The litmus test for a sick toddler

Unfortunately, in the grand spirit of sharing, he passed on his bug to K and myself. It's an interesting prospect to be incredibly sick, care for a toddler, oneself, and not manage to burn the house down in the process. At least he's 100% better now [and requesting the cookies, cakes, and ice cream promised to him earlier in his illness. Good memory, this one] but can I properly express how rough it is on a mom when her child refuses to eat anything? Though the doctor assured me this was normal, there must be some evolutionary mechanism that makes a mom certifiably OCD super concerned when her child refuses food in any way, shape, or form for two days. While he's not eating much, a bowl of apple sauce and a handful of cheerios? I'm calling it a victory.

On falling leaves and emergency room visits

Leaves are falling from the sky onto the deck of our house. The service people come to mow our lawn and trim our hedges and blow these leaves. While the whole lawn tending business is strictly a job and not a hobby for them, I do see the special gleam in their eyes when its time to blow the leaves every which way. It's the same gleam my son gets doing something special or incredibly cool.

Still, the work seems so pointless. In the shaded woods of my backyard, the leaves constantly shed brown and orange to the earth. Just moments after the workers leave, the deck, sidewalks and playgrounds are once again covered with leaves. 

Waleed got quite suddenly sick last night. He couldn't keep anything down. Not even a few sips of water. As he'd had a tumble from our new breakfast table earlier in the evening, and the vomiting was continuing with no end in sight, mid-dinner, we took him to the ER. Five hours and a diagnosis of stomach bug later, we headed home, zofran in hand. Bleary-eyed, I opened our door and felt disoriented by the sight before me. Plates, glasses, and cooking pots scattered on the kitchen counter. Crumbs on the floor. Cushions scattered every which way and toys underfoot in the family room.

Each evening I clean up as K takes the little guy up for his bath and gets him ready for bed. I spend twenty minutes putting everything away, loading the dishes, and wiping the counters. But today, due to the nature of our departure, I came back to the scattered leaves of my own home. I didn't quite realize how constantly we work to upkeep and maintain a home that is remotely presentable. I didn't realize I too am stemming the avalanche of leaves by the slimmest of margins.

And I realized, this is the nature of life. This cleaning and smoothing out of edges-- both of the tangible, and the intangible spaces of ones heart-- is where the vast chunk of one's life is lived. Sure there are punctuated moments of brilliance like an exotic vacation or a fantastic promotion at work, but the general grit of life is lived in the quieter forgettable moments of life's constant upheaveal where leaves are cleared and fall down yet again, and where children fall from table ledges and fearlessly climb up those very same perches the next morning. And its anything but pointless. It's beautiful.

Reality check on the upcoming mothering of two

A friend of mine brought her daughter over yesterday for a play date with my son. She also brought her brand new baby girl. I took in the fresh new baby smell and marveled at just how tiny and soft she was. You'll get to see for yourself in a few months my friend smiled. She's right, I thought as I cooed at the little one, I'll get to find out in a few months myself.

And then later, after she left, and the kiddo was down for his nap, and I sat down with a cup of tea, I suddenly sat up straight. Oh my gosh! I will find out in a few months!

With my son, I had a running ticker counting down my pregnancy. I pored over every single page of Baby Bargains deciding between strollers, and cribs, and playpens. I journaled daily about every poke and prod and if you you asked me how far along I was I could tell you down to the week and day. Now? I'm honestly not sure how many weeks I am. I am super excited. Feel super blessed. But I have not even begun to think about what exactly I would need for another little guy. And while I'm sure I don't need much since I still have Waleed's old swing, moses basket, and other tiny tyke paraphernalia, I am thinking surely I can't just bring the little guy home from the hospital with nary an extra purchase? Is that possible?

This realization brought the next one: Soon, [insh'Allah] I will be a bonafide mother of two.  Soon, my well ordered routine will be taken apart and put back together in a way I can't begin to comprehend. Waleed sleeps through the night. He entertains himself with his trucks, and airplanes and cars and is fairly independent as compared to the upcoming little guy who will be entirely helpless and dependent on me for everything.

