wanted her to tie my tubes while she was at it. I was sorely tempted. I decided against it at the time, although The Man and I had no plans for more children. Since then, I've second-, third-, and fourth- guessed my decision. Birth control is expensive, and I'm not close enough to menopause. That one small act would have saved a lot of money and worry.
However-- I didn't do it, and here's why: it's the "can't" syndrome. I have this problem in relation to treats and things, too. If there's chocolate (or ice cream, or whatever) in the house, I can take it or leave it, and I usually leave it. If I know I don't have any of the thing I want, it's all I think about. Hence, if I couldn't potentially have children, I'd want to, desperately. And that's not what I really want. If I can't be more mature, at least I can recognize it.
So where are we now? Well, we're out of birth control because I can't afford it anymore. But we will not be having any more children. If we did, it would be over my dead body.
Kailani told about her journey of miscarriage and heartbreak between her first and second daughters and how blessed she feels. Here, Interstellar Lass was pondering over her ability to get pregnant without even trying much and her subsequent tubal ligation after two children. Now in a happy (2nd) marriage with a childless man, she's wishing for more children, with him. It's a tough thing. I won't burden you with my thoughts on their situations; go read their posts.
As I read and responded to these posts, my train of thought zoomed down some well-worn tracks. The memories followed me as I did the dishes, my mind got tangled up in knots, and eventually I realized I had to get this out of my brain or I'd be paralyzed. So here goes.
First, I have to say that as I grew up, I always wanted to get married young (20-ish) and have kids, preferably several of them. It was just something you did. Just so you don't worry, I also wanted to be a glamorous international spy, a hard-nosed editor, and a writer of movies and books. I'm still working on the last one.
However, my plans for marriage and parenthood went awry. When I was 24, I married my college boyfriend and agreed to put off children for a couple of years. It's a darn good thing I did. Not that I thought of it as good at the time. Especially when my biological alarm clock went off. Once he did agree we could start "trying," the process was a constant source of misery to me (especially while my hormones weren't being regulated by lovely b.c. pills). It was made worse at the time by my ex's attitude, which can be summed up in these quotes:
"I don't want to have children until I've done something with my life!" (spoken in a wail, and prompting the inevitable response: "Well, when were you planning to start?" He was 26 at the time, and had been out of college for 3 years. He still didn't have a job.)
"You'd make a lousy mother. Even your plants die; how do you think you could keep a child alive?" (Idiot. And I was an idiot for even considering this idea seriously.)
"I read that masturbating at least once every 24 hours keeps the sperm count too low to fertilize an egg." (Apparently this was true. He thought I wouldn't catch on. Gack.)
Without knowing anything else, you can see why that relationship didn't last much longer. The rest of it wasn't any better. And I had wasted most of my 20s on it.
When I was 30, I married a sweet, wonderful, and intelligent man who was also a single father. #1 Son was 3 at the time, and The Man agreed that we ought to start trying for a baby right away, so that they'd be semi-close in age. Well, I got pregnant right off the honeymoon, and we were ecstatic. (I think I've blogged about this before.) Eleven weeks into the pregnancy, the doctors found a lethal birth defect, and at 17 weeks, the baby was born and died. Leaving the maternity ward with no baby to take home was much more painful than the 30 hours of labor that preceded it.
Trying again was nerve-wracking in a way I'd never experienced. Chucking my beloved career, leaving Hawaii, and taking a low-paying job in a place I'd never been, I could handle that. But taking the risk of losing another baby... ouch. It was scary. I had an emotional breakdown on the anniversary of my baby's death. I panicked when the doctors sent me for ultrasounds; knowing that the previous problem was a one-in-a-million fluke didn't help.
At seven months, I had to be hospitalized for a heart...well, problem. I described a similar episode here... Once they got my heart stopped and started again, they put me through a ton of tests, including an ultrasound scan of my heart. None of the good results did anything to convince me that this pregnancy was going to be any more successful than the previous one, despite having lasted longer. I couldn't shake the feeling that no matter how long I was pregnant, I was simply incapable of producing a viable offspring.
On my due date, I had a major panic attack while in the doctor's office. I was hospitalized again and sedated heavily. That Friday, they promised, they would induce labor if the baby hadn't come yet. Well, he didn't. (In fact, to this day, I've never spontaneously gone into labor, unless you count--- well, that will come later.) Early Sunday morning, my Pirate Boy was born by c-section after a LONG and excruciating labor. And do you know what? As I held him in the recovery room, he was all I could think about. He was my whole world.
