Confessions of a worry wart

In the back of my mind, I’ve been thinking my kid might be a hunchback. Joseph rolled over pretty early at about 10 weeks. He started rice cereal and advanced to food well ahead of when the doctor predicted he would. He began sitting in his Bumbo seat before he even fit in it. By all accounts he’s achieved many milestones a little ahead or right on target, especially for his small size. All except sitting up. Most kids I know his age are sitting up by now. For the past couple weeks, I’ve been trying to encourage him to sit up without support. Each time he leans forward and touches his abdomen straight to the ground, in perfect gym class form. Yes, he’s a flexible little guy, but why won’t he sit? As with most things anymore, I jumped right to thinking something must be wrong. Before he was born, a test showed an indicator for spina bifida…could this be related to why he’s not sitting up? I know…I’m nuts, my kid doesn’t have spina bifida! He is perfectly normal and healthy. Last night, after creating much undue worry in my head, my fears were alleviated as I watched Joseph sit up all by himself in his own time.

As a new mom, worry becomes a constant. Some worries are warranted, some spring straight out of “new parent” paranoia, and some…well I really can’t say where they stem from, but they do seem a little out there when I find the time to reflect on them! From constantly fearing that someone will drop my child to imagining that he has some sort of severe undiagnosed illness with every sniffle or cough, I think I must carry around 10lbs of anxiety at all times!

Case No. 1: When Joseph was about 2 months old, I found a deer tick behind his left ear. I was alone, and I was in a panic. My crazy post partum mind immediately diagnosed him with an incurable case of Lyme disease. I sprung into action…the tick had a pretty good grip, how was I going to get it off of him? Remembering lessons learned from my years of Girl Scout camping, I dabbed a tissue with some alcohol and held it against the tick until it backed out. Then with the level of detail of a CSI detective, I carefully bagged the tick into an evidence kit, and jumped on the phone with the pediatrician.

What? I have to wait for a call back? Don’t they understand what just happened? 15 minutes later the doctor called. Man, I was ready...we could get to the office in 20 minutes. I had that little sucker bagged and ready to be tested for whatever he might have transmitted to my helpless little boy. Through the phone, I calmly explained the horror of what happened. Our doctor, whom I thought was an advocate for my kid until this point, basically said that Joseph was fine. There was no need to bring him in. No need for a lab to dissect the tick. No need to save the tick. She went on to explain that the probability of him contracting Lyme disease or anything else from this one bug bite was very slim…and in the slight chance he did, other symptoms would begin to exhibit such as the infamous bull’s eye. She told me to flush the tick, and keep an eye on the bite for the next week or so, but not to worry. Was she crazy? Not worry!!! Well I monitored that bite 20 times a day for the next week (all the while, the tick was sitting securely on the back of the toilet) just knowing that she was wrong. Needless to say nothing ever came about with the bite, and I ended up flushing the tick about a week later. Lesson learned…no need to panic.

Case No. 2: About three weeks ago, I finally relented and began giving Joseph his Amoxicillin prescription, seeing that his cold was not going away. One teaspoon, twice a day for two weeks through an oral syringe provided by the pharmacist. After about two days on the medicine, there a marked improvement with his cold. Great, good decision, glad we started the medicine. End of story? Not quite.

Two days ago, 10 days into the prescription, I had a moment of panic. Had I been giving him the correct dosage? I don’t even know what made me think of it. The syringe was clearly labeled in “ml” and “tsp”. But did “tsp” stand for tablespoon or teaspoon? OMG!!! Had I been giving him three times the proper dosage every time? Was I overdosing Joseph on prescription medications?! I spent the next 25 minutes researching the abbreviations for teaspoon and tablespoon. Now, I’m not that dense- I took Home Economics. I know how to abbreviate tablespoon and teaspoon. But somewhere in my irrational mom mind, I was seriously doubting myself. Finally, my internet search confirmed to me that my son was not excessively medicated, and that I did indeed have a working knowledge of kitchen measurements…thanks Google! Whew!!!

Case No. 3: The tick wasn’t our only experience with an unwanted creepy-crawly. Recently, during bath time, I noticed a gnat inside the lobe of Joseph’s ear. Before I go on, I should preface this story with a brief summary of something that happened to one of my co-workers (weak stomachs beware). A friend of mine was traveling on a vacation and felt a fly on her ear. She brushed it off and went on with her day. A few hours later she began having an awful headache and ended up in the hospital. It seems that this fly in the few short seconds it was on her earlobe, laid some eggs. Gross right? Anyway, you get where this is going? After some pretty crazy and lengthy treatment, she was fine though.