I love the stage I'm at with my son. I love reading stories together and conversing about stickers and stamps. Soon this will change. Soon my focus will be on not one but two little beings who each want [and deserve] my undivided attention. And as much as I'm looking forward to my next son, and know from others that love is one of those things that expands to encompass each child wholly, I stare at my toddler and feel a bittersweetness at this remaining time left of just the two of us.

He has some idea there is another one coming and mostly seems excited at the prospect. He kisses my belly and informs me mama! baby inside! But somewhere I once read that another baby is for an older sibling, the equivalent of a husband coming home with another wife. And no amount of you'll love having them around! It's more to love! Works about as well as a husband trying the same lines. Which, yikes!

I'm trying to picture what life will be like being a mother of two but drawing a blank. I wonder when [if] I will find time for myself and how I will spend time with Waleed and let him know he's still very important to me. I know I'll handle it because I must. I had no idea to be a mother to one and I learned as I went along so surely I will learn in this same way to be a mother to two. It's just interesting how lackadaisical I've felt up until this point about such a huge seismic overhaul to the world I've grown accustomed to.

Do you have any advice on being the mother of two?

Medicinal kisses and when you write so you can remember

Dear Waleed,

You jumped off your bright yellow choo choo train this morning and bumped your knee. Mama! You cried out. You showed me the ouchie and raised your leg for me to examine, and then heal with a kiss I medicinally apply by blowing onto my fingertips and dabbing to the injured surface. You watched me at the task with all the seriousness of a patient receiving treatment from their doctor. When I was done, you ran off to continue playing, fully healed.

This evening you bounced in your chair requesting aloo gobee leftovers from the evening before. I wrapped up a biteful in pita and lingered too long near your mouth when you chomped down on it, and my finger, in the process. Ouch! I grimaced from the pain, massaging my throbbing finger. And then I looked at you. I am aware of the word crestfallen but never understood its full meaning until I saw your face. It's okay, I assured you. Accidents happen. You stared at my finger. Your mouth wavered, your eyes grew wet and in an instant, you leaped into my arms, weeping. There was such pain in your sobs, it physically hurt more than any accidental bite ever could. We gave you ice cubes and opened and shut the microwave door and soon all was well once more.

So many little things happen each day. New words learned. New games invented. I'm not sure why these two moments felt so very jarring to me that I had to write them down. Maybe because of how pure your belief in me still is. How my kisses truly heal your aches. And how my perceived pain shakes the foundation of your world. In a world filled with cynicism and manipulations, where we say one thing but mean another, these moments are so pure and honest. And in these moments I can fix everything that is wrong. Maybe I hope by writing it down I've at least saved it to remember for later.

I've known you for over two years and I've only known this little boy who lives each moment with sincerity and who I can help make better with hugs and kisses. And I know there will come a time when you will have to grow more complex and when your troubles can't be washed away with quite such ease. While I know then I won't be able to set the world back on its axis with quite such ease, I hope you'll retain a glimmer of this purity of spirit, and I hope that though medicinal kisses may not heal all future wounds, that my presence will always be a source of strength on which you can lean.

Love,
Your Mama

Random. I blame it on the shooting pain in my back.

My lower back hurts. As in ouch. As in I'm sitting on the couch at the moment with a heating pad and a cushion and am trying to figure out the logistics of spending the night in this very position because the prospect of getting up and climbing stairs seems too daunting to consider. Nothing happened to trigger it as far as I can tell, but one minute I was making aloo gobee and the next, the act of sitting was like acupuncture with spindly needles wedged into my lower back. Am a bit concerned as I have a long way to go and if its already this bad now, how much worse will it get? Hoping the Tylenol kicks in soon [which, regular Tylenol is literally impossible to find as the shelves are stocked exclusively with extra-strength. Managed to find regular strength only by asking the pharmacist who kept a generic one strangely titled Q-Pap behind the register. Why is the regular strength hidden from customers? Why is it called Q-Pap? So many pressing and perplexing questions. Such few answers.]