That's one wonderful blessing that comes from having known the pain of losing a child: Any child you have in the future becomes more precious to you than you could have imagined. Especially the one that comes first. It was probably best that I was that devoted to this baby son, because I had to go through some stuff for him. But I would have given my life if necessary. And even though I knew what was involved, I felt that I'd like to have another baby.
We started trying when Pirate Boy turned 2, and I got pregnant right away, though I didn't have medical confirmation. In fact, it was just about the fourth week when I started to bleed, so I thought I'd been wrong. But no, I wasn't. I was on vacation, it was my anniversary, and I was having a miscarriage.
We kept trying, and succeeded again right away. This time, my suspicions of pregnancy were confirmed by the fact that I had a small tachycardia every day starting in the fourth week. I spent most of my pregnancy having to lie down for a couple of hours every afternoon. My feet started swelling in the first trimester, and I felt like the entire pregnancy was a little touch-and-go. But the tests showed no problems, and when my red-haired punkin was born 8 days early by elective c-section, he was tall and strong and ready to play football.
As I lay on the table waiting to be stitched up, the doctor asked again whether I wanted her to tie my tubes while she was at it. I was sorely tempted. I decided against it at the time, although The Man and I had no plans for more children. Since then, I've second-, third-, and fourth- guessed my decision. Birth control is expensive, and I'm not close enough to menopause. That one small act would have saved a lot of money and worry.
However-- I didn't do it, and here's why: it's the "can't" syndrome. I have this problem in relation to treats and things, too. If there's chocolate (or ice cream, or whatever) in the house, I can take it or leave it, and I usually leave it. If I know I don't have any of the thing I want, it's all I think about. Hence, if I couldn't potentially have children, I'd want to, desperately. And that's not what I really want. If I can't be more mature, at least I can recognize it.
So where are we now? Well, we're out of birth control because I can't afford it anymore. But we will not be having any more children. If we did, it would be over my dead body.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Thursday Thirteen: Take it Easy
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The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
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Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Life Goes On
We now own two honkin' big stand mixers, courtesy of my mother-in-law. The Man's tuition has been paid, courtesy of my dad. And The Evil One has discovered the frustrations of parenting an adolescent. Naturally, she says it's all our fault. What. Ever.
My pirate boys are now a pirate Jedi (Captain Yoda--whose idea was it to make a Lego Star Wars game anyway?) and a pirate Sith Lord (Blackbeard Sidious). The curtain rod is seriously about to pull out of the wall, despite the solid bolting, because they won't stop swinging from the back of the couch to the center of the room.
I'm back working on my NaNo novel, which is good in places and really needs work in others. I suppose that's a good average. I may post another excerpt here in a bit. Let's see, what else is going on...?
Oh yes, I went to the doctor yesterday because of the neuropathy in my feet and the general feeling of constant excruciating pain. I'm getting tested for diabetes in a week or so; did you know that unexplained weight loss is a symptom of diabetes? It is. If the test comes back negative, the doc says the problem might be a B12 deficiency. What is up with that?
My pirate boys are now a pirate Jedi (Captain Yoda--whose idea was it to make a Lego Star Wars game anyway?) and a pirate Sith Lord (Blackbeard Sidious). The curtain rod is seriously about to pull out of the wall, despite the solid bolting, because they won't stop swinging from the back of the couch to the center of the room.
I'm back working on my NaNo novel, which is good in places and really needs work in others. I suppose that's a good average. I may post another excerpt here in a bit. Let's see, what else is going on...?
Oh yes, I went to the doctor yesterday because of the neuropathy in my feet and the general feeling of constant excruciating pain. I'm getting tested for diabetes in a week or so; did you know that unexplained weight loss is a symptom of diabetes? It is. If the test comes back negative, the doc says the problem might be a B12 deficiency. What is up with that?
