Nobody cares about the "1"

I never "do" Lent.  I have no recollection of it growing up.  As far as I know, I never went to a church that participated in it until I was in college.  That's the first time I participated in Ash Wednesday- and participated I mean 'sat in the back and felt very depressed.'  But this year I decided to "do" Lent. 


I started a day late, but better late than never, and I decided to stop weighing myself.  The motivation behind the choice was my obsession with the little digital number on the scale.  I used to weigh myself once a week, and then it became twice a week, and then it became every time I went to the gym.  (I don't actually own a scale...) 




I THOUGHT Lent was a week. 
Lent is 40 days. 




As I was lamenting how the scale seemed to stare at me from the corner, my older and wiser cousin chimed in, "You know.  You look amazing.  You've got curves.  You're doing great.  Why are you so hung up with this number?"  "BECAUSE!" I exclaimed, "I want to see a "1" in front of my weight.  I long for that number!"  She reminded me, "It's.  A.  Number."  And it hit me that she was right.  I'm eating well, I'm working out, I can pull my son in his little bike trailer with less stops than before.  I'm down two sizes, I feel confident, I feel amazing.  WHY does that depend on a number?




And then my friend's dad died.




I solemnly packed up my son and headed for the funeral.  It was held at the church we attended as kids (he has since moved away and I've been through three churches).  Walking back through the doors flooded me with emotions and memories and visions of all that had happened there through the years.  People from my past hugged me and wanted to meet Liam (who was exploring everything at a rapid pace) and instead of talking about high school drama and who was dating whom, we were meeting spouses and introducing children.




My friend's wife is stunning.  A natural beauty who just radiates love and patience.  Which you'd need to have, if you were married to my friend.  ;)  His baby is the epitome of precious.  His faith knows no bounds.  In a word- he's got it made in this life and the next.




I sat in the back of the chapel, near the door, and I watched the procession of my friend and his baby, his mother, brother and sister, aunt and uncle, and finally a frail looking grandmother.  A mother burying her son.  There's nothing right or natural about that picture.  My friend's dad was 54.  54.  I'm going to be 30.  That's 24 years from now, in my world.




The funeral was a celebration of Craig's life.  I had known him as a quiet, gentle man.  Turns out he was so much MORE than that.  My friend delivered the most beautiful prose on his father's life- his words have haunted me now DAYS after their reading.  But as you sit there and listen to people talk about the past and what they remember about a person, it gets you thinking weird thoughts.  When I die, what are they going to say about me?  God forbid I should die TODAY- what's the Eulogy going to sound like?




"Well, Libbie lost 42 pounds recently in a desperate attempt to see a "1" in front of her weight."




In that MOMENT, I understood Lent.  If done correctly, Lent is about giving up so we can gain.  Lent is about eliminating something from our lives so every time we miss it, we consider other sacrifices in history.  I know at the heart of the season, we're bombarded with a picture of Jesus on the cross, and that's GREAT.  But I believe there are other facets.




When you're starving, food tastes better.  When you're saving, money is more precious.  When you're lacking, abundance is better appreciated.  When you have nothing...something seems like the most generous gift.  Lent is about eliminating the former, so the latter seems more meaningful than ever.  Jesus came so we could have life and have it at it's fullest.




If I can be bold- this is why I believe Jesus said that the meek would inherit the earth.  Not the pompous.  When you have everything, what could you possibly need?  In steps entitlement and greed and quiet honestly, these aren't the people with whom you want to be friends.  These aren't the people you trust your secrets to.  These aren't the people who draw you to their father's funeral, 17 years after you first met.




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I walked into the gym yesterday and the digital beast stared at me from its corner.  I walked by.  I got on the stair climber and I climbed and climbed and thanked God for my breath and for my parents and for my legs that I can FEEL and for my son and for my husband and, and, and...




Plus think about it- not weighing myself for 40 days should yield a good result in the long run.  But in the end...nobody cares about the "1." 

There's no business like OUR business!

Here I am again.




Why haven't you written???  You may ask.






Honestly, life is just moving faster than I can keep up with it.






Since I wrote here, we have suffered as a family and we have succeeded as a family. 






We have had moments where money was tight, ("Um, honey, why is our car being repossessed??")  And moments where money was abundant (Tax return?  Don't mind if we do!) 






We have had moments where we huddled together and held on for dear life, (You mean you're shipping Liam to a hospital three hours NORTH?)
And moments where we have rejoiced in each other's arms.  (PEE PEE IN THE POTTY?!?!)