Luckily I had Alexandar McCall Smith's latest installment to keep me company The Importance of Being Seven. I truly love how McCall Smith writes about the simplicity of daily life with characters I've come to love. His words are light but deep. They reflect into the simple beauty of an ordinary life and every now and then he'll drop lovely dollops of wisdom:

 Human vulnerability: here we are with all our human pretensions, with our mastery of the world about us with our clever machines and our elaborate conceits and we are no more than children who must, like the smallest of creatures, surrender to sleep and the powerlessness of oblivion.

When I read this series about life in Scotland I want nothing more than to pack my things, grab my loved ones, and head to  Edinburgh, the most charming and lovely place that ever existed. So it was funny to read the characters in this book complaining profusely about their hometown as they toured and marveled the glory of Italy and just how unfriendly Edinburg is. How drab the weather. How shabby the buildings. How sub par the cuisine. So much better is Italy that one could in fact genuinely lose their marbles after examining the contrast of their prior to life to the beauty of Florence. I had to laugh as the characters complained about their home, the city I daydream about living in. A reminder [yet again] to bloom where one is planted. As Smith writes we are all fortunate in one way or another. The task for most of us is to identify in what way that is. It's quiet reminders like these that really help me love Smith's work.

I'm excited to have finished the book so I can re-read Strayed's latest book, Tiny Beautiful Things.  One of my dearest friends sent me this book for my birthday. As it was a collection of online advice columns, I admit I was puzzled at first by its premise. And then I read it. I wanted to read 50 books this year so it makes little sense to pause and re-read a book when I'm quite far from my goal but this is one of those books where one read alone won't do. I read this book in record time on the cruise but without a ready supply of pens to highlight with, I'm afraid I missed too much. [and I didn't share about the cruise did I? Must do that do that soon]. If you're looking for a book you can't put down, one that might unlock keys to your personal universe and that just make you hold your son so tightly you [and he] fear you might never let go, this book is a must read.

This book however, is located upstairs which interferes with my plans to spend the next three months planted firmly on this couch. Hopefully Q-Pap has had enough time to work its magic. [Though with a name like that I admit I have little faith]. Any tried and true back remedies in your storehouse of knowledge?  I would be ever so very very grateful as with a toddler who waits for no one, back pain or not, stairs must eventually be tackled and life must continue to be lived. One step at a time. It's the best way to try to do anything, no?

The San Diego dilemma and memories-- or the lack thereof

I love my son's spiral curls, the way they bounce on his head when he runs from room to room on tip toes, a car of some sort always in hand. But as much as I love them, I knew it was time for a hair cut. I made an appointment with Miss Lisa who cuts just enough to retain the curls and this morning Waleed and I headed to Decatur, my old haunt, where I lived for six months. I felt nostalgic as we drove down the familiar roads, all the memories of this lovely walkable town rushing back to me. Miss Lisa was great. The hair cut, though making him appear college-bound as opposed to my little guy, looked fabulous, and we headed off to Toy Park. When we lived in our condo, we essentially lived in Toy Park. Every single day, unless a tornado was in fact sighted on the premises, we headed there, where my son would swing, slide, and play with the donated toys.

As I parked next to our old condo and walked up the incline to the park, I watched my son. I waited for his eyes to light up with recognition. For him to run to the gate and make a beeline for his favorite blue dump truck.

This didn't happen.

Instead, he clung to me as he does when he enters unfamiliar territory. He studied the trees, and slides, and soon, he was playing. But he played because it was a park. He ran about with other children because he loves children. As his mother I've seen his eyes light up with recognition at spots he loves and remembers, and though we must have visited this park over 100 times in the six months we lived here, he remembered none of it.