Back to my gnat. How it got there, how long it had been there…I don’t know. But if you understand at all how my mind works now, you should know that I was freaked! I got it off of Joseph’s ear with a Q-tip, wiped the spot with some alcohol, and then proceeded to tell Matt my worst fears. He convinced me that I should not call the doctor, saying that I would sound completely insane if my concerns were explained to her by sharing my co-worker’s experience. And as I reflected on my previous “bug call” with the pediatrician, I agreed that it would be best to freak out on my own and refrain from sharing my outlandish fears with her. But,each time Joseph even batted at his ear over the next few days, my mind raced back to that dang gnat!

Case No. 4:  Before the Amoxicillin, I was treating Joseph’s cold with saline drops, vapor bath and Vick’s baby rub. During this course of treatment, he broke out into a bumpy skin rash all over his chest and neck. Any sane person would deduce that the rash was only occurring where the vapor rub was going…thus the vapor rub was causing the rash. While I realized that he probably didn’t have shingles, chicken pox, or some kind of autoimmune disorder, I can’t say there wasn’t a small part of me that jumped to that conclusion. I have learned and grown from the aforementioned experiences though…it is best to slightly abstain from voicing these concerns! After a few days of discontinuing the baby rub the rash disappeared. There really might be something to this cool and composed thing!

I do think that I’ve mellowed out a little over the past half a year, but ask anyone close to me, and they might disagree. So really, I’m not sure! I realize there will be bangs and bruises, bug bites, and over and under achieving at times. Each new bump in the road, provides a whole new set of worries and uncertainties. I've been told this is the norm for a very very long time. I’m trying to stay a little more chill though.

Happy half a year old

My baby boy is six months old today. A half a year! Not really sure where the time went in some ways, and in others, it feels like he’s always been here. The past months have been a lesson in life that I wouldn’t trade for anything else in the world. Yes, its easy to say that now, but maybe wouldn’t have been so easy to say it in the moment of any one of the sleepless nights, crying fits (mine and his), poopy diapers that could gag you from a mile away, gassy tummies, or mornings that started before the sun came up.  I am, by nature, not a morning person, and will not be converted, no matter how persistent Joseph is, but I have developed a bit more tolerance for them. I remember thinking, “I can’t wait until he sleeps through the night…starts sleeping in his crib…rolls over…holds his own bottle…smiles to let me know if he likes something…eats real food…breaks a tooth… fits in a regular car seat…these things will make our lives so much easier.”   

It was so easy to get wrapped up in the anticipation of him graduating from one thing to the next, that I’m not sure we fully appreciated each step along the way. It got me to thinking- this is how most of us live our lives. We are always waiting for the next thing- the thing that will top everything else, make our own world a little better, a little less difficult. I know as a kid, I couldn’t wait to be older, to do everything adults could do. But eventually, I did grow older, and then I realized the many highlights of being a kid.  It’s not that I’ve never thought about this concept before, but it took my son to make me realize how important it is to resist the urge to think like this.

At 6 months old, Joseph has done or is about to do most of the things that only a few months ago I couldn't wait for him to accomplish.  As I pack away clothes that no longer fit him, pull out new toys that he's finally old enough to play with, or pick up things off the floor so he doesn't eat them, I am reminded of how small he was just a short time ago...and I've even found myself missing those times.  

 

Perhaps the past 6 months haven't just taught me more patience, that its ok to rock sweat pants for five days in a row, better time management, a few new ways to pull my hair into a ponytail, and an entire new set of priorities. Maybe the bigger, more important lesson I’ve taken away from this experience, is that life happens whether you’re paying attention or not. Enjoy the moments, don’t rush through them. Find the happiness and purpose in even the difficult and inconvenient times.  

As for me, I will be reminding myself to take in every runny nose, belly laugh, log roll across the floor, sweet potato covered face, bottle spill, temper tantrum, pee in the tub, nap in the car, and morning smile. And although, I’ll still be looking forward to each next step, I will treasure the moment that we are in right now.

 Happy half-birthday Joseph! Mommy loves you with all her heart :)

 

The Cold That Won't Go Away

Joseph came down with his first real cold, and of course, it's breaking my heart. It's pretty much the most pathetic, pitiful thing I've ever witnessed.  Poor little snotty guy :) 

He's sporting all of the tell tale symptoms...runny raw nose, low grade fever (that has since dissipated), red-rimmed watery eyes, sleeplessness, nightime cough, etc.  No loss of appetite...but his general stuffiness is causing some struggle with the bottle.  I don't think he minds that though, b/c it just means he gets more "real" food from the spoon.  And if you haven't had the chance to catch up on the last post...HE LOVES FOOD!