We have had moments where God has used our friends to provide for us, ("Someone has provided supper for us every night this week...")
And moments where we have secretly provided for others, ("Just stick it on their door and run!!!")






We have had moments where I've felt like giving up, (Your B12 levels are dangerously low, you'll need to come in for a shot daily for the next three weeks.)
And moments where I've felt like I've conquered the world, (3 pounds until goal... 42 pounds lost...)






But in the end, there's no business like our business.  My husband and I attended a marriage conference, which sounds like a huge snore, except it wasn't and it changed us forever.  More than months of counseling and ripping open wounds and feeling like the world was coming to an end.  We rediscovered ourselves and reignited that passion that was ours five years ago.  I'm married to a new man and I feel he's married to a new woman.  Life.  Is.  Good.






We were just sick as a family for the first time, and Liam made it through with NO seizures.  Literally I laid on my bed and sobbed audibly into my pillow, just willing his fever to break so I could rest and relax.  10 days later it relented and he was back to normal.  10 days of me just sitting there and internally shaking, waiting for his body to go stiff in my arms.  But yet, nothing happened.  An EEG showed he doesn't show any signs of a seizure disorder, just the random febrile seizure here and there.  Life.  Is.  Good.






I started a team for the MuckFest for MS in Philly in June.  My goal is to weigh 180 by that day so I can PROVE to myself that I can do ANYTHING I set my mind to.  Right now I'm at 203.  First goal is 200 and I can FEEL it.  So far 6 of my supporters have signed up for my team and I'm expecting four more before race day.  Some day I hope to say, "MS?  Yeah, I had that.  But it's cured now."






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I promise not to neglect blogging ANY more.  I realized how important it was to share my feelings, even if it was only a few sentences.  At the beginning of the year I started this stupid thing on Facebook.  It's stupid.  But I've been trying to take more selfies.  I realized I hated how I looked SO MUCH that I was editing myself into someone who I wanted to be, but I wasn't.  I started posting anything and everything from that point on.  Makeup- no makeup- flabby legs- imperfect hair.  And slowly I started learning that I don't view myself as others do.  My worst pics in my own mind were garnishing praise from people I didn't even know.  Why is that?  Why are we SO hard on ourselves? 


I'm not that person anymore. 


I'm not THAT Elizabeth George.




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Once a mommy, always a mommy.

Its 3:27 am. Pardon me if some words are wrong, some spelling off and punctuation missing. I'm typing from my phone if for no other reason than to keep an eye on Liam in his dark room. 

We're pretty sure he's teething. The signs are all there and believe me- we know teeth. He's got 16 of them, and that's where I stopped counting. Mostly because he won't open his mouth for me to check. 

When Liam teethes, he's very predictable. Runny nose, runny poops, chewing on everything he can fit in his mouth, drooling, extreme clumsiness, and, you guessed it, a fever. Except my kid gets the stupidest fevers ever. Not only does his head get warm, and his cheeks turn red- but also the backs of his knees are burning up, the back of his neck is on fire, and his palms are almost untouchable they're so hot. 

So you know what my brain and my husband's brain is doing right now. You know it. We are now on super high alert for another seizure. I gave him Tylenol before bed and Motrin when he woke up at 2am screaming (first heart stopping moment) and then a bath when he woke up screaming again when he was in our bed with us (second heart stopping moment). 

I tried to play off the bath like mommy was crazy. "Want to take a silly bath in the middle of the night time????" I put in extra bubbles and a blue fizzy tablet, which I'm sure put me into "best momma EVER" status in his little brain. But the whole time I'm watching him play, I'm just praying over and over- please don't seize. 

Once a momma always a momma. He's in my arms now, in his glider, and I can't help but feel his hot little hand on my chest. His eyes are open and closed, and all the while I'm waiting for his little body to stiffen and those eyes to glass over and not know me. It could still happen. Febrile seizures are caused by a spike in temperature, and the neurologist said if they're going to happen, you can't stop them. That's relieving. Said no momma ever. 

Andy's back to sleep again- although I'm sure it's not a restful sleep. He's got to work 12 hours tomorrow and I'm sure he's going to reach comatose around the 6 hour mark. His job is very intense. But I'm sitting here, awake, trying not to worry about the baby in my arms (it's not working) trying not to think about the bills incurred from the last seizure (also not working) and TRYING not to think about how tired I'm going to be at work today (definitely not working).

But once a momma always a momma. And I can't turn it off. So I'll lay him down and sleep beside him, and some day he'll be 20 and not remember this. But I always will. Because, well, you know. 

