“In raising my children,
I have lost my mind,
but found my soul.”
-Lisa T Shephard
Kids have this remarkable way of doing something to completely drive you mad in one instance, and in the next do something that has you completely forget your grievances. It could be a look or a phrase or simply the way the light shines on their face and you notice, not for the first time, the incredible beauty of her long, fluttering eyelashes. It doesn’t take much.
Last night was a rough one. Brennyn fought hard not to get sick but in the end, conceded to the big sisters sickness. Hard not to when big sis’s slobbery, nose-picking finger gets put in her mouth over and over because gummy mouths are really funny to toddlers with teeth. She concedes too, to her Daddy who came home from a week of work away, coughing, sick and miserable but not being able to stand not cuddling his baby he’d been away from for the first time since she was born. So, in the end, Brennyn gets sick. Nasty sick.
It came fast and furious. Out of nowhere yesterday afternoon, I am holding her and she feels hot. Damn hot. I take her temperature and sure enough, she has a fever around 102 degrees Farenheit (I couldn’t figure out how to change to Celsius) It just so happens that I have planned an evening out with several other ladies who also lust after Edward and Jacob so I struggle with the should I leave or shouldn’t I. Salivating over hot, naked vampires and werewolves with other women who also do not mind acting like a 13-year old for the night, or stay home watching over my baby with her first fever. Dammit.
Having lost the mother-of-the-year title several hundred times already this year, I choose giggling over sexy monsters like a virgin school girl. Well, a giggling virgin with hand clasping my Blackberry waiting on text message updates. 10 minutes into the movie and I can breathe. Temperature at 100 degrees when I left, now down to 99. Enjoy the movie the text says.
So I do. Then the movie ends and the ladies are going out for a glass of wine, oh how I would love a glass of wine, but I head home instead because I need to be with my girl. I need to nurse her and comfort her and rub her hot little head telling her mommy is here and she’ll be fine. Convincing myself that she will be fine.
Her temperature remains around 99 throughout the night. Fever but low-grade. Worse is her chest congestion and raspy cough that keeps her, and us, up all night. We worry about the fever, the cough, whether she can breathe okay. After a long night, I wake up to Brennyn on her belly, smiling right up at me. A good sign. Then she pushes herself and rolls. Belly to back! This is not her first roll but only her 3rd in as many weeks. I laugh. Feeling better are we? Sure enough, I feel her head and it is clear, the fever has broke. Last night I lost my mind. This morning, see my soul…
Similarly this week, Kaya has me marveling at her empathy then cringing at her insensitivity. One night before bed I am reading her a Christmas book. Upon finishing, I ask her what she wants for Christmas from Santa. “Ummm… a piano!” I ask if there is anything else. “A present for you.” she replies. She could ask for anything and she wants Santa to bring me a present too? How the hell is she growing up so damn good I wonder.
The next day she is dangling her legs while sitting on the potty having a poo. I am folding laundry in the bedroom. “Mommy!” she calls. “Mommy I need you.”
Sometimes she needs encouragement to poo so I go in there to help. She is holding her hands out whimpering “Mommy, Mommy…”
I think ‘Look at her so cute dangling there, arms outreached for her mamma to help’ when I reach out to hold her hands in support.
Her hands are wet.
Before I can even ask she whines “My hands went in there.”
In there, being IN THE TOILET. In the toilet where she has ALREADY POOPED.
“EWWWWWWWWWW!!!! GROOOSSSSSS!!!!” I squeal and jump around like Stacy and Clinton tossing Mom jeans and hippie skirts around in disgust.
Seriously Kaya? Why would you stick your hands in poop then hold them out for me to touch? But I don’t actually get these words out. I am too busy ewwwwing and lathering my arm in soap surgeon-style.
She just looks up at me like ‘What’s the big deal? You clean my boogers and wipe my ass every day?”
And she’s right. This job Mother means taking the scrumptious with the disgusting, the milestones with the worry, the crazy with the soulful.
Kind of like the Twilight series actually. That whole dichotomy of good vs. monster, hot bod vs scary-ass stinky werewolf creature. Same, same. Really.
And that my friends, is how I skillfully combine lustful movie characters with poop and phlegm. I am so a Mom…