We're rounding out week two of the cold that won't go away, and after a few touch bases via phone throughout the week, yesterday warranted the first sick visit to the pediatrician.  All I can say is GOOD TIMES!  Keeping a wiggly 6 month old still and quiet in order to have a rectal temperature taken, listen to their lungs, stick a popsicle stick down their throat, and the equivalent of a plunger into their ear, proved to be a little trickier than I anticipated! 

His pediatrician was concerned that there might be some fluid in his lungs, but after listening for what seemed like 10 minutes, she didn't hear anything.  We were sent home with an antibiotic which he's supposed to be starting on Friday if there's no improvement.  Not too keen on the antibiotic route, and neither was the doctor, but she seemed to think that this was bacterial vs. viral, so that would be the appropriate course of treatment.

Our daily and nightly routines have consisted of saline nose drops (that get everywhere else on Joseph's face except his nose...but hey, at least its just saline), lots of vapor rub (the smell has seeped into everything in the house), menthol baths, using the snot sucky thing (umm...not a fan, but for those of you who read my facebook message...at least I'm not sucking it out with my own mouth as one website suggested), and moving the humidifier to wherever we move Joseph.  One of my favorite highlights of the baby cold...getting my shirt used as a tissue 50 times a day as Joseph head butts me to wipe his boogers.  Again...REAL GOOD TIMES!

  

Joseph Hearts Food

 At almost 6 months, Joseph has finally started expanding his food palette. It will be interesting to see whose eating habits he inherits.

Matt will try anything, and rarely dislikes something. Me, on the other hand...I am probably one of the pickiest eaters any one of you has ever met. Matt likes to joke that I know about 50 ways to fix chicken or beef, and that just because it’s a different recipe, doesn’t mean we haven’t ate chicken five nights in a row...lol! 

One thing is clear though, Joseph loves food! We were in Target last week picking up some groceries, and he literally grabbed the baby food off of the shelf and stuffed it under his arm. I had to inspect his car seat at the checkout to make sure we weren’t shoplifting anything.

We’ve graduated from plain cereal to fruit cereal to now mashed pears and bananas...I know, you're all thinking, "so exciting," right?!!   LOL! 

He takes after me for his love of cherry snowballs, and chocolate ice cream. Biggest surprise though? The kid doesn’t like mashed potatoes!!! Seriously, what kid doesn’t like mashed potatoes? We’re working on it!  Any kid of mine MUST eat potatoes :)

A year ago

Yesterday was one year since my grandmother passed and I used some free time last week to write some of my thoughts down.  I thought it would be a nice story to share to get myself started on this blog again.  For those of you that knew her, I hope you find a little comfort from it.  It’s a little more personal that I typically share with everyone, but I know that some of you who have read it, have said you enjoyed it, and it brought back a lot of memories for you.

Today marks one year since my grandmother died. And out of the last 365 days, not one has gone by without her being in my thoughts or dreams.

Living directly across the street from her for the first 21 years of my life, one would think that I would have been extremely close with her as a child. While I spent a lot of time with her, I don’t think I had a full appreciation for her until much later in life.

Mary Jo Swain was tough love. She could be a hard-headed and unforgiving, and sometimes I found these traits very difficult to understand as a kid. She had a hard childhood in a large family where the needs clearly outweighed the resources. She learned self reliance early on in life. Her father wasn’t around and her mother died when she was a young adult. She married my grandfather at a young age and raised several of her younger siblings. She and my grandfather had six kids of their own; three boys and three girls. They raised their family on a modest income in the same house on Maryland Avenue that she lived in until the day she died…the same house I grew up across from.

As a very young child I remember tender moments with her. Sleeping over, laying in her big king size bed with soft silky sheets...drifting asleep as she lightly tickled my stomach…sipping from her coffee cup that I knew my mom would not approve of…using a new towel every time I came in from the pool…leaving dripping bathing suits balled up on the bathroom floor…and consequently getting reprimanded for both.

Summer days would be spent in the pool, and she or my grandfather would sit and watch…yelling every time us kids ran too fast, almost took someone out by diving on top of them, splashed too much water out, or played on the rope that separated the shallow end from the deep end (which for some reason was always tempting to sit on or tumble over).

There were cookouts and holiday meals. I have a vivid memory of her standing in the kitchen mixing a huge batch of macaroni salad in a big aluminum pot. No one could make macaroni salad like she could. Holiday turkeys were always set out on the kitchen table to be sliced as needed by each person, and there was something about her gravy that I’m sure no one will ever be able to exactly duplicate.

