4th Quarter Katie

We all know that there are times in parenthood that are harder than others. (No, you don’t have to be a parent to know this. If you were ever a child, you must remember subjecting your parents to these moments.) These instances are usually classified into one of four categories:

1. Times when children seem like the devil’s brethren
2. Times when they are extremely sick or in severe pain
3. When they hit a major milestone
4. When they perform an act of complete innocence and love

My most recent episode of heartbreak involved the later two categories.

Last night Redden and I went through our bedtime routine as usual. First came a story – which I am proud to say that Redden read all by himself. Next came a song. Redden sang his usual, “Goodnight Sweetheart” and I sang “Together” by the Turtles. Finally, we each said our prayers. As we ended the routine with our nightly cuddles, Redden said, “Mommy, I wish no one ever died and went to heaven. I wish we all lived forever.”

I replied, “But Heaven is wonderful place. It is a good place where nothing bad happens. It’s where God is.”

He said, “Well, I hope that you don’t die before me.”

I responded, “Oh Redden, no parent wants to live longer than their child. That would make me so sad.”

Then it happened. His lip started to tremble and tears began streaming down his cheeks as he said, “But Mommy, I don’t want you to die!”

My cheeks quickly became wet with tears as I searched my mind for the “adult” thing to say. I stuttered out, “Oh baby doll, God willing, I am not going to die for a long time. And when I do I will be in Heaven and you are going to go to Heaven so we will be together.” I mumbled out a few more Christian comforts and held him as I bawled and thought, I don’t want to die either!

I finally resolved our sadness by saying, “God willing I am going to live for a lot of years.”

Redden asked, “How many?”

I answered, “Ummm 60! And you know how old you are going to be in 60 years? 65!”

He giggled at the thought and we gave each other big squeezes. I walked out of the room thinking about the first time I ever told my mom that I didn’t want her to die. I don’t know how much her heart broke that night, but I can imagine.

I got off work early today; so when Redden asked, “Mommy, can we go to the park?” I thought, Yeah, the park. That’s a good idea. We had a conversation about which park to go to. I didn’t want to drive home, change clothes, then drive somewhere else, so we settled on the playground at Dixie Magnet Elementary School. This is where Redden will be attending kindergarten in less than a month, so my resolve was only cemented in playing there as a way of getting him a skosh more familiar with his future school. Knowing that this park is not “just around the corner,” I asked Redden, “Would you like to ride your bike to the park?” I figured, two birds, one stone. I could give him practice time on bike riding and get there faster. He said, “Yeah! And can we bring Cookie?” Oh boy, I thought. But as the cogs kept turning in my brain, I reasoned, This will be a good way of giving Cookie exercise as well as spend some family time with him. I replied to Redden, “Ok.”

As we made our way to the park I should have known that I was in over my head when the water bottle I had in my backpack immediately started to lead. I stopped, adjusted it and forged ahead. Four blocks away from the park, little Cookie was showing signs of fatigue and Redden’s face looked just like mine does after a summer run (aka BRIGHT RED).
We arrived at the park and I tied Cookie up in some shade and poured him some cold water. Then I with my new camera and Redden with his burst of energy, headed for the playground. As we frolicked and stomped around the playground, I snapped pictures of Redden in various forms of action, each time silently praising Canon for enabling to capture memories. Then it happened. Redden started grabbing his crotch. Shit. I tried to busy myself with other things in hopes that Redden would forget about it, but then I felt a tap on my back. “Momma. Momma. Momma, I have to go to the potty.” My reply, “Oh Redden, there isn’t a potty around.” “There is a potty in the school Momma.” he retorted.
“Oh baby, we can’t go in there. It is locked up.”
“I know!” he cried gleefully, ” I can use the tree!!”

I looked around and saw a bank of trees and knew that getting home was not going to be an option. So he and I sprinted towards the small “rest area”. As we approached I saw a group of kids heading down the sidewalk nearby. They were just staring at us. I thought quickly and said, “Redden quick; strike a ninja pose.” He and I proceeded through a few tree’s ass kicking stances until the kids passed. I then blocked the view from the road while he watered the tree. After he was finished we resumed playing. Meanwhile, Cookie lay in the shade like roadkill.
Awhile later I decided it was time to head home so we gathered our things and made our way back.
Within a block of leaving the park, Redden started grunting and groaning, “Momma, my legs can’t make the bike go.” I put on my game face knowing that I had over a mile of pushing to go. Don’t forget, Cookie has already declared that he is done. So in one hand I dragging our 35lb doggie and using the other to shove Redden every few seconds. Luckily, the trip back had more down hills than the way to the park. However, in order to keep up with Redden, I had to jog. Pulling Cookie. I felt so bad, but every time I thought to let up, Redden would speed ahead. At one point, he was so far ahead of me, a woman got out of her rocking chair to check and see if there was anyone with the little boy on training wheels.

As we came within 3 blocks of our house, my back began feeling entirely too comfortably cool. The water bottle was aggressively leaking. Redden must have smelled the delicious coldness of it seeping through the material because he promptly said, “I need a drink.”