Friday, June 23, 2006
Overheard in Passing
Walking down the hall at church the other day, I was only vaguely aware of one woman complimenting another's dress. The "dress" woman caught my attention, though, with her response: "Thanks, I got this one for the Academy Awards a couple years back..." I grinned. A quick glance wasn't even necessary to confirm her identity; the door she was standing at gave it away. She's the nursery leader, and has been for a couple of years now. I love that. I love it that everybody just serves in our church in whatever way they're asked to, and they don't say, "I'm a vice president of HP, I'm not going to chaperone teenagers at camp!" or "I'm just a gas-station attendant, I can't be Sunday School president (or bishop)!" Or, "I'm dean of the Harvard Business School, and I don't want to move to Idaho..." They just do it. I love that.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Out of the Blue
I just wanted to share a cool thing that happened today. Around 10 a.m., I got a call; the voice was somewhat familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. Even when she said her name, it took me a moment, because it was the same as The Evil One's.
Then it hit me: My best friend-cousin! I've only seen her a handful of times in the last 15 years because we live thousands of miles apart, but we used to be like sisters. This morning, though, she said she was less than 75 miles away and heading in this direction; could she stop by? Could she?!
Well, I cleaned the house as best I could, cleaned myself up, and had things reasonably presentable by the time she arrived with her van full of kids (5 of them, from 8 months to 9 years I think--her oldest was staying with relatives for a bit). She is driving back across the country with them (but not her husband) after a family reunion west of the Rockies. Brave, brave woman.
And it's weird, because I'm not used to seeing her as a woman, but I did today. She was always this cute little girl with bright blue eyes and a blonde pixie haircut. Well, she's still got the eyes. But nobody would mistake her for a little girl now-- even without the kids around. Last year, she weathered all those hurricanes, but really, how hard is that when you've got a toddler, four other kids, and one on the way? When you can handle five little kids and a newborn and still send your husband off to work every day without crying? I can't even imagine it. Remind me of this when I complain how hard my life is.
When we were kids, I was the big strong girl that my little cousin looked up to. Now, she is totally my hero, and I want to be like her when I grow up.
Then it hit me: My best friend-cousin! I've only seen her a handful of times in the last 15 years because we live thousands of miles apart, but we used to be like sisters. This morning, though, she said she was less than 75 miles away and heading in this direction; could she stop by? Could she?!
Well, I cleaned the house as best I could, cleaned myself up, and had things reasonably presentable by the time she arrived with her van full of kids (5 of them, from 8 months to 9 years I think--her oldest was staying with relatives for a bit). She is driving back across the country with them (but not her husband) after a family reunion west of the Rockies. Brave, brave woman.
And it's weird, because I'm not used to seeing her as a woman, but I did today. She was always this cute little girl with bright blue eyes and a blonde pixie haircut. Well, she's still got the eyes. But nobody would mistake her for a little girl now-- even without the kids around. Last year, she weathered all those hurricanes, but really, how hard is that when you've got a toddler, four other kids, and one on the way? When you can handle five little kids and a newborn and still send your husband off to work every day without crying? I can't even imagine it. Remind me of this when I complain how hard my life is.
When we were kids, I was the big strong girl that my little cousin looked up to. Now, she is totally my hero, and I want to be like her when I grow up.
Friday, June 16, 2006
Mixed Nuts
I've lost count of how many mixers we've had in our house today, but it was far too many. Let's see, there was our old one with the missing blades. There was the neighbor's that TM broke the other day making donuts. There was the one we borrowed this week so we could make scones. (This one did not break; it's a lovely heavy-duty and incredibly old thing.)
And then three or four more arrived in the mail. Why? I don't know, really. One of them was supposed to replace the neighbor's broken one. OK. So, we broke a hand mixer, and ordered a hand mixer from Amazon. But then they decided they wanted a bigger mixer and were willing to pay the difference. They specified the basic type and color and sent TM out to conquer on e-Bay.
In this process, TM bid on like fifty bajillion mixers and actually won more than one. So today we had multiple deliveries from e-Bay, including one disguised as a delivery from Amazon... Oh, he was in heaven, let me tell you.
Now, where was I? (Australia.) Right. Well, there was supposed to be a delivery from Amazon, as I mentioned, but that didn't show up until later this afternoon. So now we had no less than seven mixers in the house, of which two now belonged to us but didn't work and the others belonged to our friends and neighbors, and worked fine.
At this point, I'm getting a little edgy. "Can we please get some of these out of here so that we have room to move?" I'm not even asking where the money for all this came from; now I understand why we can't pay the mortgage.
