So I’ve had a sore throat since Tuesday. It started out as just a tickle and gradually turned into something so horrible that it hurts to swallow water.
Then I was on Facebook on Friday morning, and I updated my status to reflect this miserable bit of information, and my friend tells me her 2-year-old son was in the ER the night before, and that the doctor believes he has swine flu. Yeah, you read that correctly. The freakin’ SWINE FLU!
I see my friend and her son at least 3 times a week, so if indeed the poor little guy does have the H1N1 virus, I’ve been exposed.
“Don’t freak out, okay,” my friend e-mailed me. “But it starts out with a sore throat and nasal stuffiness.”
Did I mention I have had a stuffy nose in addition to the sore throat thing? Did I tell you how I did indeed freak the hell out?
I was ready to drive myself to the ER right that minute, but a wise owl told me to call my OB/GYN and inform them that I’ve possibly been exposed. The nurse who took my call told me to stay home, get lots of rest, and avoid contact with people. She also explained that if the symptoms got worse, to call back and they’d decide whether or not an Urgent Care visit would be necessary.
I spent most of the weekend sleeping. Dawson was at my parents house since Thursday, before I realized I could be infected, and my parents said he was fine. He was full of energy and had no visible signs of being sick. Thank God for that.
Doug didn’t seem to be sick either, so we figured perhaps I was just having an allergy attack, or that rhinitus of pregnancy was causing some sinus troubles.
As of today, my throat feels somewhat better. I’ve been drinking gallons of water, and the occasional 7-Up (the carbonation feels wonderful on the scratchy throat), and my symptoms are not getting any worse. I think the worst part was the freak-out I had when I realized I could have the flippin’ swine flu.
My friend is still waiting for results from the test her son had Thursday night. They are quarantined until the results are in (and they were supposed to be in on Friday), and I know my friend and her family are on edge, waiting for the doctor’s office to call back.
Let’s hope the little guy just caught a cold that will go away quickly!
On Tuesday, my husband celebrated his 39th birthday for the third year in a row. Yes, that means he’s really…. can I say how old he is on the blog, because he threatened to tell people I have gray hair at 30. Ooh, I’m scared. Considering I’ve already blogged about my getting gray hair much earlier than I’d like to admit, I figure telling the internet he’s 41 is fair game.
To celebrate Doug’s birthday we went on a family fishing trip. Doug loaded and hitched the boat and we dropped anchor on the Wisconsin River at Galecki Park near our house. After slathering on a ton of sunscreen we settled in for some line fishing. Okay, I didn’t fish, because that whole thing is not my bag. I read a book and took photos while Doug and Dawson waited patiently for the fish to bite.
The weather was gorgeous, around 75 degrees and not too humid. The sun was shining, with a few clouds here and there, and a light breeze swept the air. We had a marvelous time. And three hours later, just before we had decided to go back to the dock, an amazing thing happened:
Dawson caught his first fish, a walleye, and he was beyond excited! He was so happy and so proud of his accomplishment. Doug and I were so proud, too!
Doug helped him cast the line, and showed him how to jig, and after many long moments of waiting and a few snags, suddenly something pulled on his line. Dawson didn’t even realize it was a fish at first. He thought he had another snag. But Doug instructed him to reel in his line, and Dawson was so excited when he realized he had to fight the fish into the boat.
“Daddy! It’s a strong fish! Help!”
Doug told him to keep reeling, and once the fish was out of the water he helped Dawson get him into the boat for a picture. The smile on our son’s face was so magical, and so priceless. I was so happy for him. Dawson couldn’t wait to tell his grandpas about his first catch. We took a little video to remember the occasion:
(Please ignore my husband’s attempt to ignore the camera. He hates pictures, and always looks so crabby on video. He’s really NOT a serial killer, even though he looks like one in this vid.)
This past Thursday, Dawson and I went to a local park for playgroup. It was my first time. Yes, ladies and gents, I have been deflowered. I am no longer a virgin to the world of organized playdates. And let me just say, um, WOW? It was like traveling to a foreign country. I didn’t know what to expect, and I wasn’t sure how this new adventure would play out.
I new almost all of the moms, many of whom are members of the MOPS group of which I belong. I hadn’t met most of their children, nor had Dawson, because he was in preschool during MOPS meetings, so I didn’t need to use the on site childcare service.
When we arrived, Dawson was nervous.
“I don’t know any of these kids, Mom.” he told me.
I reassured him that he would have the opportunity to make new friends. I was cheerful and excited, trying to pass on these cheery feelings onto him, by transference. Or something. It didn’t work. My son was like a dryer sheet clinging to my pants.
Dawson is painfully shy. Painfully. It takes him awhile to come out of his shell in new situations. When he’s not familiar with the other kids or parents, he hides behind me and barely says a word to anyone but me.