K has a conference in San Diego in a few weeks. It's in a hotel walkable to shops and restaurants. When I learned of it, I was excited. I could meet my agent, take Waleed to the San Diego Zoo, and play with him at the beaches, and chase him down the piers. Except, as it turns out, there's a catch: The flight to San Diego departs at 8:45pm. Well past bedtime. It lands at 2am which means we'll get to our hotel around 3am. Some kids are easy on planes and long drives and pass out when they're tired. My son is not one of those kids. He won't meltdown, but he won't sleep unless he's in a quiet dark room. In other words, as much as I can bring his PJs and bed time stories and a glass of milk, he is not going to sleep. He's going to pull an all nighter. So we'll pull an all nighter. Consequently he's going to have a rough night. And at least one rough day as he adjusts to the sleep deprivation, overstimulation and time-zone change. And that means, we will too. I've been perplexed if this flight time, and my son's one night of pure and literal insomnia means its just not worth going at all.

In this vein I asked a parent listserv for any personal experiences with an overnight flight and what they recommended. I got lots of great advice and one that has left me really thinking:

Here is the deal. The toddler will have no more fun going to the San Diego zoo than to the Yellow River Game ranch, and whether it’s the beach or Lake Lanier will make no difference to him. He probably has just as much fun with a puddle. He will also not recall anything about this trip when he’s older. We don’t tend to store this kind of info before age 4 in a way that we can retrieve it.

So the trip is not for him, it’s for you.

This hit me like a sack of koala bears to the gut. As much as I want to go to San Diego for me, I also wanted to go because I think my son would have a good time. But she's right. Waleed forgot Toy Park. San Diego? He won't remember any of it.

And yet this doesn't sit fully right with me. He won't remember storytimes, and Gymboree. He won't remember the playdates, or the trips to the park. So is it not worthwhile? I'd like to think despite the lack of memories, he's gaining something. That somehow his experiences are shaping the toddler he is, the boy he is quickly turning into, and the man he will become. That as much as we get joy from doing things with him, that he is also getting something out of this as well, lack of memories notwithstanding. Granted, we haven't taken him to Disney because he won't really remember it [and its uber-pricey] but how far does one take this rationale based on lack of recollection?

If you made it this far down, my question is really two-fold. Does your child's memories or lack thereof guide choices you make on the things you do with them? And, regarding traveling with a toddler who will stay wide awake like a perky bunny on three cups of espressos, what would you do? Stay home and stick with the routine, or go knowing that there will be a few days of it kind of sort of sucking? Ever done an overnight or lengthy car-drive/flight with a toddler? Any advice or insight much appreciated!

On doubling joy, dividing sleep, and multiplying joy tenfold

Have you ever had something you really wanted to talk about but kept putting it off because you were waiting for the right moment, or time, or phrase? And then before you know it, strangers stop to smile side-ways at you and the bag boy insists he carry your groceries to the car and you realize that as much as you might think things are going at snail's pace, reality is in fact hurtling along faster than you really really realize?

It's the reality that we need to start shopping for the toddler bed sooner rather than later. That I need to sift through brown boxes gathering dust in the basement. That my toes are soon to be hypothetical digits I believe in purely because I had once upon a time in fact laid eyes on them. It's the reality that soon I will be doubling my joy, dividing my sleep, and multiplying my joy tenfold. 

It's also the reality that nothing is certain until it is. I don't know if I'm the only one who along with the excitement, and anticipation, also feels a slight undercurrent of fear. Because blessings like this are not a given. They are not a right. And they are never certain until they are. While this time around, the journey has been smoother, it's not something I take for granted. This must be why, despite dreams of little girls, and different cravings, and an early ultrasound [that led to us naming our little 'girl'] when the doctor announced boy I felt a moment of surprise and then, a heaping outpouring of joy and gratitude. I'm gobsmacked to be here. Soon my son is going to be a big brother. I'm more thankful and hopeful than words can properly allow.

Please keep us in your prayers. Nothing in life is ever guaranteed, but here's hoping for a healthy happy little guy come January. Ameen.