TM gets on the phone & has a chat with the neighbors. Turns out (no surprise) they want the nicest, biggest of the mixers and he's going to be taking it over to them. Fine, great. I try not to think about what we're going to do with the others. He comes back a little while later and says that they like it, it's just the right kind, but they don't want it after all. Huh? It's silver, not chrome. They wanted chrome. Mmm-hm. But, they wonder, maybe we can sell it on e-Bay?
Anybody want to buy a mixer? I have to tell you up front, it's not chrome.
And then three or four more arrived in the mail. Why? I don't know, really. One of them was supposed to replace the neighbor's broken one. OK. So, we broke a hand mixer, and ordered a hand mixer from Amazon. But then they decided they wanted a bigger mixer and were willing to pay the difference. They specified the basic type and color and sent TM out to conquer on e-Bay.
In this process, TM bid on like fifty bajillion mixers and actually won more than one. So today we had multiple deliveries from e-Bay, including one disguised as a delivery from Amazon... Oh, he was in heaven, let me tell you.
Now, where was I? (Australia.) Right. Well, there was supposed to be a delivery from Amazon, as I mentioned, but that didn't show up until later this afternoon. So now we had no less than seven mixers in the house, of which two now belonged to us but didn't work and the others belonged to our friends and neighbors, and worked fine.
At this point, I'm getting a little edgy. "Can we please get some of these out of here so that we have room to move?" I'm not even asking where the money for all this came from; now I understand why we can't pay the mortgage.
TM gets on the phone & has a chat with the neighbors. Turns out (no surprise) they want the nicest, biggest of the mixers and he's going to be taking it over to them. Fine, great. I try not to think about what we're going to do with the others. He comes back a little while later and says that they like it, it's just the right kind, but they don't want it after all. Huh? It's silver, not chrome. They wanted chrome. Mmm-hm. But, they wonder, maybe we can sell it on e-Bay?
Anybody want to buy a mixer? I have to tell you up front, it's not chrome.
American Lit
A bad memory isn't necessarily a bad thing. For instance, mine keeps me from worrying about the things I can't do anything about. Like not having enough money currently to pay TM's summer tuition AND the mortgage. Or any of the other bills. I feel like the dad in Vonnegut's "Harrison Bergeron"-- you remember, he was too intelligent, so he had to have his brain signals constantly interrupted in the name of making everyone equal. Well, I'm not too intelligent anymore... Sigh.
On the other hand, on those odd occasions when something has gone missing (like TM's paycheck from that one day), it would come in really useful to be able to actually recall ever having seen it, and possibly even where that was. Or to be able to remember that bills are due, before they're OVERdue. Things like that. I used to be the memory bank for this family. Now, I'm bankrupt.
Sometimes it's just little things that I forget, like that I might have wanted to do a "13" list for Thursday, after I had such fun with the one last week. Nah, it didn't even cross my mind yesterday. Not once. Might've been all that pain-- but that didn't stop Harrison Bergeron. No, a shotgun blast did.
On the other hand, on those odd occasions when something has gone missing (like TM's paycheck from that one day), it would come in really useful to be able to actually recall ever having seen it, and possibly even where that was. Or to be able to remember that bills are due, before they're OVERdue. Things like that. I used to be the memory bank for this family. Now, I'm bankrupt.
Sometimes it's just little things that I forget, like that I might have wanted to do a "13" list for Thursday, after I had such fun with the one last week. Nah, it didn't even cross my mind yesterday. Not once. Might've been all that pain-- but that didn't stop Harrison Bergeron. No, a shotgun blast did.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Keeping You Posted
Just passing through to jot down some things that have been going on in the past few days:
Thursday evening: We incorporated. At least, we filed the paperwork. Waiting for confirmation that it's official. The motivation for this? I forget what gave us the idea originally, but this time it was for the purpose of applying for a small business loan to buy that game store. Oh sure, it could happen. And what if it did? Not going to go there right now. Moving on...
Friday: I heard from an employment agency that wanted to recommend me for a tech writer position in town. Good pay, full time, benefits of some sort, sounded good... but when I couldn't master the pain enough to drive 4 miles to fill out the application paperwork, I (finally) came to the realization: I'm not capable of working a full-time job anymore.
