I need to be in bed, but I'm not. I am downstairs having a conversation with myself and typing to no one. Turner is sick and I can't sleep. Well, he's not really sick, he has a high fever and I don't know why. He is otherwise not sick. No runny nose, no cough, no vomiting, no cold like symptoms, just a fever.
I have given him Motrin and laid in bed with him til he fell asleep. Of course while I laid by my precious boy I wracked my brain to figure out what is causing the fever. Drawing a blank, I turned to a higher authority. God why does Turner have a fever? I feel oh so blessed. I also feel like I have such a good life that something bad has to happen. Why am I such a damn pessimist? Why does a simple fever put me in a panic? I wish I knew. Why don't I just give the boy some medicine and go to bed? I don't know.
As my mother says worrying is pointless, it changes nothing. Well I wish it were that easy for me. I am a worrier by nature and I can't change the nature of my worry.
I am a true control freak. I wish to run every little detail of my day, and your day too. I do a pretty OK job of filling my children's days, making up a schedule and what not. But when one of them gets sick I feel like I am in a tailspin. I have no say-so over a fever, damn it. I can not take it away. I can not diagnose it. I can only sit and wait.
So here I am typing, trying to clear my head. It isn't working. Why doesn't God have a call in line especially for parents? I know we can pray to Him when ever we want to, but I need something with more feedback. I want a 24 hour help line for mothers. I want to call and have a cherub answer the phone, listen to beautiful harps while on hold, then speak to a head honcho angel who can tell me if this is cause to worry or not.
I can hear it now: "Hello, heaven's parent help line how may we assist you?"
"Yes, I'm Turner's mom. I hate to bug you, but he has a fever. I've given him some medicine and he's resting peacefully. I would just like to know if he'll get sicker, is this the beginning of some cataclysmic illness, or is it just some run of the mill day long bug?"
"Hello again Tiffany, didn't think we'd hear from you so soon. How is Tate after falling out of the crib last week?"
"She's fine, thanks for asking, but about the fever.."
"Well not to worry, this should pass in about 36 hours. I have run it past The Boss and He assures me Turner will be good as new before supper tomorrow."
"Thank you so much! Please tell God how much I appreciate this help line. Please send me a comment card so I can commend you Gabriel on the fine job you do."
"I will send the card right out. We'll also be sending a book on patience to you door free of charge. We send it to all the parents who call in on a weekly basis."
"I didn't realize I called so much. I'll try to read the book if I have time. Thanks again bye-bye."
Wouldn't that be glorious? I think it may just let me sleep through the night if such a thing existed. But I am sure I could conjure up something else to worry about. I am feeling a little sleepy, so maybe just thinking and praying about it worked. I'll rest with one eye and ear open. I'll hope tomorrow my boy wakes up and has no fever, no aches or pains, and is ready for his bowl of oatmeal.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Glutton for punishment
Why do I do it? Why do I stand outside of Tate's door and peek through the crack to watch her cry? I know she's not in pain, scared, or panicked. No, she just cries a bit to wind down to fall asleep. Turner did this too, but not as much.
I pride myself on the fact that my kids are good sleepers. Sleep has always been something I have battled with. I'm not the girl who can just put head to pillow and drift off to la la land. I have never been a good sleeper. I slept in my parents bed til they gave me a sister who would sleep in my bed. I don't sleep when Brad's gone. I lurk downstairs til midnight or one then I go upstairs and stare at the walls. I can go to sleep in cool weather with Brad. Winter is wonderful: Cold sheets and a warm body to snuggle up next to. Summer nights aren't my thing. It's too hot to lay next to my clean smelling man mountain. I roll, toss, and turn without his arm on top of me to hold me still.
I don't want this for my kids. I want each of them to embrace sleep. I want them to be able to fall asleep by themselves and stay asleep. Turner is my golden boy. After a rocky first eight months of life he "cried it out" for a week and has been a gold star sleeper ever since. Turner merely needs a story read to him before nap or bed time, a hug and kiss, then he goes to sleep. If he wakes up to potty, he goes right back to sleep.
Tate is another story. I have been putting her in her own bed for months now. She has always napped in her own bed. She now goes all night with out nursing (not by her choice). But every single time she cries for ten minutes or so. I know this is not a travesty. I know that it's how she settles down. Now, ask me if it bothers me non-the-less? Yes it does. I try to play it off, but I hate the sound of either of my kids crying. I do it for her own good. Wow, did I just channel my mother for a second? I want her to learn how to sleep.
I don't want her to dread going to bed like I do. I wonder if our sleep habits are passed down father to son and mother to daughter? If so, I am so sorry Tate. I hope you learn to drop into bed and be asleep before the sheets settle, just like your Papa. Of course I want only good things for my two babies. So I wish to Turner and Tate sweet dreams, calm, and peaceful rest. I will be awake to watch over you, so rest my lovelies....