I barked, ” No! We are almost home. You can have a drink when we get there.”
He replied, “Ah man! ” but moved to pick the peddling back up.

We arrived home and promptly dispersed. We were all way to hot and tired to spend one more minute of quality time together.

Luckily, my camera only documented the fun we had. Aren’t the pictures so crisp and clear and wonderful??

Oh my girls (and boys) who have children, I know you can commiserate. Well frankly, those of you who only have pets, probably can too.

My baby is sick. He has his momma’s bad luck with the pukies. Yes, I have a very sensitive stomach. It is much better than it used to be. My mom can attest to this. When I was young I would throw up over everything. Well, my payback is almost 6 years old and has been projectile vomiting almost since birth.

The most recent bout started on Sunday. Conveniently, we were in a restaurant. He warned us on the way there that he was feeling like he was going to throw up. (His words, not ours.) We went anyway. It is hard to tell what the child’s stomach is going to do. We were all finishing up lunch when Redden said, “I have to go to the baffroom.” Neil, being next to Redden, was to assume the responsibility of taking Redden. Redden got no further than the end of the table and blegh, it started.
And it continued. And continued.

Patrons were staring and Neil was gagging. Finally, I got Redden cleaned up; and embarrassed we crept out of the building. To this day, I will not forget Neil’s parting words – “Just watch, he will throw up in the car.”
And he did. Bless his sweet little heart. He heaved the whole way home. All I could do was stick a towel on his lap and let him go.

Monday I said a hail Mary and sent him on to school. Thankfully, nothing happened and I was able to get some necessary things finished. That night, I had just (finally) drifted off to sleep, when Neil burst into the room and said, “Katie, I need your help. Redden is sick. In my half unconscious stupor I stumbled into Redden’s room. Through squinty eyes I looked around for vomit. When I couldn’t find it anywhere I said, “Neil, where did he throw up?” As Neil was saying, “You are standing in it.” I felt the warm muck squish between my toes. My body convulsed as the stench danced under my nostrils. All I could create with my vocal chords was, “I need a towel.” (Neil, “What?”) “I need a towel. I need a towel.” (Neil, “What?”) “I NEED A TOWEL.” As Neil cared for Redden, I tended to my foot. Every time I thought of the warm pieces of crud covering my toes I gagged, yet felt so bad for my little man. It was right around midnight at this point.

Once I had myself cleaned up, Neil and I traded places. I pulled a trick from my memory that Mom had taught me long ago, the Puke Bowl. The Puke Bowl goes wherever you go, until the puking stops. I am sure Mom had a more classy name like the throw-up bowl or the barf bowl (or bucket). But there is something about having a hollowed out companion in your diseased disposition to put the humor (and relief) into illness. So as Redden sat down to watch some tv at 12:30am, he had his trusty Puke Bowl with him (which he found hilarious; and which also came in handy more than a couple of times.) Finally, there was nothing left to purge from his little tummy so he and I made our way to bed. My decision to sleep in his room was thwarted within the hour upon realization that no rest would come to me in a twin bed. I timed my creep out of his room to the rise and fall of the snores of his tiny body and snuggled in next to my hubby. I groaned as I looked at the clock – 2:04 am.

At 6:32am I awoke to Neil’s bastard alarm clock. (Yes, that is how I felt; however, I am sure he did too as he got no more sleep than I did.) As I started to doze, my phone started to sing. Not knowing who it would be, I sprung out of bed and raced down the stairs. It was my darling Momma. She and I discussed Redden’s condition then said “Goodbye.” After hanging up, I knew I could not go back to sleep so I threw myself on the couch and turned on the TV relishing the few hours of rest I would have between then and going to pick up some work items once my little sickey awoke.

Alas, no more than five minutes later did I hear the sound of Redden galumphing down the stairs. I sighed as I told him that we needed to go to my office. The time? 7:10am. He needed more sleep (and frankly, so did I).

At the office, as I prepared my work items for the day I noticed his condition quickly deteriorating. He was as white as a sheet and laying on the chair like a rag-doll. He has been sick recently, but not this sick. I lamented to myself on how to proceed and decided to gather my things as quickly as possible to head home in hopes of avoiding the dispersal of any stomach contents on the upholstery.

By the time we got home, he was barely functioning. As we walked in the house he said, “Momma, I think I am going to throw up!” I quickly got him to the bathroom, but his poor tummy was just spent. He couldn’t even heave anymore. And you know a child is sick when they voluntarily put themselves to bed, which he promptly proceeded to do. He slept so hard, that I felt the need to check on him twice, worried that he may no longer be breathing.
When he finally woke up, his color was coming back. As of now he has held down food for 4 hours.

I am looking back over this and realizing how gross this blog is… I won’t erase it because I know that there are new mothers (and hopeful mothers) out there. Here is my point: Sick babies will terrify you. You will want to run to the emergency room and denounce your pediatrician for his lackadaisical diagnosis on your child. I am here to tell you – you will get through it. Do your research online. Know when to take your little one in and when he/she just needs huge doses of TLC. Above all, trust your instincts. You will know when they need Dr. Mom and when they need Dr. Dr.