Higher Highs, Lower Lows

This is one of those high-low parenting moments where I was like, Awww, look how precious! while simultaneously thinking, He’s going to want to do this every time we leave the house from now on.  Why ever did I allow this?!?!?

A giraffe ate my baby.

What a lovely time of year this is when you have children.  Halloween used to come and go without getting so much as a passing glance from me, but oh how times have changed.  The smell of woodsmoke on the air, cheery pumpkins on every front porch, and kids in costume?  Count me in.

It had been far too long since I’d loaded photos to my hard drive, so here is a sampling of the fruits of my labor.  They include shots of Seabass in his giraffe costume at a free Halloween photo shoot (thank you Sharon and Robyn Berry Photography), at a friend’s house enjoying vintage farm equipment (thank you Other Sharon), catching Daddy’s annual beach football game (go alumni!), and picking pumpkins at the patch with friends.

Happy Fall.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Noooooooooo!!!!!

It’s been a rip-roaring week here in the Lewis household.  Seabass was nursing what we *believe* to be an ear infection, and I stared into the toilet bowl off and on for five days battling Montezuma’s Revenge.  It was a tummy bug that came from Seabass’ daycare.

Thankfully, my mom was here for the first bit.  But when she left, all hell broke loose.  Seabass awoke from his naps screaming like he’d been personally visited by Satan, and often had a spiky fever to go with it.  I went to bed one night feeling nauseous and woke up burping that all-too-telling pre-barf burp.  The vomit didn’t come for a while – in fact, the whole illness was pretty uneventful.  Like, if on a scale of one to five, five is puking your brains out and one is just feeling a little icky, I was a solid three.

That is, until I started puking my brains out.

I defy anyone to identify a feeling worse than nausea.  Okay, amputation or childbirth is up there, but for all-around unpleasantness, nausea has to be the worst.  Today is the first day in an embarrassingly long while that I haven’t laid drooling in my pajamas intermittently on the couch and on the bathroom floor, holding back the honk.

There was a time in my childhood that my family went sailing in Florida, and I couldn’t handle the motion sickness, so I curled up on the stern of the boat and tried to fall asleep.  My dad labeled me “The Drooling Eggroll,” and that’s exactly how I felt this past week.  Of course I’m not completely over this bug, so the mere mention of any food other than unsalted crackers makes me slightly uncomfortable.  Egg rolls=shudder.

Here is the blessing in all of this madness: I have discovered how much some people love me.

1. My husband.  OMG.  He is a rock star of the highest pedigree for what he took on this week.  When I couldn’t so much as cut an apple for Seabass – let alone comfort him in the midst of a harrowing earache – Jake was there to take him on walks, feed him, play with him, and nurture him in all the ways I usually do.  In fact, I’m pretty sure this was the best bonding weekend for those two ever.
2. My neighbors.  On Wednesday afternoon, Jake couldn’t come home from work and I was barely able to turn on a video for Seabass to watch without losing my lunch.  In a moment of clarity, I phoned our neighbors down the street – whom I don’t know all that well – and pleaded with them to watch Seabass for the afternoon.  They graciously handled all things Seabass for the next three hours so I could get some rest.
3. My friends.  I had scheduled to have dinner with one of my best friends from out of town Saturday night, and although my stomach was screaming “NO! NO!  GOD NO!” as we left the house, I wasn’t about to let a little queasiness interrupt something I’d had on my calendar for months.  Jenny was so understanding.

“Dude.  Are you pregnant?”

“I couldn’t be pregnant.  The timing just doesn’t line up.”

“Uh-huh.” [Looking at me askance as I gag down a bit of dry toast.] “But you don’t know for sure, now do you?”

“No.  I suppose weirder things have happened.  Do you think I should pee on a stick?” [Pee on a stick=take a pregancy test.]

“I don’t think you need to.  You’re pregnant, dude.”

Well, as it turns out, I’m not pregnant. But I’m thankful that Jenny went to CVS with me and stood outside the cafe restroom while I prayed against any surprises.  If I have anything to say about it, I won’t be having a second child anytime soon, or maybe ever.  That’s not to say we don’t completely adore Seabass and love what he adds to our lives.  That’s also not to say that we wouldn’t fall head over heels for another child if I’d in fact been pregnant.  But this experience forced an interesting conversation between me and Jake that showed how unready I really am.