So I sat down with The Man (TM) and talked over the ramifications. Not only am I not going to be bringing home much bacon anymore (I did file for disability and am waiting to see how that turns out), but I'm not going to be able to spend 3+ hours driving people hither and yon every day. I might not be able to drive at all, depending on the medication situation. We were already facing a big conflict between TM's school schedule and the kids' schedule-- the kids were 7:45 to 2:45 and TM was more like 11 to 6.
We talked over the situation and I think I managed to get him to realize there was a problem. Unfortunately, we didn't get any closer to a solution. He swears he can't change any of his classes (so who was going to run the store?), and we can't just keep our kids home so that TM can go to college. Bother.
Saturday: We were going to have Captain Kid's birthday party Saturday afternoon, but about a week ahead of time (just before we invited his friends), I discovered an invitation from one of them to his party, the very same time on the very same day, same general location and same invitees. And of course, he'd sent invitations earlier. So, we talked it over and Captain Kid decided that he'd like to go to his friend's party and get together with his best girl for ice cream sometime soon.
So he went to the party and had a good time. His best girl was there, as were some other friends from kindergarten. TM went and hung out with the other parents, where he discovered that our boy is at the center of a minor soap opera. Apparently, one of the other girls from his class had told little Abby to leave Captain Kid alone because she (a fiery redhead) wanted him. After some consideration, Abby decided to stand by her man. The redhead's going to have to look elsewhere for a boyfriend. Captain Kid, of course, was totally puzzled by the entire episode. I see interesting times ahead.
Sunday: Captain Kid's 6th birthday! We celebrated with boatloads of pirate loot again, another treasure island cake, pirate figures, plunder for him to share with the crew, and so forth. His great-grandma gave him the best present of all: a treasure chest with all sorts of good stuff in it, and he is just deliriously happy with that.
Sunday evening, we watched the broadcast commemorating the handcart pioneers. It was really neat, all the more so because we got to see the little pirates' aunt Dorothy and her beloved husband, His Worship, singing in the choir. I thought just for a moment or two I could hear her voice among the others-- but only because I know it so well, so don't worry, girl.
Later, my mom called to say Happy Birthday to Captain Kid, who babbled excitedly at her about all the great things that were part of his day. He had to tell her all the pirate nicknames of our family, during which his little brother corrected him on one point: "I'm not Blackbeard, I'm Marquis Montalban!" She was so tickled, she asked for pirate nicknames for her and my dad. After some consideration, the kids dubbed them Stede Bonnet and Jean Lafitte. Respectively.
Monday: TM started his second summer class today. I did a brief editing project for my friend Kelli the ice-cream queen. (She owns the shop down our street. I suspect she picked that spot just because she knows how much I love ice cream.) I spent a couple of hours semi-conscious from the pain and exhaustion when I was supposed to be taking care of the kids. (They oughta revoke my mothering license.) Fortunately, they were good most of the time, playing (pseudo) Lego pirates joyfully and energetically.
This afternoon, another shipment of loot arrived for the kids. Now Captain Kid has a singing sword and Marquis Montalban is plotting to steal it. I sense more adventures on the horizon...
Thursday evening: We incorporated. At least, we filed the paperwork. Waiting for confirmation that it's official. The motivation for this? I forget what gave us the idea originally, but this time it was for the purpose of applying for a small business loan to buy that game store. Oh sure, it could happen. And what if it did? Not going to go there right now. Moving on...
Friday: I heard from an employment agency that wanted to recommend me for a tech writer position in town. Good pay, full time, benefits of some sort, sounded good... but when I couldn't master the pain enough to drive 4 miles to fill out the application paperwork, I (finally) came to the realization: I'm not capable of working a full-time job anymore.
So I sat down with The Man (TM) and talked over the ramifications. Not only am I not going to be bringing home much bacon anymore (I did file for disability and am waiting to see how that turns out), but I'm not going to be able to spend 3+ hours driving people hither and yon every day. I might not be able to drive at all, depending on the medication situation. We were already facing a big conflict between TM's school schedule and the kids' schedule-- the kids were 7:45 to 2:45 and TM was more like 11 to 6.
We talked over the situation and I think I managed to get him to realize there was a problem. Unfortunately, we didn't get any closer to a solution. He swears he can't change any of his classes (so who was going to run the store?), and we can't just keep our kids home so that TM can go to college. Bother.
