I wish all aspects of motherhood were easy. You know like what you would watch on television in the old days. Leave It To Beaver was one of my favorites. The perfect mom who always had cookies made, the house clean, always greeted so sweetly by her son...
Come to my house right now and you will see such a different picture.
Dishes clean in the dishwasher. Dirty dishes in the sink and on the counter. Crumbs from the kids on the kitchen floor with the stains of Popsicles and spaghettios that were spilled. Piles of laundry on the floor that have yet to be washed. Laundry still in the washer and dryer. A box of papers that needs to be sorted and filed. Paint brushes from the kids projects sitting on their arts table with paintings strewn about. Beds unmade. Towels piled in the bathrooms.
The list could go on.
An extremely exhausted woman, me, who spent last night in tears. A little girl who is fighting a cold and needs extra attention at the moment because she is feeling left out with the extra attention her brother is getting. He is getting that because he had surgery five days ago. He is also sick on top of the healing and fighting fevers, congestion, coughs, sleep deprivation. A husband who is also exhausted from no sleep, work, and also sick.
Sounds fun right. Nope.
You take the events from last night and I can honestly say without a doubt that this is the part of motherhood that I hate!
My poor son hates taking his pain medicine with a torturous passion! In the beginning it was just the narcotic that we would fight to get into him. And I promise you it is at least five minutes of pure hell. You grab a washrag, measure out the medicine in a plunger, grab a cup of water, and very cautiously approach Tyler knowing that if spotted the freak out will begin before any medicine is administered. Then comes the battle.
Pin him down, squeeze the cheeks and quickly squirt in the medicine a few drops at a time, wait for a swallow, duck from the spitting medicine, grasp a tighter hold against the kicking and hitting to escape, squirt some more, keep squeezing, squirt the rest, duck from more spit while waiting for the swallow followed by the choking from the screams and swallows, release, swoop him up in my arms holding him close and whispering in his ear that mama loves him and it's all over, soon he will be better. The screaming and crying continues 20 minutes more but instantaneously halts and is replaced by running and laughing and playing and EATING like he hadn't eaten in decades. Sit on the couch in exhaustion fighting back the guilt ridden tears that come despite my best efforts to reassure myself that I am doing what is best for my sore little man. Grab a glass of my trustworthy vino, relax, and witness the effects of comfort that the medicine, once kicked in, provide so he can enjoy playing. Take another sip of my vino because I realize that in 4 hours the battle will start all over again. Call the doctors office who FINALLY confesses that this is all normal and day seven is the worst not only for the patient but for his exhausted, emotional parents.
More tears are shed. More fights ensue, not only with Tyler, but also amongst his stressed mommy and daddy. Tears are shed by his sad, feeling left out, scared older sister. resulting in more tears shed by her heartbroken mommy.
Fast forward to now.
Christmas is over and I feel like the past month was a blur. Maybe because it was. But nothing prepared me for the roller coaster recovery we endured after Tyler's surgery and the magnitude of his defiance against the medicine. Was it really because of the taste? Was it because it burned as it went down? Was it because he has been through stitches, ER visits, and now surgery, all in a matter of 3 months? Was it just fate of a typical 2 year old? I still don't know. I still hate what we all went through and the toll it took on all of us. I still hate that I had to pin my baby down to give him medicine. I hate that it consumed so much of our energy. But I love that my little guy is out there now, talking up a storm, running and playing with his sister, screaming things that make me laugh, and at night, although he still crawls into bed with us, he breathes normally as a child should. He sleeps in peace. For that, I believe it was all worth it and I am blessed to have been able to give him comfort that he so deserves.
No comments:
Post a Comment