“You know,” he said, obviously choosing his words carefully, “If you are pregnant, it’s okay to be excited.”

“Easy for you to say,” I retorted.  “I’m still very much on antidepressants and have only just now – at seventeen months – begun to get a grip on my life.  I would be terrified.”

So, in this instance, thank heavens it was just a stomach bug.

Seabass’ favorite book is currently Dinosaur vs. Bedtime by Bob Shea, and it’s no surprise as to why.  Jumping into leaves, devouring a bowl of spaghetti, dive-bombing grown-ups, and of course ROARING are some of the activities that comprise the narrative.  While it’s super entertaining for Seabass to listen to, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t fun to read, too.  Nothing beats a good ROAR!! at the end of a long day.

A few nights ago, I let Jake put Seabass down for the night.  As I wandered the house in Hunched Over Pick-up Mode following a rambunctious day with Seabass, I overheard the voice of my dear husband yelling something unintelligible in Seabass’ room.  At first, I imagined the worst. But as I put my ear to the door, I realized he was reading good ol’ Dinosaur vs. Bedtime and decided to capture it on film should I ever need to prove that Jake is completely nuts beneath that calm and collected façade.

Technical note: You’re gonna want to turn up the volume on this one.

My drug of choice.

If you know anyone in California, you’ve probably heard them describing the heat of late.  (I say “heat,” but to someone who lives in India, Spain, or Alabama, it’s more like a gentle breeze.)  In the balmy 81-degree heat of yesterday morning, we decided to hit the beach.

Being in his native habitat, the Wild Californian Seabass was pretty happy for a while.  He loves stripping down to his skivvies and playing near the waves.

At one point, just an hour or so into our beach visit, Seabass got really weird, really angsty.  He was playing with a bucket in the water and something about it got him really frustrated all of the sudden.  I tried consoling him verbally, tried appeasing his demons with snacks, etc.  Nothing would stop his whining and crying.

It was the first time in a long while – several months – that I’ve thought to breastfeed him outside of the usual schedule (i.e. upon waking up in the morning, going down for nap, and going down for the night), but it struck me as the right thing to do in the moment.  My friend Ginger calls it “checking in with the home team.”  There’s something really effective about breastfeeding for calming an anxious little boy down, so I wrapped him in a soft towel, found a secluded spot and nursed him down from his ledge.

I’d been thinking lately that I’m ready to stop breastfeeding.  Sometimes I fantasize about having my body to myself again, and being able to fit into several of my pre-pregnancy shirts…which are a little snug around the chest, ahem.  I also look forward to a day when Jake can put Seabass to bed without me.  That will be a day worth celebrating.

But resting there in the gorgeous California sun, with the waves crashing nearby and the world’s most beautiful child in my arms, I felt like I never want to wean him.  Clearly, we’re not yet ready.

As a mom, finding balance can be this hard. And this dangerous.

So last week was Seabass’ first that included two mornings of daycare, and in case you’re not caught up, I was nervous about it.

But lo and behold, the little gupp can’t get enough of it.  From the moment we turn onto Miss Jesse’s street, Seabass is atwitter with anticipation.  When we get to her door, he pushes away from me (UNPRECEDENTED) and embarks on a rip-roaring play adventure that doesn’t stop for another four hours, at which point I pick him up and he cries that he can’t stay longer.  This is all very, very cool.

As for me, life is more balanced than I’d ever imagined possible.  For the most part, all of my work takes place at the office on Monday and Friday mornings, which means that nap time is now available for things such as dishwashing, laundry, sweeping, sitting down to eat a sandwich, watering the plants, yoga, or – guilt of all possible guilts – reading a book.  When Seabass awakes, we are both refreshed and ready to take on a fun afternoon together.  And again, this is just on Mondays and Fridays.  The other three days of the week are spent at mom’s groups, playdates, and running errands.  It’s awesome.

That’s the long and the short of it.  Thanks for your words of encouragement when I was terrified that Seabass would wind up a terrorist later in life because I’d enrolled him in daycare.