I have been on edge all day and finally lost it this evening over toothbrushing. My son has been alternately very clingy and very mouthy since he went to the ultrasound with us Monday. He has also reverted back to waking at 5:30, which I had forgotten is a lot more difficult even than his usual wakeup time of 6. It's funny how sometimes you can see when that switch clicks. It seems that suddenly he realizes that there will be another person in the house. Today was one of those days where I couldn't even make a comment without him whining, screaming or climbing into my lap while doing a combination of the first two.
Anyway, I'd managed to deal with all of it with relative grace, keeping the rules, remaining calm and allowing him to cling as much as he needs. But, for some reason I just lost it while I was helping him brush his teeth. I asked him a question and was met with that grating, nails-on-a-chalkboard whine that tells you that anything you say or do will create only more whining and/or screaming. I had to leave the room, then broke down sobbing in the living room like a giant idiot. My exit made him whine and cry, then seeing me cry sent him shrieking, which of course made me cry harder. Ta-dah! My husband finally intervened, calmed him down and is now putting him to bed.
God, sometimes I feel so unequipped for this. When Ragsy was born, it was like having a ton of bricks laid in my lap. There was always so much responsibility - have to take care of him, have to take care of myself, have to take care of the husband (sometimes), have to take care of the marriage, have to take care of the house, have to take care of the cats (one of which is now sick and sneezing everywhere). You'd think that now that I know what to expect from having the first that the second would be difficult, but there wouldn't be any surprises.
Well, to my surprise, I'm finding out I'm much worse at this parenting thing than I thought. I've also discovered that I'm a horrible person masquerading as a nice one. And, thanks to the choroid plexus cysts, I'm a lot more paranoid than I was my first pregnancy.
Oh, and kids really are smarter than you give them credit for. My son asked me the other day if I would break when the baby came out. He thought it'd burrow its way out of my stomach, not unlike the creature in Alien. I gave him the basics of where the baby would come out and told him that I might be tired and a little sick feeling afterward, but it wouldn't take long before I was ok. But maybe I lied. Maybe I'm breaking now or going absoultely freaking nuts.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Two words you never want to hear together.
"Cyst" and "brain." Today's ultrasound went seamlessly for the most part, but at the end, after my husband had taken off with our increasingly-restless three-year old, the doctor came back in to look at a couple of things himself, most notably the bilateral choroid plexus cysts the ultrasound tech discovered in my baby's brain. After reviewing the ultrasound and confirming the measurements and echo-whatsit on the baby's heart, then hearing that my quad screen had come back negative, he reassured me that it was probably nothing to worry about - the cysts should be gone no later than 32 weeks.
The intellectual part of me is satisfied that everything's fine. The over-emotional, more fatalistic side of me, though, is going, "Well, yeah, right, so the likelihood of your baby having trisomy 18 is 1 in 300 now. But, how likely was it that your baby would have cysts to begin with? One in 100? Oh, and what about that seizure disorder? How likely was that? And what about that eclampsia? 'Likely' doesn't always seem to work with you now, does it, hmmm?"
I'm trying very hard to tell that side of me to kiss my butt. It'd be a hell of a lot easier to do that if I had a normal brain to begin with (I'm talking about my seizure disorder, not my overall craziness). I just keep telling myself that the likelihood of these cysts must be higher than originally thought because of the newfound sophistication in ultrasounds. Please let that be true.
The intellectual part of me is satisfied that everything's fine. The over-emotional, more fatalistic side of me, though, is going, "Well, yeah, right, so the likelihood of your baby having trisomy 18 is 1 in 300 now. But, how likely was it that your baby would have cysts to begin with? One in 100? Oh, and what about that seizure disorder? How likely was that? And what about that eclampsia? 'Likely' doesn't always seem to work with you now, does it, hmmm?"
I'm trying very hard to tell that side of me to kiss my butt. It'd be a hell of a lot easier to do that if I had a normal brain to begin with (I'm talking about my seizure disorder, not my overall craziness). I just keep telling myself that the likelihood of these cysts must be higher than originally thought because of the newfound sophistication in ultrasounds. Please let that be true.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Two shots of whiskey and a half pint of rum!
Anybody know the best way to get a three-year old to stop singing pirate shanties? When we went to the Renaissance Faire last week, Ragsy was enchanted by the pirates and the pirate music, so we picked up a CD. He seems to have memorized the most bawdy songs on the album. They don't really swear, but he's been going around singing, "I'll have two pints of whiskey and a half pint of rum!" all day. That'll be fun to explain to daycare. Oh, well. At least he's not damning the cats anymore. That was just awkward.
Out like a light.
Have you ever had a weekend where you did nothing in particular, but felt like you were doing a lot? We've had one of those weekends and I'm still not sure why. We only did two things really: went to Shakespeare in the Park Saturday night and to a birthday party this afternoon. So why, then, does it feel like we've been crazy busy?
Perhaps it's because of the travel during the week. I was in Atlanta, GA on Monday and Tuesday unexpectedly for a conference on employer retiree healthcare funding, which is about as fun it as it sounds for most people, but given that I've worked in Medicare for a while now, was like being in healthcare geek heaven. VEBAs, 115s and CDHC, oh, my!
Anyway, that sucked away last Sunday night, all of Monday and Tuesday, so the week was short. Then Saturday morning was spent at the playground, a well-deserved and much-needed reward after Ragsy tolerated me running a gazillion errands first. The energy he burned off (and forced me to burn off, too) was a bonus. We went to Faust park and, after playing on the playground for a few minutes, he was off like a rocket toward the lake. We ran there for a while, then ran back to the playground, climbed for a while, then ran the opposite direction toward the historic recreation of a farm. We ran there for a while, then back to the playground where he at last admitted that some water might be nice and wanted to sit in the car.