Saturday: We were going to have Captain Kid's birthday party Saturday afternoon, but about a week ahead of time (just before we invited his friends), I discovered an invitation from one of them to his party, the very same time on the very same day, same general location and same invitees. And of course, he'd sent invitations earlier. So, we talked it over and Captain Kid decided that he'd like to go to his friend's party and get together with his best girl for ice cream sometime soon.
So he went to the party and had a good time. His best girl was there, as were some other friends from kindergarten. TM went and hung out with the other parents, where he discovered that our boy is at the center of a minor soap opera. Apparently, one of the other girls from his class had told little Abby to leave Captain Kid alone because she (a fiery redhead) wanted him. After some consideration, Abby decided to stand by her man. The redhead's going to have to look elsewhere for a boyfriend. Captain Kid, of course, was totally puzzled by the entire episode. I see interesting times ahead.
Sunday: Captain Kid's 6th birthday! We celebrated with boatloads of pirate loot again, another treasure island cake, pirate figures, plunder for him to share with the crew, and so forth. His great-grandma gave him the best present of all: a treasure chest with all sorts of good stuff in it, and he is just deliriously happy with that.
Sunday evening, we watched the broadcast commemorating the handcart pioneers. It was really neat, all the more so because we got to see the little pirates' aunt Dorothy and her beloved husband, His Worship, singing in the choir. I thought just for a moment or two I could hear her voice among the others-- but only because I know it so well, so don't worry, girl.
Later, my mom called to say Happy Birthday to Captain Kid, who babbled excitedly at her about all the great things that were part of his day. He had to tell her all the pirate nicknames of our family, during which his little brother corrected him on one point: "I'm not Blackbeard, I'm Marquis Montalban!" She was so tickled, she asked for pirate nicknames for her and my dad. After some consideration, the kids dubbed them Stede Bonnet and Jean Lafitte. Respectively.
Monday: TM started his second summer class today. I did a brief editing project for my friend Kelli the ice-cream queen. (She owns the shop down our street. I suspect she picked that spot just because she knows how much I love ice cream.) I spent a couple of hours semi-conscious from the pain and exhaustion when I was supposed to be taking care of the kids. (They oughta revoke my mothering license.) Fortunately, they were good most of the time, playing (pseudo) Lego pirates joyfully and energetically.
This afternoon, another shipment of loot arrived for the kids. Now Captain Kid has a singing sword and Marquis Montalban is plotting to steal it. I sense more adventures on the horizon...
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Thursday 13: The Pirate Edition
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Thirteen Fun Pirate Links
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The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
View More Thursday Thirteen Participants
Monday, June 05, 2006
Ummmm, No....
But I have to admit, it does look a lot like me.
| Your Inner Retro Girl Is |
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Sunday, June 04, 2006
Pieces of Eight
What was that sign of aging? Fading memory or something? Sheesh. I was so carried away yesterday talking about how great my husband is that I forgot to mention one of the major things we dealt with.
So it goes like this. I had been lying down a bit after getting ill from the pain, sometime after I'd fed the kids lunch and tried to get them to take naps. The Man (TM) had picked up the groceries and a fresh lot of meds for me, so that was good, but the meds weren't working, and I was just shaking. He came in from making these nacho-sopapilla hybrids in the deep fryer, shook his tongs and me, and ordered me to go to bed. Lovely man.
So, anyway, I was lying down. Took a little nap, apparently. The youngest pirate also took a nap, and people were kind of wandering in and out of my room every so often, so I was only slightly startled when TM came in, holding little Blackbeard. But then he got me back for this episode, which happened one year ago tonight. He said, "I hate to bother you, but his finger is turning purple--"
I didn't hear the rest. I sat bolt upright, muscles twanging and eyes wide open. "What's going on?" My punkin pirate had apparently stuck his middle finger through a wooden piece of a number puzzle while playing after he woke up from his nap. That thing was stuck solid. Again, my husband asked what I thought we should do next. "Ice," I suggested, handing him an ice pack while rummaging in the fridge for some butter and trying not to curse audibly.
The ice didn't work, and it made the punkin so angry that any benefit was quickly lost. Butter was also out of the question, and by this time, that tiny finger was looking really scary. Running to the garage to search for our smallest saw, I mentally calculated how long it would take to drive to the emergency room, and whether the local urgent care clinic (much cheaper) would be likely to have the equipment to cut the offending object off of my baby.
