I’ve been feeling a little like Marvin Gaye these days. Instead of “mother, mother” it’s more like “mamamamadadadada” but I’ve definitely been asking “what’s going on” and there’s definitely far too many of us crying.
All joking aside, things haven’t really been that bad. I will say, however, that the one black male chanteur that I do NOT feel like is Ray Charles because night time is NOT the right time for Pumpkin. During the day, life with Pumpkin is a dream – we laugh, we play, we “talk” and sing and dance and all is right in the world. The picture of her in the kitchen shows her latest and greatest game of pulling out all of the Tupperware in the cabinet (and, as you can see, she even knows what to do with it) and bath time is still a favorite. But when the sun and the baby go down, it’s literally (and figuratively) like night and day (pun intended). We still cannot figure out what is causing it but I think – with the help of the almighty internet – that I have narrowed it down and it’s either teething, allergies, ears, digestive problems, developmental milestones, nighttime separation anxiety, sleep regression, or my baby is a werewolf.
As Pumpkin fans, you all know we are going to see the pediatric allergy specialist next week to determine whether its allergies or one of the others. Yesterday a friend who had been down the same path and seen the same doctor gently advised me not to expect a miracle. At first I scoffed, as if to say “of course I’m not silly enough to expect a miracle.” That quickly turned into an assessment of my expectations, a reality check, and a near-crazy-mommy-meltdown. I’m not expecting miracles…I’m just expecting my baby to be made healthy and comfortable, to sleep, to eat, not to cry or sniffle or cough or have ear infections or ever to take antibiotics again. All I’m expecting is…okay, maybe I’m expecting a miracle.
Admittedly I was a little disheartened but only momentarily. I simply decided I would not compromise my expectations and I WILL find peace for Pumpkin at any cost. Part of my tireless research has led me to a book that has absolutely changed my life. The book is called Disease Proof Your Child and it focuses on healing and preventative care through nutrition. It’s really incredible. I’ve touted this book to every person that will listen long enough to hear me say the word “phytonutrient” (which, admittedly, is not many).
Anyway, I’ve been reading this book voraciously at any chance I get and TRYING to incorporate some of its principles into our lives (slowly, of course, I do not want Aaron’s chicken and sweets based dietary system to go into complete shock). Yet, in doing so I’ve had a couple glaring moments of how far we have to come.
The first was earlier this week I was going to go home for lunch, have a salad and read my book out on the porch while soaking in some essential rays of Vitamin D from the sun. I get home and my driveway is blocked by the yard guy and I can’t get to the house, so I start heading back towards work and I pass a Sonic advertising for their new “gourmet” hot dogs. Now, I get it honestly from a Mee Maw whose birthday every year I can remember included chili dogs, but I LOVE hot dogs. So I turn in, order my New York dog with sauerkraut and proceed to read my book while waiting for my delivery. As I am wiping spilled ‘kraut off of the page I’m reading I realize the complete irony in what I’m doing. I tell myself it’s just one hot dog, that I tried to go home, AND that the book is really about Pumpkin’s diet, not mine.
I get to school to pick her up later that day and the teachers are beaming about how well she ate her lunch. I am thrilled too, since solid foods have been a months-long love-hate relationship. Then the teacher tells me that what tempted Pumpkin’s taste buds so much was boudin casserole. While I’m not even sure what this is (and while I agree it sounds incredible) I’m almost certain that Dr. Fuhrman would snatch back my copy of his book if he knew my child ate it.
This week has also marked the first two days that Pumpkin has cried when I dropped her off at school. I think it’s probably a combination of not feeling great and being exhausted from not sleeping. The first time I was able to play on the floor with her long enough to get her distracted and then sneak out (which broke my heart to do, but the webcam confirmed that in the five minutes it took me to get to work she was playing and had completely forgotten about me).
Today I didn’t get out quite so smoothly. I tried playing, I tried distraction with toys and other children, and finally I had to give my crying baby over to Ms. Pam and try to just walk out. Unfortunately, I’m not that smooth. I opened the door to leave and stopped for one last glance at Pumpkin and as I’m about to join her crying, a child slips past me and starts running down the hall towards the door. This is the child I’ll refer to as “the Bully” because he is about twice as big as all the other children and I have literally seen this child shove cribs aside like the Hulk and hurl toys at unsuspecting children. Anyway, the Bully takes off running and so does Ms. Pam, with a teary-eyed Pumpkin under one arm. I decide I need to stay in the room with the other baby, but I want to see the action so I stand hesitantly in the door just long enough for the third and final baby to start crawling full speed ahead towards the exit. Finally the prison break is contained, and I rush out of the building under the shameful eyes of the other teachers on her hall who witnessed the chaos I created.