People say that your kids reflect you in strange ways. His inability to walk when running is an option is one way my childhood comes back to haunt me. I still remember running until I wanted to drop - down the street, down the little landing strip where crop dusters used to land, but that's now covered by a Target, then zig-zagging through the cornfields. I would reach the old abandoned house at the very edge of the field, touch the gnarled old tree that grew beside it, only to turn around, walk for a few minutes, the corn reaching way over my head, then decide that walking was too boring if I was still capable of running. Then I would run all the way to Rachel's house or the ditch where we collected snails or home where mom was waiting for me.
Anyway, Saturday night, as I said, was spent at Shakespeare in the Park. It was a lot of fun and something that I think will become a family tradition. I didn't realize it, but we've taken Ragsy on precious few picnics. That alone was a trip for him. Add in some jugglers, singers, dancers and a stage and he was in heaven. The trip to Ted Drewe's didn't hurt, either.
Then today we went to a birthday party where he spent almost the entire time running. And running. And running. We had a great time and Ragsy barely sat still long enough to eat a few bites of pizza, then took off again. The only thing that kept him in his seat for any length of time was juice and cake. By the time we left, he was asking to go to sleep on the ground. He lasted about 10 minutes in the car before he finally wound down and conked out.
Even though I feel like I've already been busy, I still feel like I have a lot to do. Cooking for the week, cleaning up, laundry, prepping for tomorrow (yes, I actually set out my clothing and get my lunch ready the night before; otherwise I would never find my pants and I would be eating fast food all the time, so they wouldn't fit anyway). I also need to start searching for a dresser for the baby's room.
I get a little nervous about this baby occasionally. Sometimes when I'm by myself, I forget that I'm pregnant. I forget, then I panic, wondering if something has happened to it. I did that while I was in Atlanta, even though I can feel the baby move every once in a while. I think that's one reason for all the doctor's appointments - to calm pregnant women down when they freak out. I wasn't like this with Ragsy, so I don't know why it's different now. But it is.
Anyway, off to get some cooking started before Ragsy wakes up. He's been helping me in the kitchen a lot lately, but it'll be nice to cook something without dodging little hands or asking someone to get away from the stove.
Perhaps it's because of the travel during the week. I was in Atlanta, GA on Monday and Tuesday unexpectedly for a conference on employer retiree healthcare funding, which is about as fun it as it sounds for most people, but given that I've worked in Medicare for a while now, was like being in healthcare geek heaven. VEBAs, 115s and CDHC, oh, my!
Anyway, that sucked away last Sunday night, all of Monday and Tuesday, so the week was short. Then Saturday morning was spent at the playground, a well-deserved and much-needed reward after Ragsy tolerated me running a gazillion errands first. The energy he burned off (and forced me to burn off, too) was a bonus. We went to Faust park and, after playing on the playground for a few minutes, he was off like a rocket toward the lake. We ran there for a while, then ran back to the playground, climbed for a while, then ran the opposite direction toward the historic recreation of a farm. We ran there for a while, then back to the playground where he at last admitted that some water might be nice and wanted to sit in the car.
People say that your kids reflect you in strange ways. His inability to walk when running is an option is one way my childhood comes back to haunt me. I still remember running until I wanted to drop - down the street, down the little landing strip where crop dusters used to land, but that's now covered by a Target, then zig-zagging through the cornfields. I would reach the old abandoned house at the very edge of the field, touch the gnarled old tree that grew beside it, only to turn around, walk for a few minutes, the corn reaching way over my head, then decide that walking was too boring if I was still capable of running. Then I would run all the way to Rachel's house or the ditch where we collected snails or home where mom was waiting for me.
Anyway, Saturday night, as I said, was spent at Shakespeare in the Park. It was a lot of fun and something that I think will become a family tradition. I didn't realize it, but we've taken Ragsy on precious few picnics. That alone was a trip for him. Add in some jugglers, singers, dancers and a stage and he was in heaven. The trip to Ted Drewe's didn't hurt, either.
Then today we went to a birthday party where he spent almost the entire time running. And running. And running. We had a great time and Ragsy barely sat still long enough to eat a few bites of pizza, then took off again. The only thing that kept him in his seat for any length of time was juice and cake. By the time we left, he was asking to go to sleep on the ground. He lasted about 10 minutes in the car before he finally wound down and conked out.
Even though I feel like I've already been busy, I still feel like I have a lot to do. Cooking for the week, cleaning up, laundry, prepping for tomorrow (yes, I actually set out my clothing and get my lunch ready the night before; otherwise I would never find my pants and I would be eating fast food all the time, so they wouldn't fit anyway). I also need to start searching for a dresser for the baby's room.
I get a little nervous about this baby occasionally. Sometimes when I'm by myself, I forget that I'm pregnant. I forget, then I panic, wondering if something has happened to it. I did that while I was in Atlanta, even though I can feel the baby move every once in a while. I think that's one reason for all the doctor's appointments - to calm pregnant women down when they freak out. I wasn't like this with Ragsy, so I don't know why it's different now. But it is.
Anyway, off to get some cooking started before Ragsy wakes up. He's been helping me in the kitchen a lot lately, but it'll be nice to cook something without dodging little hands or asking someone to get away from the stove.
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