Dumbfounded
What kind of doctor puts the fear of god into a mother, telling her there’s a real risk that her child has a brain tumor and that he needs to have an MRI as soon as possible and then FORGETS to schedule the MRI? I have spent the past three months with the fear that my son has a brain tumor floating around in my mind, waiting for the hospital to call with a cancellation in the MRI lab. They called today to schedule us for APRIL and then told me that our neuro-ophthalmologist rushed the order in today asking for it to occur within the next two weeks. Not pleased right now.
My new favorite thing
I don’t know why this has become my new favorite object, but I find myself looking at this paperweight all the time. I got it from Etsy, and the woman who designed it custom made it for us. It’s just a little map of the northern part of Vietnam, but she was able to find a map that included the town where Oscar was born. Sweet, huh? The photo doesn’t do it justice.
Just call me Betty
In one week, Snickerdoodles, Peanut Butter Cookies (with the peanut butter made from scratch – well, as “scratch” as you get at the Whole Foods peanut grinder) and now Brownies (miniature, Oscar-sized, no less). Never has there been a week of such domesticity. I suspect it has something to do with a fever-induced delirium, so I thought I would document the irregularity to combat later arguments from Oscar that I never bake for him.
The Zoo
Nanny Norma usually watches over Oscar on the Saturday mornings when I have to work, but sadly she’s a casualty of this cold we’ve all been battered with as well. We thought she should have a break, so Oscar and I ran to the zoo this morning. He’s still not a fan of the crowds, but he managed to show a little bit of interest in the peacock that came up to us, although he ignored the giraffe that stood right before us. Maybe next time.
Done at one?
I’ve been pretty candid about my struggle with whether I should add another child to our family. I thought this struggle had subsided, but lo and behold, Sunday night’s vomit-fest threw me for a loop. Of course, it wasn’t the vomit that made me question having another child. It’s the fact that I, alone, had to clean up said vomit while trying to corral a very sick toddler and two dogs. This seemingly innocuous (albeit disgusting) task has prodded me into some fairly serious soul-searching.
Let’s start with the basics. I have one somewhat perfect child. I want another. But, then again, I also want quite a few other things in life, and this is where things get complicated. I am a single parent. I make all decisions regarding my child alone; I shoulder all of the responsibilities of having a child, whether financial, emotional or otherwise, alone; I worry about my child, and about anything that could impact my child, alone. And, for the most part, I’m ok with this. To the extent one can anticipate these things before having a child, I went into this single parenthood thing with my eyes open. In some respects, it’s been easier than I had anticipated. In some respects, far, far more difficult.
I find myself thinking about the reality of life with two children. Oscar is manageable on my own. We’re still pretty mobile; I can at least contemplate traveling with him (although I’m certainly avoiding doing it). With two? Are you kidding me? I know there are moms out there that do this – I’ve read your blogs – but I just cannot fathom it myself. I wonder how I’m going to deal with my career and the logistics of having two kids. Two sets of doctors and dentist appointments; two sets of classes, sports, etc. How am I going to cope with two kids who are sick at the same time? And don’t even get me started thinking about paying two college tuitions (but then again I imagine most parents don’t let themselves think about that prior to getting pregnant/adopting or there would be no children out there).
When I think of these things, I find myself wondering if I’m being selfish in questioning whether I should have another child. Aren’t these issues all just pointing to the impact another child is going to have on my personal time (to the extent I have any) or finances? Aren’t I really worried that a second child is going to be inconvenient for me?
What gets me here is that I had similar worries while I was waiting for Oscar’s referral (which none of you knew about because I didn’t start this blog until well after I had accepted his referral!). Not the same worries – likely because you don’t really understand what you’re getting yourself into when you don’t already have a child – but significant worries about whether I was making a huge mistake. Obviously, having him was the best thing I could have done in my life. So, my question is, do people more typically follow their heart than their head in their family planning decisions?
Surrender
The St. Elmo Peace Accord was entered into this morning. The first act heralding the cessation of hostilities was the conversion of the crib into a toddler bed. More a symbolic act than anything, as the intended user of the bed is only 18 months old – far too young to be sleeping in it.