I know exactly where he inherited that shy gene. When I was his age I was the same way. I was afraid to make new friends. I worried I wouldn’t be liked. I was afraid of taking a chance and introducing myself to a new friend. I didn’t want to ask other kids to play with me, because what if they said no? I didn’t think I could handle that type of rejection.
Because of my fears, I was labeled “the quiet child” in kindergarten. I remember my teacher, Mrs. Bickford, telling my mother that I was smart and kind, but I was very shy and very quiet and that I was “a pleasure to have in class.” Mrs. Bickford also told my mother she wanted me to be more confident and to engage with the other kids more often.
I tried my best to be outwardly friendly and to do as my teacher instructed, and slowly I became less quiet and more talkative, but I never lost that shyness. It was still there, tucked away when I needed it. I used it mostly to protect myself if wasn’t sure of a new situation.
Now that I’m a mother, I understand how Dawson feels because I’ve experienced it. It’s a defense mechanism. Even now, at 30 years old, I still have moments when I’m quiet and reserved. I have to make an effort to be more outgoing. That very quiet girl is still inside me. I still have days when I’m afraid to put myself out there because I fear rejection. I don’t think that will ever change.
I used to worry about Dawson’s shyness. I sometimes felt like I was to blame. Maybe I was too protective of him when he was younger. Maybe my parenting decisions made him too sensitive. Maybe I was too smothering and didn’t give him enough space to figure things out on his own.
Did I not give him enough opportunities to play with other kids, I wondered. But then I realized that isn’t true either. Dawson has been in daycare since I went back to work. He was six weeks old. He’s had plenty of playtime with other kids his age. Even when I began working from home, I kept him in daycare a few hours a day for 2 or 3 days a week.
He finished his first year of preschool in May. His teacher told me that he is shy and that this is normal from his age. Once he is in kindergarten, she said, he’ll become more comfortable with the school routine and he’ll make friends. She told me not to worry and encouraged me to enroll him in 4K so that he can continue to develop his social skills. I believe she’s right. She’s been teaching 3- and 4-year-olds for many years. I trust her advice and experience.
After half and hour at playgroup, Dawson recognized one of his friends from preschool. One of the moms in our group runs an at-home daycare, and Joshua was one of her charges.
“Mom, I see Joshua over there,” he told me.
“Why don’t you go say hello?”
He shook his head and said he was scared. I told him he didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to do, and you know what? Less than a minute later he went right up to his friend, who was on the swing, and said, “‘Why don’t you jump off of there so we can play?”
I nearly tipped over. I had never seen my son display that much confidence before. Half and hour ago he was hugging my leg, and suddenly he was taking a risk. He put himself out there.
I never felt more proud in my life. I’m glad I didn’t push him or force him to do something he wasn’t yet comfortable with. I learned a valuable lesson, that encouragement is better than pushing our children into situations they’re not ready to deal with.
When Joshua literally jumped off the swing and began running around the park with Dawson I was beaming. They chased the girls and the began a game of tag. A little while later the boys went over to the baseball field and ran around the bases. I began to relax and talked with the other moms for awhile.
When I looked over at the field a little while later, Dawson was sitting on the grass in the infield all by himself. My heart sank and I went over to ask him what was wrong. I was worried that he was feeling insecure or that his friend, who playing with another little boy, had rejected him.
“Dawson, what’s the matter?” I asked. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, Mom. My body just needs a rest.”
I smiled to myself and told that protective voice in my head to shut up. When it was time to leave the park an hour later, Dawson begged to stay longer and play. Since all the other moms and kids were leaving, I told him we’d definitely attend the next playgroup which is next week. He was thrilled and so was I. My little boy is growing up, I thought. It’s amazing! I’m so proud of him!
Those first 8 weeks were amazing. I was excited about being pregnant and couldn’t wait for all the good things to happen; quickening, finding out baby’s sex, getting those hilarious Baby Center updates that said, “This week your baby is the size of a strawberry.” Most of all, I couldn’t wait for October to arrive and to finally hold the baby incubating for so long.
Week nine began with morning sickness. I was totally unprepared for it. Sure I had some nausea and lack of appetite in the first few weeks. I suffered a cold that seemed to want to stick around for half of February and most of March, but I hung in there, thinking that eventually the morning sickness and exhaustion would subside. It took a lot longer than I expected, but after six more weeks of feeling blah, I started to feel somewhat human again.
Now that I’m six months pregnant, a new crop of ailments is beginning. Heartburn wakes me in the middle of the night. Sciatica makes my legs buckle from the pain shooting through my buttocks and thigh. Headaches come and go throughout the day, usually from lack of sleep or not drinking enough water. I go through phases of being ravenously hungry and then completely turned off by food for days. And then there’s the constant state of exhaustion.
