Staring Contest

I have many theories and thoughts about what it means to be a parent (clearly if I can have an entire blog devoted to it) and the first theory that I formulated rings true to me almost everyday: At its core, at the darkest heart of parenting it is nothing more than a long series of Mexican standoffs. It is you against them (him in my case) to see who can keep from blinking, flinching, backing down.

When the Mud Puddle was first born I tried the whole breast feeding thing with mixed results. First off, he was ginormous – 9 and a half stinking pounds. And while most babies lose weight in the first few days after birth, the Mud Puddle just started gaining and didn’t look back. So every other nurse was telling me to give him a bottle, that I couldn’t produce enough milk to feed him and so I finally gave in and gave him a bottle. Then tried to go back to the natural way. Yeah, he was having none of it. But I stood firm and it was my way or go hungry and he finally relented. Score Round 1 to me.
I won the Round but he eventually won the Match -most newborns eat 1-2 ounces every three hours, by the time he was a week old he was eating SIX ounces every three hours, so we turned back to the bottle.

I feel as though around every turn there has been a battle of wills between us, what he eats, what time he goes to bed, how long he controls the television. This past week or so things have turned rather ugly with his asserting his willful independence and snarkiness a little too much for my liking.

The back-talk and whining have become way out of control and Scott and I have done our best to reign him in. He was in the Naughty Corner twice (The second time for six minutes facing the wall) and was sent to bed in a fit of tears, wailing and threats of puking over the weekend.

This is the child who has thrown maybe two or three temper tantrums in his life. Saturday night's was a doozy. After taking him to the movies, and out to dinner on Saturday night we get home and he starts in with the sass. I would say something and he would disagree with me just to be fresh. That is at the top of my annoying list and he found that button and kept on pushing until I had all I could take and we put him to bed (a whole five minutes before bedtime, the horror!!).

And wouldn’t you know, he got up Sunday and started all over again with the same behavior, I wanted to rip my hair out. If this is how he is going to be forever then maybe they can put his tonsils back in and give me my old sweet, lovable, loud snorer back, because this version, not so much fun.

I am sure that he will eventually snap out of it (or I can just start saving pennies and counting the days to military school) but in the mean time, he is wearing me down. I am used to having to hold firm and stand my ground in the short term to ensure he behaves in the long term, but this is one for the record books.

In came the doctor, in came the nurse...

So the Mud Puddle had his tonsils and adenoids out last week, and he has seemingly bounced right back; I, on the other hand need a vacation or at least some convalescing of my own to recover from THAT whole ordeal.

It is exhausting to try and keep a brave face on, manage the Mud Puddles needs, and not hover all at the same time. For each time I said “stop running” (he was supposed to be quiet during his recovery) he would say “stop looking at me”. I couldn’t help it; I was in full blown concerned mommy mode. I was really afraid he would be in pain, uncomfortable or would rip something that needed to heal.

The hardest part for me was going with him into the operating room. It was so bright, filled with all kinds of shiny equipment, everyone was wearing masks. I can just imagine what was going through his mind. He kept saying to me “I don’t want to be here, take me somewhere else. I want to go back to the other room.” And if I could have, I would have snatched him off that gurney and ran. But I couldn’t.

He cried, and wailed and clung to my neck. The Anesthesiologist put the mask over his face and told me it was good thing that he was crying because it mean he was getting more of the gas into his lungs (those deep heaving sobs came in handy) and he was quickly out like a light. I waited until I was outside the operating suite to let my tears flow. I felt so bad to have not been able to answer his pleas but tried to remember I was doing the right thing.

After about 30 minutes of mental hand ringing and second counting, the doctor came out to tell us all had gone well and we could go back and see him in a few minutes. Scott quickly told me he would hang back and let me go first so as not to be trampled in my sprint to reach the Mud Puddle’s side.

When we FINALLY got back to see him, he was still asleep. He remained sleeping for about 20 minutes which the nurses said was a good thing. He and I cuddled in a rocking chair and he drank the ice water and ate the popsicle he had to down before they would let him go home.

The next thing I know he has barfed all over himself, Elly (his beloved elephant blanket) and me – it was the most disgusting puke I have ever seen (and believe me I am a puke connoisseur) but according to the nurses it was a good thing. Really? It looked the opposite of good to me. It was apparently all that had fallen down his throat during the surgery (I will not go into more detail than THAT).

The sense of good in the tonsil removal world is clearly a much different beast then in my world. So he puked two more times – less disgusting with each go – and spent the remainder of the day sacked out on the couch watching tv and drinking water and juice.

About five hours post-op he returned to the bouncing, skipping happy little boy he had been pre-surgery. The only problem being he was supposed to rest - for a WEEK.

I did my best to control him and keep him quiet (yeah right, out of full blown screech mode was considered a success) and my parents were a HUGE help with taking care of him and giving him all the love and attention he needed and rightfully deserved.

He is back at daycare today and seems no worse for the wear – a little hoarse and skinnier (the kid was already a bean pole). I am glad it is all over and hope to have my first full night of sleep (Ambien induced and dreamless is the plan) tonight.

Flashback

I figured that I would fill this space this week with an oldie but a goodie. I was reading through my old journal the other night and came across an amusing Mud Puddle story from back in the day.

When the Mud Puddle was an infant (and I was off my three glorious months of maternity leave) we all made the daily trek to Boston from our apartment in Methuen (about 30 miles and could take anywhere from 45 minutes to two hours depending on traffic, weather, etc.).

The Mud Puddle has always been a great rider (well, there was one time when Scott was in Hawaii and I was alone with him in the car, but that is a story for a different post) and continues to be to this day (10 hours to and from Greenville, he was whiny and annoying for five minutes) which is a blessing given all the car time we spend as a family.
So right, we used to drive into Boston, Scott would drop Josh and I off at daycare and I would walk a mile or so to work (through Boston Common, nice walk, good exercise, I kind of miss it).

Well one morning the Mud Puddle had quite the runny nose going on (it was probably late winter so he was six months old or so), but no other symptoms of illness. We all piled into the car and headed down 93 toward Boston. The Mud Puddle was his usual quiet self, babbling quietly or sleeping (or so I thought).

We get to daycare and I got to pull out his car seat and notice he is covered in boogers. And when I say covered, I mean head to toe. Boogers in his hair, down his coat, on his shoes. Seriously it was like a booger bomb exploded (and as an off-topic aside my mom is reading this somewhere shuddering – she HATES the B word).
Not only was he covered but they had dried. To this day I have no idea how one, medium sized six-month-old could produce that much snot in an hour and successfully smear it all over himself. A mystery for Ripley’s perhaps.

We cleaned him up the best we could with the wet naps in the car and then took him inside to change and remove the rest of the offensive goop. He was smiling and laughing the whole time, oblivious to the fact that he was a human snot ball.

Back in those days it was harder being a mom, not knowing what the heck I was doing and worrying all the time that I was messing up. This was one of the first times I could see the humor in the chaos. And for that I will always be grateful for the Booger Story.