I pride myself on the fact that my kids are good sleepers. Sleep has always been something I have battled with. I'm not the girl who can just put head to pillow and drift off to la la land. I have never been a good sleeper. I slept in my parents bed til they gave me a sister who would sleep in my bed. I don't sleep when Brad's gone. I lurk downstairs til midnight or one then I go upstairs and stare at the walls. I can go to sleep in cool weather with Brad. Winter is wonderful: Cold sheets and a warm body to snuggle up next to. Summer nights aren't my thing. It's too hot to lay next to my clean smelling man mountain. I roll, toss, and turn without his arm on top of me to hold me still.
I don't want this for my kids. I want each of them to embrace sleep. I want them to be able to fall asleep by themselves and stay asleep. Turner is my golden boy. After a rocky first eight months of life he "cried it out" for a week and has been a gold star sleeper ever since. Turner merely needs a story read to him before nap or bed time, a hug and kiss, then he goes to sleep. If he wakes up to potty, he goes right back to sleep.
Tate is another story. I have been putting her in her own bed for months now. She has always napped in her own bed. She now goes all night with out nursing (not by her choice). But every single time she cries for ten minutes or so. I know this is not a travesty. I know that it's how she settles down. Now, ask me if it bothers me non-the-less? Yes it does. I try to play it off, but I hate the sound of either of my kids crying. I do it for her own good. Wow, did I just channel my mother for a second? I want her to learn how to sleep.
I don't want her to dread going to bed like I do. I wonder if our sleep habits are passed down father to son and mother to daughter? If so, I am so sorry Tate. I hope you learn to drop into bed and be asleep before the sheets settle, just like your Papa. Of course I want only good things for my two babies. So I wish to Turner and Tate sweet dreams, calm, and peaceful rest. I will be awake to watch over you, so rest my lovelies....
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Just like riding a bike
Hello, any one out there? I have been sadly missing typing all my thoughts and clearing out my head. Yes, it's been months. No, there's no excuse. Life just seemed to be happening so fast I could barely keep up, much less write about it.
Tate is now almost a year old. I have found that my post-partum mindset is amazingly the same with each of my children. I don't loose it immediately, right when they are born(shout out Becky, holla if you hear me ;-). No, I let the mid part, when my babies are 6-12 months, pull me under the fog. I don't pretend to know what it is that shapes my moods or balances my brain chemicals. I am thankful as hell for sympathetic doctors and for the antidepressants they dole out.
I haven't had an inkling to write, or do much else that's extracurricular, in a few months. Typing this now feels like getting on a pair of roller skates after leaving the rink for a few years. But wobbly, shaky, hear I come.
I have been trying to absorb every last minute of Tate's soon ending "babiness". Brad and I are done, no more babies for us. How sad to never again to hold a small soft newborn that came from me. How painful to know that this is it. I will admit that the first few months are my favorite. They are so small and I feel like I can protect my sweet new babes. It's the falling in love period for me. All filled with wonder and amazement at every corner.
Now life is fast. Tate is climbing out of her crib, into cabinets, and out of my protective abilities. Turner is smart, argumentative, and able to test all of my limits. Yet still, still I long for the these days to last longer. How to stretch the time? I take the kids to the pool where the sun seems to set a little slower. We hug a little longer. And with all the fun I pray a little harder for the days to keep being so simple.
I guess I am back, at least for today. I'll try to keep out of the fog, the sunshine feels so much better anyway. I'll try to write down all the fun stuff I want to remember. In thirty years I want to remember the day I told Turner that "We're going to the pool sucker!" My boy, ever witty, replied "OK lollie pop". Those little perfect moments are what I need, what I live for.
Tate is now almost a year old. I have found that my post-partum mindset is amazingly the same with each of my children. I don't loose it immediately, right when they are born(shout out Becky, holla if you hear me ;-). No, I let the mid part, when my babies are 6-12 months, pull me under the fog. I don't pretend to know what it is that shapes my moods or balances my brain chemicals. I am thankful as hell for sympathetic doctors and for the antidepressants they dole out.
I haven't had an inkling to write, or do much else that's extracurricular, in a few months. Typing this now feels like getting on a pair of roller skates after leaving the rink for a few years. But wobbly, shaky, hear I come.
I have been trying to absorb every last minute of Tate's soon ending "babiness". Brad and I are done, no more babies for us. How sad to never again to hold a small soft newborn that came from me. How painful to know that this is it. I will admit that the first few months are my favorite. They are so small and I feel like I can protect my sweet new babes. It's the falling in love period for me. All filled with wonder and amazement at every corner.
Now life is fast. Tate is climbing out of her crib, into cabinets, and out of my protective abilities. Turner is smart, argumentative, and able to test all of my limits. Yet still, still I long for the these days to last longer. How to stretch the time? I take the kids to the pool where the sun seems to set a little slower. We hug a little longer. And with all the fun I pray a little harder for the days to keep being so simple.
I guess I am back, at least for today. I'll try to keep out of the fog, the sunshine feels so much better anyway. I'll try to write down all the fun stuff I want to remember. In thirty years I want to remember the day I told Turner that "We're going to the pool sucker!" My boy, ever witty, replied "OK lollie pop". Those little perfect moments are what I need, what I live for.
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