For those of you not familiar with the events leading to the Accord, I’ll fill you in. When hired, Nanny Norma was determined to get Oscar to sleep in his crib. Oscar, who co-slept with (first) his nanny and a lovely young resident of his orphanage for the first seven months of his life and then with me, wanted nothing to do with it. Eventually, he submitted to short naps during the day and would fall asleep in his crib each night, only to awaken multiple times, resulting in my taking him into the big bed around 11:00. This worked well enough for all concerned. Norma got to believe that Oscar was being independent and learning to sleep on his own; Oscar still got to sleep with me at night. I was decidedly on the fence on this. So long as Oscar wasn’t crying it out, I was ok with trying to get him to sleep in the crib; I didn’t start out wanting to co-sleep, although I am definitely a fan of it now that I have a son who has suffered so much emotional trauma. Having said that, however, I absolutely believe Oscar needs to learn to fall asleep on his own, something that simply does not occur when he goes to bed with me.
About two weeks ago, though, the conflict became dicier. Oscar revolted at nap time – absolutely refusing to sleep in the crib, napping only on the weekend when I would put him down on the sofa (basically saying, take THAT, Norma, I slept two hours for MaMaMa!). He then decided his tactics were so effective that he would apply them at bedtime. An exhausted Oscar (no naps, remember) would fight for hours while Norma would try to get him to sleep (Norma puts him to bed each night so we have consistency – there are some evenings when I am still at work/commuting home when he goes to bed). Even after he’d fall asleep, he’d wake back up multiple times, fighting to get out of the crib.
Last night, Norma surrendered. I was aghast. Oscar’s bedtime is 6:30. At 6:45, the house was silent like it usually is at 7:30, when he finally gives up the fight and passes out. I crept into the nursery and immediately understood why. Oscar was not in the crib. Where was he? On Nanny Norma’s bed, sleeping peacefully. She looked up at me, smiled and said “no more crib.” Perhaps it was on account of the fact that he went to sleep easily (although more likely the fact he had not slept well the night before on account of his cold), but Oscar had the best night of sleep since I got him. He slept from 6:30 pm to 6:45 am WITHOUT waking one single time and without crying at all. I, of course, was so freaked out by his silence that I awoke multiple times just to make sure he was ok.
Will we repeat last night’s success tonight? Now that the threat of the crib has been eliminated, will Oscar begin to nap again? We’ll have to see. The path to peace is rocky.
I’ll leave you with photos of Oscar checking out his new bed (after first sending his envoy Max to make sure all was safe).
So foul
I believe I last posted on Saturday. A mere two days ago, but it feels like forever. Oscar caught a cold from Teacher Julia and it kicked into gear Saturday afternoon. By Sunday afternoon the Diaper Genie was full of a nastiness I lack the vocabulary to describe. I should have foreseen that this sort of gastrointestinal distress might not limit itself to just one variety, but somehow (whether out of optimism or sheer stupidity) I did not.
Oscar and I were lying on the sofa watching Classical Baby while he had his bottle. He finished it and appeared to be going to sleep when he was hit by a coughing fit. It subsided, but he sat up, looked at me and threw up. Just a little, but little did I know that was just a preview of coming attractions. I’ll spare you the details, but it was bad. Awful, really. I can deal with a lot of things, but vomit is not one of them, regardless of whether it’s mine or someone else’s. Vomit is my kryptonite.
Six hours later, Oscar, clean after four baths (I told you it was bad), was finally sleeping fitfully. I was left to deal with the residue. I had tried to clean the floors, sofa and walls earlier, but this was one of those times that made me realize how difficult being a single mom can be. There’s really not much you can do during these moments – I tried to place Oscar in the (empty) tub while I mopped down the floor in front of his bathroom, but he wasn’t having it. Understandably, he wanted to be held, so I had to leave the mess(es) alone, covered in towels, hoping that the dogs wouldn’t touch it either. Between cleaning the seven “impact zones” and trying to make sure Oscar stayed asleep, it took almost four hours for me to get things set right. Makes me seriously wonder how I’m going to do this with two kids.
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Etta’s Hats
Where I’ve Been
