My little medicines.

I often say to my children while they’re not feeling well, “I’m sorry you’re sick if I could take it from you and give it to Mommy so you’re better, I would.”

It seems in this house we catch everything. We’re just friggin’ sponges to the colds and yuckies out there. My son had walking pneumonia back before December, maybe even around Thanksgiving and he was miserable. He would be upset so much, and I would say it to him daily. I know he knew I tried all I could, and I did take care of him, and I’d do anything. But when they’re sick they just don’t want to hear it unless you’re waving your wand and it’s happening then. I can’t blame them I’m the same damn way. I’m stubborn and if you aren’t easing my pain whatever you say is going in and right back out my ears.

Fast forward to last week. I had painful coughing fits constantly. I felt short of breath, and it hurt so bad in my ribs. Just a run down achy feeling for around five days before I went to the walk in. I seriously avoid going to any doctor always, so going should say something. My anxiety overpowers me, but I finally pushed and got there..with company. The doctor told me I just had bronchospasm and acute bronchitis and ordered me an inhaler and some cough medicine. Well, a low-grade fever and some more of the nonstop coughing brought me back four more days later. They ordered an X-ray and some new meds and told me no pneumonia was found but if I still felt like I couldn’t breathe to go to the ER. I tried to go to the store that night, and I was starting to pass out in there. I couldn’t breathe any better even though it had been a few hours but I knew my mind wouldn’t be at ease without another check. 7 long hours, an ekg, and another X-ray at the ER later, they finally told me they saw pneumonia. The doctor there also didn’t even catch it; the radiologist did.

I have a point and connection to the beginning of this story below I promise.

When I got home, I was still so sick that I couldn’t sleep or stop coughing. They say rest but mom to three never really can even with help, not fully. My son came over to my bed the next night. He said, “Mommy, it worked what you said.” I was so out of it I didn’t know what he meant and barely got out a “huh?” He said, “you know, you took my pain when I was sick like you said. I got better and you have my pneumonia now because you took it from me then because you love me, and it went to you for you to take all my pain.” I explained, in reality, it’s not that easy, where I can somehow take their pain, so they never feel anything but great. I also don’t want them to feel bad thinking moms always sick because of us, but it was the cutest thing for him to put together and say. I mean I would if I could take every sniffle, cold, belly ache, pain or sickness I could for them, which is why I say it, but it’s just wishful mom thinking.

Now I still feel awful, and I am in so much pain that I can barely take care of them, and do the things I need to do. I was starting to get depressed also just thinking how much isn’t going right. But when I have moments like that or remind myself to think of the kids being sweet, they help take my pain. They help me not be so down and try to figure out how to get through it in return. I think they’re better at what I try to do myself. That’s what it’s all about. Family love is a form of medicine.

Kaylee’s Birth

kayleeSince my daughters birthday party is this weekend and her 3rd birthday is Monday, I figured this blog post will be about her. A birth story, if you will. 

Kaylee is the only child out of the three that was well, planned. I love all the kids the same but with her, I was just aware of my choice. Ready to do two kids. My pregnancy was pretty straightforward I’d say. She made me super nauseous, though. I never threw up, which I did with my son, so I wasn’t sure being nauseous 24.7 was any better. It was constant. They always told me it would get better towards the third trimester. No. It didn’t. I carried her all in the front like a little turned watermelon; see picture attached. You couldn’t tell I was pregnant from behind and when I turned, man the looks I would get.

It doesn’t help that every pregnancy I got those looks since I’m so petite and so short. I look 16. Strangers at work always had to chime in and ask me about my age, is it my first kid or not, just my life.