So, until I get my miracle (or at least some answers), Hubby and I are prepared to keep up the sweet sounds of the ABCs on the night shift, knowing it’s “gonna be a long night,” but it’s “gonna be all right.”
All joking aside, things haven’t really been that bad. I will say, however, that the one black male chanteur that I do NOT feel like is Ray Charles because night time is NOT the right time for Pumpkin. During the day, life with Pumpkin is a dream – we laugh, we play, we “talk” and sing and dance and all is right in the world. The picture of her in the kitchen shows her latest and greatest game of pulling out all of the Tupperware in the cabinet (and, as you can see, she even knows what to do with it) and bath time is still a favorite. But when the sun and the baby go down, it’s literally (and figuratively) like night and day (pun intended). We still cannot figure out what is causing it but I think – with the help of the almighty internet – that I have narrowed it down and it’s either teething, allergies, ears, digestive problems, developmental milestones, nighttime separation anxiety, sleep regression, or my baby is a werewolf.
As Pumpkin fans, you all know we are going to see the pediatric allergy specialist next week to determine whether its allergies or one of the others. Yesterday a friend who had been down the same path and seen the same doctor gently advised me not to expect a miracle. At first I scoffed, as if to say “of course I’m not silly enough to expect a miracle.” That quickly turned into an assessment of my expectations, a reality check, and a near-crazy-mommy-meltdown. I’m not expecting miracles…I’m just expecting my baby to be made healthy and comfortable, to sleep, to eat, not to cry or sniffle or cough or have ear infections or ever to take antibiotics again. All I’m expecting is…okay, maybe I’m expecting a miracle.
Admittedly I was a little disheartened but only momentarily. I simply decided I would not compromise my expectations and I WILL find peace for Pumpkin at any cost. Part of my tireless research has led me to a book that has absolutely changed my life. The book is called Disease Proof Your Child and it focuses on healing and preventative care through nutrition. It’s really incredible. I’ve touted this book to every person that will listen long enough to hear me say the word “phytonutrient” (which, admittedly, is not many).
Anyway, I’ve been reading this book voraciously at any chance I get and TRYING to incorporate some of its principles into our lives (slowly, of course, I do not want Aaron’s chicken and sweets based dietary system to go into complete shock). Yet, in doing so I’ve had a couple glaring moments of how far we have to come.
The first was earlier this week I was going to go home for lunch, have a salad and read my book out on the porch while soaking in some essential rays of Vitamin D from the sun. I get home and my driveway is blocked by the yard guy and I can’t get to the house, so I start heading back towards work and I pass a Sonic advertising for their new “gourmet” hot dogs. Now, I get it honestly from a Mee Maw whose birthday every year I can remember included chili dogs, but I LOVE hot dogs. So I turn in, order my New York dog with sauerkraut and proceed to read my book while waiting for my delivery. As I am wiping spilled ‘kraut off of the page I’m reading I realize the complete irony in what I’m doing. I tell myself it’s just one hot dog, that I tried to go home, AND that the book is really about Pumpkin’s diet, not mine.
I get to school to pick her up later that day and the teachers are beaming about how well she ate her lunch. I am thrilled too, since solid foods have been a months-long love-hate relationship. Then the teacher tells me that what tempted Pumpkin’s taste buds so much was boudin casserole. While I’m not even sure what this is (and while I agree it sounds incredible) I’m almost certain that Dr. Fuhrman would snatch back my copy of his book if he knew my child ate it.
This week has also marked the first two days that Pumpkin has cried when I dropped her off at school. I think it’s probably a combination of not feeling great and being exhausted from not sleeping. The first time I was able to play on the floor with her long enough to get her distracted and then sneak out (which broke my heart to do, but the webcam confirmed that in the five minutes it took me to get to work she was playing and had completely forgotten about me).
Today I didn’t get out quite so smoothly. I tried playing, I tried distraction with toys and other children, and finally I had to give my crying baby over to Ms. Pam and try to just walk out. Unfortunately, I’m not that smooth. I opened the door to leave and stopped for one last glance at Pumpkin and as I’m about to join her crying, a child slips past me and starts running down the hall towards the door. This is the child I’ll refer to as “the Bully” because he is about twice as big as all the other children and I have literally seen this child shove cribs aside like the Hulk and hurl toys at unsuspecting children. Anyway, the Bully takes off running and so does Ms. Pam, with a teary-eyed Pumpkin under one arm. I decide I need to stay in the room with the other baby, but I want to see the action so I stand hesitantly in the door just long enough for the third and final baby to start crawling full speed ahead towards the exit. Finally the prison break is contained, and I rush out of the building under the shameful eyes of the other teachers on her hall who witnessed the chaos I created.
So, until I get my miracle (or at least some answers), Hubby and I are prepared to keep up the sweet sounds of the ABCs on the night shift, knowing it’s “gonna be a long night,” but it’s “gonna be all right.”
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