No one told me how much harder a second pregnancy would be. I didn’t think it would be this way. I expected to be tired, but not this tired. Managing a household, raising a preschooler and working from home leaves little time for the extra sleep my body seems to require now that I’m growing a baby.
Of course I love my job and wouldn’t consider changing my schedule. The hours I work are flexible, provided I meet the deadlines for getting things done, and those six hours each day challenge my brain in a way that parenting does not. I need that time. It gives me a chance to contribute financially to my family, and it saves me from the mundane tasks of motherhood and housekeeping, if only for a little while.
One benefit to working from home is that I am able to spend more time with Dawson, too. I don’t have to waste precious time in traffic by driving to an office or to daycare five days a week. (Dawson still attends daycare 2-3 times per week for around 3 hours a day, just so that I can save my sanity. When preschool ended I realized how much I needed those precious hours to get things done without interruption.)
My biggest gripe is the housework. Lately it seems to fall on my shoulders and it’s very frustrating. I’ll spend hours cleaning, washing dishes, vacuuming, picking up toys and eliminating clutter only to have the other people in this house make another mess. It drives me batty.
My husband says my expectations are too high. He thinks that I believe the house should be absolutely perfect and that one crumb on the carpet sends me over the edge. And maybe it does. Maybe I am a little nuts about cleanliness lately. He would go crazy, too, if he spent time cleaning only to have someone come behind him and mess things up.
I was never this nuts before I got pregnant. In fact, the house was a cluttered mess for most of January because I just didn’t have the time to deal with it. I think that once I added pregnancy to the mix of motherhood, housekeeping and working, I realized how valuable my time was. So much to do! So little time! Soon I won’t be able to do anything because a baby will be attached to my breast!
On the rare occasion that I have spare time, time in which I don’t have to work or clean a mess or keep Dawson occupied, I try to do things I love. Reading, blogging, writing in my journal (yes, I still do that) spending time with family and friends, watching a good movie or taking a long walk are some of those things.
However, in the last few weeks my focus has shifted from leisure reading to gearing up on pregnancy, labor, delivery, newborn care and breastfeeding info. I’m obsessed. I actually went back and read Deliver This! again. I’m so paranoid that I’ve forgotten how to do this “having a baby” thing again.
Here’s where the guilt comes in to play. If I’m not working, cleaning, parenting or reading, I have no ambition to do anything else. I’m just too tired.
This morning, Dawson told me he was bored. He didn’t want to watch Spongebob. He didn’t want to play the Spiderman game on the V-Motion. He was bored with his Leapster. He didn’t want to play with his Tag Reader. He was bored with the Nintendo DS (this after I took the games away for a week because he wasn’t putting the cartridges back in the cases when he was done playing them, and holy crap is this child spoiled!). He didn’t want to play outside by himself.
“Mom, I want you to play baseball with me.” he said. “I want to do fun stuff!”
The thought of me pitching the ball and retrieving it over and over again had me less than excited. Running around the yard while pregnant is not my idea of a good time. I’d rather take a nap. I swear this pregnancy is taking over my life. (Don’t misunderstand, I’m thrilled to have this amazing baby kicking inside my belly. I can’t wait for him to make his way into the world.)
(Yes, I know that pregnancy is taking over the blog, and I’m sorry for that. It’s just that it’s always on my mind these days. And considering that I wasn’t a blogger when I was pregnant with Dawson, I want to document all of these thoughts and feelings because it’s part of my life. It’s part of being a mother.)
I sat on the couch and wanted to cry. I wanted to sob because I’m tied. I wanted to cry because I felt guilty about not wanting to play baseball with my son. What kind of mother am I?
I asked myself that question and realized I’m beating myself up over this and other things, like not being able to lift Dawson anymore (and really he’s practically 5 years old and too big to be carried now anyway), spending more time napping than reading stories and playing Super Hero to the Rescue (he wears his Super Hero Cape, and I’m supposed to pretend to be attacked by an alien and Super Dawson saves me).
At night, after Dawson is asleep and the house is quiet, I reflect on the day and all the things I did or didn’t do. I try to make a plan to be better the next day. To do more and be more. I think my husband is right. I do have high expecations, but not with just house cleaning.
Maybe it’s time to take a step back, to do only what really needs to be done. Maybe if I just stop cleaning the house I’ll be able to play baseball and let Doug deal with the dishes and vacuuming, and NOT feel guilty about asking for help.
Dana began her Mom career in 2004 with the birth of her first son, Dawson, aka The Doodlebug, and little brother, Owen, was born in 2009. She spends her days putting out fires, climbing mountains and chasing monsters. More About Dana.
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