It's a good thing nobody can tell you,
really tell you, how much motherhood hurts sometimes; my guess is there would be fewer mothers in the world as a result of such a sneak-peak. On the flip side, no one can tell you how much love motherhood brings into your life either. I've had two quotes in my head during this past week, one of those weeks that seems to last a lifetime with all the highs, lows and general mayhem parenting sometimes brings.
"To become a mother is to consent to have your heart forever walking around outside your body," is a quote on the cover of the midwife handbook. The other quote is from Caitlin Flanagan's
To Hell With All That; Loving and Loathing Our Inner Housewife:
"Motherhood is the introduction of both an almost unbearably powerful love and also a ceaseless, grinding anxiety that often drives us to the absurd."
The above picture is how it all began, one week ago today. Matteas does not digest dirt well. His little insides are still too young and can't handle the insoluble fiber, so he doesn't poop for about two days. But when he does, the osmosis effect of said insoluble fiber is severe, crampy diarrhea. He snuck into the mud pile when I wasn't looking, and although he had a great time, we both paid the price. The next day, he was whiny and clingy(a rarity for him) and didn't poop. He got whinier and clingier, and I tried every trick I know to help him poop; a warm bath, lots of fluids, a few craisins...to no avail. Finally, shortly after dinner, he pooped a thick dark muddy mess and I thought we could begin celebrating, but no. Unlike the time he ate sand at the beach, he did not make in immediate recovery upon emptying his bowels. That night, and all the nights following, no one slept well. Except for Jack, who has his own room. Saturday morning our usually bright and happy Matteas was not smiling, not playing, not wanting to be anywhere but his Mama's arms and even that seemed small comfort. He didn't want to nurse much, and he felt a little warm. I was worried he might have ingested something in the dirt, so we went to the clinic.
If you're thinking the above look like the materials needed for a poo-scavenger hunt, you're right. Unfortunately, Matteas had mostly diarrhea so it was a little difficult to obtain an adequate quantity for testing. Eventually we did, and two days later all the tests came back negative. There was nothing in the dirty that had made him sick, so I began suspecting a coincidence. His nose was running clear snot, but I couldn't tell if it was just because he'd been crying or if it was a legitimate symptom. He continued to be clingy, not eat, have diarrhea, and sleep awfully, thrashing about and screaming every forty-five minutes throughout the night. Then he spiked a fever, which hovered around 102.4 for three days. I was at my wits' end when he seemed to be feeling better Tuesday night. He didn't need any Motrin and seemed playful. He smiled and talked like normal, and then he latched on and nursed like he'd been starving his whole life. Wednesday morning I was changing his diaper when I noticed that his whole belly was covered in a fine dusting of tiny pink spots. Suddenly, it clicked; we'd been through this before with Jack. I Googled "Roseola:"
"A virus effecting children between the ages of six months and two years beginning with an upper respiratory infection followed by a high fever that lasts for several days. May be accompanied by loss of appetite, irritability and sleeplessness. Towards the end of the illness, the fever breaks and the child is immediately covered in a fine pink rash, which disappears after a day or two."
Mystery solved. The dirt was an unfortunate coincidence. We are all back to normal and sleeping well, thank God. A lot has happened during the week that I'm too mentally exhausted to remember, but I'll blog about it later. For now, while Jack is at summer school and Matteas is napping, I'm going to stain the table and chairs I got last week before all this madness began.
It's a good thing nobody can tell you, really tell you, how much motherhood hurts sometimes; my guess is there would be fewer mothers in the world as a result of such a sneak-peak. On the flip side, no one can tell you how much love motherhood brings into your life either. I've had two quotes in my head during this past week, one of those weeks that seems to last a lifetime with all the highs, lows and general mayhem parenting sometimes brings.
"To become a mother is to consent to have your heart forever walking around outside your body," is a quote on the cover of the midwife handbook. The other quote is from Caitlin Flanagan's To Hell With All That; Loving and Loathing Our Inner Housewife:
"Motherhood is the introduction of both an almost unbearably powerful love and also a ceaseless, grinding anxiety that often drives us to the absurd."
The above picture is how it all began, one week ago today. Matteas does not digest dirt well. His little insides are still too young and can't handle the insoluble fiber, so he doesn't poop for about two days. But when he does, the osmosis effect of said insoluble fiber is severe, crampy diarrhea. He snuck into the mud pile when I wasn't looking, and although he had a great time, we both paid the price. The next day, he was whiny and clingy(a rarity for him) and didn't poop. He got whinier and clingier, and I tried every trick I know to help him poop; a warm bath, lots of fluids, a few craisins...to no avail. Finally, shortly after dinner, he pooped a thick dark muddy mess and I thought we could begin celebrating, but no. Unlike the time he ate sand at the beach, he did not make in immediate recovery upon emptying his bowels. That night, and all the nights following, no one slept well. Except for Jack, who has his own room. Saturday morning our usually bright and happy Matteas was not smiling, not playing, not wanting to be anywhere but his Mama's arms and even that seemed small comfort. He didn't want to nurse much, and he felt a little warm. I was worried he might have ingested something in the dirt, so we went to the clinic.
If you're thinking the above look like the materials needed for a poo-scavenger hunt, you're right. Unfortunately, Matteas had mostly diarrhea so it was a little difficult to obtain an adequate quantity for testing. Eventually we did, and two days later all the tests came back negative. There was nothing in the dirty that had made him sick, so I began suspecting a coincidence. His nose was running clear snot, but I couldn't tell if it was just because he'd been crying or if it was a legitimate symptom. He continued to be clingy, not eat, have diarrhea, and sleep awfully, thrashing about and screaming every forty-five minutes throughout the night. Then he spiked a fever, which hovered around 102.4 for three days. I was at my wits' end when he seemed to be feeling better Tuesday night. He didn't need any Motrin and seemed playful. He smiled and talked like normal, and then he latched on and nursed like he'd been starving his whole life. Wednesday morning I was changing his diaper when I noticed that his whole belly was covered in a fine dusting of tiny pink spots. Suddenly, it clicked; we'd been through this before with Jack. I Googled "Roseola:"
"A virus effecting children between the ages of six months and two years beginning with an upper respiratory infection followed by a high fever that lasts for several days. May be accompanied by loss of appetite, irritability and sleeplessness. Towards the end of the illness, the fever breaks and the child is immediately covered in a fine pink rash, which disappears after a day or two."
Mystery solved. The dirt was an unfortunate coincidence. We are all back to normal and sleeping well, thank God. A lot has happened during the week that I'm too mentally exhausted to remember, but I'll blog about it later. For now, while Jack is at summer school and Matteas is napping, I'm going to stain the table and chairs I got last week before all this madness began.
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