Christmas was one of her favorite holidays. She had a fake Christmas tree that was all white, and only decorated it with red ornaments. We would always pick a night, and I would help her wrap gifts for hours…always writing the names on them because she would forget to.

She cooked dinner every night. Her kitchen cabinets were cluttered with a mish mash of different plates, cups, and silverware from at least 10 different place settings, and unless it was a holiday, no one’s utensils or dinnerware ever matched. On the rare occasion that she didn’t make a home cooked meal, she and my grandfather enjoyed ordering Italian cold cuts or pepperoni pizzas.

There were weekly card games with Aunt Nook and Uncle Ed…which frequently seemed to coincide with a night that I would stay. She would put me to bed and I could hear them argue over who was cheating who from around the corner as they sit at the kitchen table and I lay on her bed watching television. I can remember the cold breeze from her air conditioner blowing directly on me as I lay there. There was something about being in that huge bed all snuggled up with the cold air coming down.

She and my grandfather took me to Disney World twice…although, I only have a very vague recollection of walking through Epcot (which was not at all interesting to a 4 year old), and riding on the Dumbo ride (this may or may not be a memory that I’ve made up due to the fact I’ve seen the picture so many times).

 

Living so close to someone for such a long time, one can’t help but begin to take that person for granted, get too used to them being there, and get somewhat tired of them always being there. As a teenager, these were my feelings. And my grandmother, being the person that she was, became more of a critic and worry wart towards me…always expressing fear over every potential thing that could go wrong, anxiety that this person or that person was a bad influence, uneasiness concerning any broadening of my independence. These concerns were often shared in a rather vocal manner, the kind that only comes from a genuine Southwest Baltimore upbringing.

Still, she always stayed involved. For my 15th birthday she made me a birthday cake with a diorama of a ski slope on it. She never missed a birthday. Sometimes she would be a day or two late, but I guess with six kids, and six grandkids, it gets pretty easy to mix up dates!

Photo ops for homecomings, school dances, and proms (with an entourage of onlookers from the entire block) took place in her backyard. It was always so well maintained and made the perfect backdrop. Flowerbeds were always trimmed. The grass was always green, and the pool, a clear sparkling blue.

When I was 18, she helped me paint and wallpaper my bedroom, and used the opportunity to lecture me about her fear of me “running off and getting hitched” to my high school boyfriend...and all I could think at the time was “good God, this is the most uncomfortable conversation…she’s so not with it.” But I was young, and I didn’t understand how “with it” she actually was.

I often think back to the times when my grandfather was sick. I could’ve and should’ve helped more. I should’ve taken the time…one regret that I didn’t realize I would have in the moment. When my grandfather passed something changed in my grandmother. I remember sitting in her kitchen the morning after his death, looking over at her. Her heart was no longer whole. This unbreakable woman now seemed vulnerable, shaken and broken. She was forever changed.

Over the last few years of her life, I came to know my grandmother better than I ever did over the 21 years that I lived across the street from her. During the work week, I would drive over often for my lunch breaks. I could always hear the television blaring from inside as soon as I opened the car door...A&E...I’m convinced this was the only channel she got. I didn’t mind though. I enjoyed catching old episodes of Law and Order, Crossing Jordan, and Cold Case Files in the middle of my work day. It made it seem not so workish. She claimed that she never paid attention to what was on, and only used the TV to fill the silence of the house; but you could tell she watched a little too many crime dramas because she was always warning about the dangers of everyone and everything “out there.”

The smell of cigarettes was apparent as soon as I opened the door, but it wasn’t the nasty, ick feeling usually associated with them...it was familiar. The coffee pot would always be on, and usually empty. Since it was a coffee pot from circa 1982, it didn’t have an automatic shut off, and was probably one of just 120 other fire hazards in that old house. I usually turned it off; she was none the wiser.

I enjoyed those lunches with her. She always seemed so eager and excited for the company. She would make ham and cheese sandwiches (always imported ham…never pre-packaged), shrimp salad...sometimes, we would order pepperoni pizza, and sometimes, we would venture out to a local restaurant. She loved her cream of crab soup and her crab cakes. She loved to order Reuben sandwiches; and each time she would say “I don’t think I’ve had one of these since Daddy died.” This was what she affectionately called my grandfather ever since I can remember.

I gradually noticed changes in her. Her memory was lapsing more and more. Sometimes she would forget about our lunch dates. Sometimes she wouldn’t be able to recollect when she last saw me. She would tell me the same stories repeatedly during the same conversation. Sometimes she would even complain to me about how long it had been since I’d last been over, even though it was usually just a few days. She often got frustrated at her growing level of confusion.