Inadequate.

My husband informed me this weekend that I cry too much and he's running out of compassion.  And before you think of him as an ogre, there might be something to his seemingly harsh words.

I don't think my husband TRULY understands women (who does, really?)  But when we cry, it doesn't always mean something is wrong.  Sometimes we just...cry.  This is totally true of me.  Oh, and when someone tells you to stop crying, it just intensifies the whole dang thing.  Don't cry?  Yeah, okay, let me turn it off.

Every day I feel so strongly inadequate for this job I've been called to do. 

On Saturday night, Andy decided we should let Liam cry it out.  Which he did.  From 9PM until 12:30AM, when I was finally told to "Go get him!  This isn't working!"  So afraid to make Andy even MORE upset, I slept with Liam on his glider, and then slipped into bed around 4AM.  To say I was tired was a gross understatement.

At church on Sunday morning, I dressed "the boys" alike- khakis, vests, white shirts and black ties.  It was adorable.  We got there SOMEWHAT on time...we at least caught the sermon, and what does my mom do?  Gives Liam a red drink, which he promptly spilled all over himself.  This irked me, because...well, because it did.  Do I need a reason?

Liam came with us to our class after church, (I put him in the nursery and that lasted about 20 minutes), and he was so ornery and obnoxious- pulling hair, screaming, running around- that I had to take him into the hallway.  The tears started to form around my eyes, but I blinked them away.

My mom approached me, and perhaps a little too forcefully, or perhaps my emotions were so elevated I couldn't focus, asked me what the matter was.  Why was I so irritable?  What was wrong with me?  I started to cry and run for the bathroom.  Which my husband saw, which set him off.

I wasn't spoken to for the rest of the afternoon.  He started texting me furiously as I made lunch- "What was that little Performance you pulled at church this morning?"  Among other texts.  This of course, ignited a fire so strong inside me that I was inconsolable.  "You cry all the time.  Something is literally wrong ALL THE TIME."

I may have mentioned this before, but the only way my husband and I communicate when we are upset with each other is over text- mostly because I am a blubbering fool and because my husband has a temper unlike the world has ever known.  And we're both REALLY REALLY bad fighters.  He bucks up and I buck down.  He spews, I apologize for fear of making things worse.

This morning after I've had time to cool down and think about it, yeah, I do cry a lot.  (This doesn't mean he couldn't show me some compassion once and a while, but this blog is not about him it's about me.)  Men are fixers.  They are also not emotional, and that's by design.  Although recently it's become more mainstream for men to show emotion, old habits die hard.  And you don't marry a man to change him.

So while he's off fuming, I'm crying, because that's how I deal, I cry.  Sometimes I cry when I'm happy.  Sometimes I cry when I'm sad.  Sometimes I cry when I'm making supper.  If for no other reason that I feel so grossly inadequate for this job of motherhood, wifehood, sisterhood, daughterhood...sometimes it's all so overwhelming and before you know it, you're wrist deep in a box of tissues.

Eventually it ends and the sun comes up and you're like- phew, that's over.  But what men in general don't get?  Is that we don't need fixed during these times.  We just need...nothing.  We need nothing.  We need to be left to our banshee-like sobs and that's the end.  Maybe a hug here and there, but mostly not.  And don't expect us to explain to you "what's wrong" because honestly, if we knew, WE'D FIX IT.

It starts out as, "I'm buying groceries for my family."  And then it spirals into, "I hate cooking.  What if all my food sucks?  What if the beef I'm making my family is actually killing them with hormones?  Should I be eliminating meat from our diets?  Should I be dieting?  What have I eaten today?  I haven't gone to the gym, so who cares what I eat.  I should go to the gym.  Is going to the gym taking away from my time with Liam?  What if I can't play with my child because I'm not fit?  What if I'm THAT mom at t-ball games?  Oh my goodness I can't be that mom.  I should wear makeup and less sweat pants.  I need a new look.  I'm so hideous.  Why would my husband even want to come home to this?"

And on
And on
And on.

And before you know it, you're bawling in the frozen foods.

How do you explain that to people?  "Why are you crying?"  Um....because deep down I guess I hate cooking?

Bottom line is, this time I'm giving my husband a "get out of jail free" card.  Even though his comment angered me, we ended up finishing off the argument fairly humanely, which is a step in the right direction.  He's a good man.  And I'm a good woman.  We just have to convince EACH OTHER of this.  Nobody is truly inadequate when there are people to help- and that's what marriage is, really.

A New Year? Don't mind if I do.