I hadn't even finished this line of thought when TM was on the phone to our wonderful neighbors. "Got a Swiss Army knife or something with a small sawblade?" he asked. "We'll see what we can do," was the response, and within a minute and a half (though it seemed like an eternity in Purgatory), the neighbor was at the door with an armload of tools that might be made to do the job.
The first tool or two didn't do much, so it was time to go for the power drill. Punkin was highly dubious but fortunately has the male gene that makes tools abundantly fascinating. The first side wasn't too bad, and we were able to break through the puzzle piece most of the way. The other side was a bit trickier, with several big hands holding the five little fingers away from the drill and several big people trying to calm one small one, who was by this time pretty upset.
Captain Kid (still very ill), lay on the couch and watched the proceedings languidly. Finally, the offending object was off, and I could breathe again. And so could the punkin's finger. The neighbor accepted our sincere gratitude and left the wooden bits with the punkin pirate, who got out his crayons and began tracing them contentedly. I'm not sure I've ever felt such relief.
Except possibly this morning when, after waking up every hour or so to cry pathetically because he was so miserable, Captain Kid was able to sit up and eat some toast for breakfast. I gave him some Tylenol Infant's Drops because it was all the children's medicine we had, and an hour or so later, his fever had disappeared. Hallelujah.
After all that, today was not as hard as I'd thought it would be. Whew.
So it goes like this. I had been lying down a bit after getting ill from the pain, sometime after I'd fed the kids lunch and tried to get them to take naps. The Man (TM) had picked up the groceries and a fresh lot of meds for me, so that was good, but the meds weren't working, and I was just shaking. He came in from making these nacho-sopapilla hybrids in the deep fryer, shook his tongs and me, and ordered me to go to bed. Lovely man.
So, anyway, I was lying down. Took a little nap, apparently. The youngest pirate also took a nap, and people were kind of wandering in and out of my room every so often, so I was only slightly startled when TM came in, holding little Blackbeard. But then he got me back for this episode, which happened one year ago tonight. He said, "I hate to bother you, but his finger is turning purple--"
I didn't hear the rest. I sat bolt upright, muscles twanging and eyes wide open. "What's going on?" My punkin pirate had apparently stuck his middle finger through a wooden piece of a number puzzle while playing after he woke up from his nap. That thing was stuck solid. Again, my husband asked what I thought we should do next. "Ice," I suggested, handing him an ice pack while rummaging in the fridge for some butter and trying not to curse audibly.
The ice didn't work, and it made the punkin so angry that any benefit was quickly lost. Butter was also out of the question, and by this time, that tiny finger was looking really scary. Running to the garage to search for our smallest saw, I mentally calculated how long it would take to drive to the emergency room, and whether the local urgent care clinic (much cheaper) would be likely to have the equipment to cut the offending object off of my baby.
I hadn't even finished this line of thought when TM was on the phone to our wonderful neighbors. "Got a Swiss Army knife or something with a small sawblade?" he asked. "We'll see what we can do," was the response, and within a minute and a half (though it seemed like an eternity in Purgatory), the neighbor was at the door with an armload of tools that might be made to do the job.
The first tool or two didn't do much, so it was time to go for the power drill. Punkin was highly dubious but fortunately has the male gene that makes tools abundantly fascinating. The first side wasn't too bad, and we were able to break through the puzzle piece most of the way. The other side was a bit trickier, with several big hands holding the five little fingers away from the drill and several big people trying to calm one small one, who was by this time pretty upset.
Captain Kid (still very ill), lay on the couch and watched the proceedings languidly. Finally, the offending object was off, and I could breathe again. And so could the punkin's finger. The neighbor accepted our sincere gratitude and left the wooden bits with the punkin pirate, who got out his crayons and began tracing them contentedly. I'm not sure I've ever felt such relief.
Except possibly this morning when, after waking up every hour or so to cry pathetically because he was so miserable, Captain Kid was able to sit up and eat some toast for breakfast. I gave him some Tylenol Infant's Drops because it was all the children's medicine we had, and an hour or so later, his fever had disappeared. Hallelujah.
After all that, today was not as hard as I'd thought it would be. Whew.
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