It was sad to see such a strong-willed, strong-minded woman growing old before my eyes. But it was in these times, that we had some of our best chats ever. The thing about aging that I came to appreciate is that it causes you to reminisce an awful lot. I enjoyed hearing stories about when she was young; things she used to do; people she used to hang with; dating my grandfather; raising my aunts and uncles… all of the things that I never knew about her before then. Things about my family, things about me. Things that I could never learn from anyone else.

One day early last August over a bite of pizza, she very bluntly blurted a peculiar question, “Sher, you pregnant yet?” That’s just how she was. She said exactly what was on her mind. The odd thing was, she had never asked me such a question before. Coincidently, one week later I found out that I was pregnant with my first child.

I knew how excited she would be to hear the news, and thought of ways to share it with her. I decided that I would wait until my first sonogram so that I could take her a picture. Her memory was declining, and I wanted her to be able to have something to keep at the house to remind her.

A week before my sonogram, I had lunch with her one final time. As we sat talking in the sitting room, my cousin Aubrey kept prompting me to tell her about the baby. I held out…I wanted to wait until I could give her the picture.

The morning of my sonogram, I got a call on my cell phone just as I was driving to the appointment. My mom was taking my grandmother to the hospital. She had been having extreme back pain for some time. My mom passed the phone to my grandmother and I talked with her for a moment. “I’m going to the hospital,” she said, “I’m about to kick the bucket.” I can still hear those words, and her voice as she said them, so clearly in my head. I’m not sure if anyone else sensed it at the time, but I remember thinking she knew something we didn’t.

I never got a chance to give her Joseph’s first “photo.” And, even though I told her about him over and over again during the month and half that she spent in the hospital, I really don’t know that she understood what I was telling her. She was in terrible pain, in and out of sleep; getting over one infection, only to fight another. She suffered from a collapsed lung, internal bleeding, spinal issues, and so on. She was intubated, extubated, and intubated repeatedly. The days that lead up to her passing were difficult to say the least. And the decision to finally let her go was probably one of the hardest that my family has ever had to make. I remain convinced that she made the decision, and only wanted us to help her follow through with it. She was tired, lonely, and being called to move on.

The day that she died, everyone spent vigil at the hospital for hours. We watched her heart rate on the monitor slowly decrease and then unexpectedly increase continually in what seemed like an endlessly heart wrenching and never-ending scenario.

I remember “the moment” like it was yesterday. So many people were gathered around her. I was sitting at the foot of her bed; my head was burrowed in her blanket just at her knees. It was a white waffle knit cotton blanket, and smelled of hospital, medications, and detergent. I didn’t look at the heart monitor as I had so many times over the course of the day. I heard it though. The beeping, then the continuous long beep that signaled she was gone. I felt like I didn’t lift my head for several minutes, and when I did, I saw that my mascara had soaked into the blanket.

The days before her funeral were hard...decisions, family bickering, planning, spreading the news. I could say it was all just a blur, but I remember it very clearly.

At her funeral, in lieu of the traditional eulogy, family and friends were invited to speak. I did not. Had I done so, this is what I would have liked to share.

My grandmother was complicated, frustrating, hot tempered, kind, big- hearted, and lived for her family. I didn’t always understand her, but I came to appreciate and value her so much. I found a great friend in her. She taught me things that only someone who has lived them could be able to. She was the thread that kept our family sewn together. Without her, we no longer have the common denominator that will keep us joined. I love her and miss her more than words can express.

I am reminded every day that she is still around us. As I’ve sat here writing this, I have, on occasion, smelled an unexplainable, familiar scent of cigarette smoke, like I have many times over the past year. And just last night, as I searched the medicine cabinet for something before my shower, a white paper hospital visitor pass fell from the top shelf, where I must have placed it a little over a year ago.

Deck building

This July we started work on the deck. I am always impressed and proud of Matt's ability to learn and take on new projects. He always does a great job and puts so much energy and time into them. We are also very lucky to have a lot of family around us that is so willing to help!

The project has not been without its share of drama though. When two people are making design choices, they are never going to agree 100% of the time. We re-learn this lesson every time we start a new project...sometimes painfully! Yes, there have been several trips to The Home Depot...and the Lowes...and the mom and pop deck store in Hampstead...and the True Value...and back to The Home Depot, and despite some of the frustrations that have arose trying to make decisions, we have successfully merged our opinions to create a space that I think we are both very happy with :)

The framing is now completely finished. Some pictures of the progress are below. I think the goal is to start on the flooring next week after our trip to Atantic City. Keep your fingers crossed that it will be finished for our September 5 housewarming!