First off- for those who have asked, Liam is doing awesome.  No repercussions from the seizure, except for two parents who are living on edge.  Andy and I have not been the same since the episode.  How could you be?  I keep reminding him- if we were "okay" after all that, we wouldn't be good parents.  Good parents worry about their kids.

Christmas came and left.  When it left, it forgot to take ALL the toys, games, cars, instruments and other play things it brought with it.  All in good fun though.  Liam got many very, VERY cool things.  Last year he slept.  This year he played, and that was cool.  Andy's family would not wrap gifts and just set them up for play.  My family would wrap.  This year we did a little of both.  The biggest gift was probably the drum set.

 

 

Christmas morning was followed by visitors from the north- In Laws.  They also came bearing gifts.  My MIL instantly took over my house- washing all my dishes and other things she didn't have to do.  I kept saying to her, "You don't have to do that.  Please.  You don't have to do that."  She doesn't have a dishwasher at home, so I kept unloading what she had loaded (no pots and pans can't go in the dishwasher...no, those thermos sippy cups have to be washed by hand...I'm sorry, we can't wash the Pampered Chef ice cream scoop...)  I'm the kind of person who likes to do my own stuff.  Maybe I'm not the best house keeper, but I like to do it myself. 

 

I ALSO learned this Christmas season, with five adults and one baby in our house, that we seriously need a lock on our bedroom door.  People who don't have kids don't know that when you need a tender moment alone, you've got to plan it.  As soon as Liam is down at night, we run out of that room like a soldier running from a grenade.  "Go go go!!!  We've got two hours before he wakes up again!!!"  Since my MIL was taking over my life, she also took over my child, which meant the moment he awoke in the morning, she'd grab him and he would be her ward for the rest of the day.  I decided to embrace it AND embrace my husband.  It was almost magic how this was an invitation for door knocking.  Thanks for knocking, MIL.

 

I have nothing to complain about.  We are blessed with a warm house and food in our bellies.  We've been given a healthy child and that in and of itself is a gift worth more than all the riches in the world.  Or a lock on our bedroom door.  Liam tends to get very overstimulated when his grandparents are around, so he's been waking up every two hours now instead of just twice a night.  He will toddle over to my side of the bed and tap my face...and of course I pick him up and cuddle him.  What else can I do?  He puts his hand on my face and his forehead on my mouth and breathe a little sigh of relief.  "Phew.  Momma is here."

 

You don't recognize how much your child is picking up from you.  Liam runs every night when it's time to take my shot for my MS.  He can pretty much perform the whole process by himself now- but I don't let him.  Sometimes I fight back tears as I ask him if he's going to grow up to find a cure for mommy.  After I'm done, I reset the injection pen with no syringe in it, of course, and he gives himself a "shot."  He laughs, because he thinks it's funny, and in a way, I think we're bonding.  He wants to be like me- God love him. 

So I'll take the New Year.  No resolutions.  If I had one to post, I'd probably say, "Be better at existing."  But I'll just keep chugging along.

 

A Simple Snowman

 

 

Sometimes something as simple as a snowman in the backyard can make you burst into fits of tears and laughter.  As you're watching your husband and your tiny son carefully (but not so gracefully) roll balls of snow and then hoist them one on top of each other, you realize that nothing else in this world matters except for them and the life you've built together.

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The last time I blogged, Liam hadn't eaten in a day and he was wheezing, and we were trying to figure out what was the matter with him.  After a trip to the doctor, she diagnosed him with croup (I had no idea kids even GOT croup any more!).  We started him on nebulizer treatments, which he took like a champ, and Tylenol every four hours, and lots of love and attention.

 

 

 

By Friday, he was looking a little better.  His eyes were still red, but he had managed to eat a little "cracker soup" as my mom calls it.  And he was drinking like crazy- anything he could get his hands on, drink drink drink.  Mom and I went to the mall to finish some Christmas shopping, and after about two hours, he started to get fussy.  We finished where we were and just left.  He had enough.  It was 7PM- we'd been shopping since 5PM- there's nothing we couldn't buy online.

 

Andy sat with me while we did his nebulizer, now deemed his "fishy medicine," and we settled in for a night of cuddling and rest.

 

The key to parenting is to expect the unexpected.  But there are some thing that aren't even on your parenting radar- things you never even knew to be an issue until they became an issue.  About 15 minutes after his nebulizer treatment, as we were cuddling on the couch, Liam's little body stiffened up.  His eyes rolled back into his head.  His face changed color.  "He's not breathing."  I said, "Andy he's not breathing."