We made it to 38 weeks and by then I was so done. (My son had come on his own at 38 weeks so I was banking on her doing the same even though they’re always different.) At my appointment that week, my doctor told me I was okay to be induced the following Monday at 39 weeks. She had other plans a few days before that day could come, though. My contractions did start at home, but I didn’t even know they were contractions at the time. I just kept getting hot and annoyed and not able to sit still. I didn’t realize I was going into labor because there wasn’t “pain” it was more just uncomfortableness. As much as I wanted to have her I kept talking myself out of it saying it’s probably just her on a nerve, and I’m not in labor. Even after having one kid already the feelings, to me at least, are forgetful each time. It’s new levels, new pains each time. I couldn’t decide if I even wanted to call the doctor again or go down if I was in labor because I wasn’t in pain like I was expecting to be. After going back and forth trying to decide while on the phone with my mom for about an hour, I finally called and went in to be checked. It was good that I did because by the time I got outside the hospital the pain side of the contractions started and I was sure then. I remember saying the pain was too intense. I was begging for the epidural saying I couldn’t do it, and I wanted to give up before it was anywhere near time to push even.

After I had received the epidural, things got better obviously. Then somewhere towards the end, I started getting faint. I kept feeling like I was going to pass out because luckily I usually know when I’m going to pass out every time ahead of time, I don’t know why. Then, sure enough, I started passing out. All I remember is a noise was going off because something was happening and a ton of nurses came in. At first, I was like oh great more people to see me and look at me. Which I didn’t want I barely wanted my mom or husband near me. Then I remembered wait; something is wrong, and that flew away. My doctor came in and told me the baby is in distress and we had to try to push her out. Here I am passing out and terrified trying to keep myself up. I just kept thinking focus her heart rate is dropping get her out now. I was overwhelmed with worry that she wasn’t going to be okay. I don’t know but when you need to do something like that fast you just magically do it. I pushed with every bit I could. Even though I had no feeling in my lower half, so I didn’t even know if it was enough. Sure enough, January 18th at 9:34 pm she came out.

He picked her up and out and I remember this image to this day: my baby in the arms of my doctor and he was pumping her little chest with his two fingers, and she was blue. She wasn’t crying she was just there. Like a little blueberry muffin. I started bawling because my first thought after all that was what happened, Did I not do it fast enough? Why isn’t she crying? What’s happening to my little girl? That whole moment with her being blue and the doctor only lasted about 6 seconds, but it felt like an hour at the least to me. My husband and mother were in the back of the room too because everyone came in and kind of took over, so they didn’t even have to see what I did.  He plopped her on me after and she was okay. She started crying, moving. So I was okay. That image will always stay with me and choke me up. From home to delivery she came in 6 hours. She was 7 pounds 7 ounces. It wasn’t a super long endured labor by any means. But sure an experience to remember.

As days and weeks passed we learned she had allergies. She switched her formula about 3 or 4 times until we got on a special one that worked. She barely ever ate any baby foods. My poor girl was always picky and wanted the things she just couldn’t have. When she was 1, we found out she’s allergic to milk, eggs, peanuts, all tree nuts, seeds, dust mites and animal dander. I even had to make her a separate allergy free cake for her birthdays. She has an epi-pen even, and it’s a learning process. It’s not easy finding things she’ll eat without an egg or milk ingredient over the years. I’m starting to think even to this day she’s bound to turn into a little chicken nugget any moment since it’s all she eats. She has awful eczema. She also has stomach issues and can’t exactly go to the bathroom without help from medicine. So she’s got a lot going on for a tiny little perfect human.

Sometimes I cave for her way more. Everyone says I baby her too much or she gets away with more and I shouldn’t. I can’t help it, or don’t want to. To me, I want her to be able to get whatever little things she wants and make her happy. I think it’s because she just has so much to deal with and pick around already that to me she needs it. I don’t think it has anything to do with her being my first mommy’s girl or planned or anything along those lines. It’s just about making her happiest. If she’s spoiled or a brat when she’s older well sorry right now, I don’t care. I mean she still has her manners and can play nice and all that. I’m content with how I’m doing it while she is still small. She’s only turning three after all.