 

I ran for the door, thinking the cold air would help open his air passages and he would stop all this.  "Please breathe, please breathe, PLEASE breathe, PLEASE BREATHE!!!!!!!!!"  I screamed at my son, "BREATHE, LIAM, BREATHE!"  His little eyes were back in his head, his face was swollen and yellow.  I heard Andy calling 911, "My son.  My 14 month old son, something is happening to him, please come.  PLEASE COME!"  He was frantic.  I was frantic.

 

The sirens started in the distance.  We knew they were for us.  "COME QUICKLY!"  I screamed into the phone.  "SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH HIM!"  Liam's little body shuddered and danced in my arms, like a little toy stuck on repeat.  His arms would flail in the same motion every time.  He began a little eerie choke/cry/scream- as if he was on repeat.  The 911 person told us to lay him on the floor and put our hand behind his neck and check for breathing.  "He's breathing!!!!"  I screamed.  I was told to check his mouth for vomit- his jaw was clenched.  We rolled him to the side and the drool ran from his mouth.  I laid him back on his back and held his head still.  He was still on "repeat" and a portion of me wondered if he'd be on repeat forever. 

 

I kissed his face, "God, save my son."  I cried.  "God, PLEASE, please save our SON."  I screamed over and over.  The ambulance sped up the street and stopped in front of our house.  An entire LEGION of EMTs and police were ready and waiting.  The police officer kindly asked me to step away, and in one fast movement he scooped Liam up behind the head and under the butt and held him high.  "He's breathing, let's go." 

 

I ran out behind them as they hooked my VERY tiny son up to a VERY large stretcher.  They started another nebulizer treatment.  I stood in the corner of ambulance, watching them check pulse, hook up a little indicator to Liam's toe, stroke his tiny cheek and call him "Buddy."  The police officer asked, "Do you want her in here with you?"  Instantly, I knew if I didn't calm down, they wouldn't let me come with him.  I breathed.  "Please don't take me away from my son."  The EMT nodded.  My parents pulled up in the van behind us- I saw my dad in the backup lights,   Off we went to the ER.

 

The didn't use the siren, so I knew we were going to be okay...that or the damage was already done and there was no use rushing.  I didn't know, and I was too afraid to ask.  Liam's glassy eyeballs stared at the lights and the EMT name "Julian."  I could see every vein in my son's tiny hand.  His face was still yellow.  I wiped the drool from his little mouth and spoke softly to him, hoping for ANY sign of normalcy.  ANYTHING.  Mentally, I thought he was a vegetable.  Is this how it happens?  I heard stories of "one minute he was fine and then the next..."  I wondered if this was going to be our story.  Would we move so he could be on one floor with his wheelchair?  Would there be physical therapy involved?  Would I quit my job to take care of him? 

 

Externally though, I just kept singing and talking to him.  "Want to sing, Liam?  What sound does a bell make?  Liam, we're passing daddy's work right now but he's not there!  Liam, did you know Grandpa is driving behind us in the van?  Do you know what he'll say when he sees you?  Hi, dude!  That's what he'll say!  Do you think he brought his tractor?  Nooooo, tractors don't belong at hospitals!  Liam, what does the tractor say?  Do you want to sing a song?  Want to hear a funny joke?  Liiiiiaaaaammmm, no sleeping baby, look at your momma!"  And endless monologue lasting from Elizabethtown to Hershey.  I watched his little fever pass from 99 to 100 to 101 to 102 back to 99 up again, down again.  His little eyes would flutter.  I'd kiss him.  He'd stare at me, then back to Julian.

 

When we got to the hospital I realized I had no shoes and no coat.  Didn't matter.  Liam was starting to respond.  The ER nurse did an anal probe and this GREATLY upset Liam.  Good.  Make him cry!  I want to see my SON, not this little veggie baby who was scaring the crap out of me.  I held him tightly in my arms.  We played an impromptu game of "peek-a-boo" with the unsuspecting registration lady.  "He's adorable!"  She told me.  We marched back to the pediatrics ER.  Kids artwork and bright snowflakes and nurses in cute scrubs lined the hallways.  I told Liam to wave to all the patients as we passed.  We got many "hi there cutie!" and "Aw, look at him!"  As we walked along.

 

He was in hysterics.  Andy and I kept our eyebrows and voices high- telling Liam all the while how brave he was and how proud of him we were.  I sat with him on the enormous bed and rocked him back and forth.  And then, like MAGIC, Andy pulled a pacifier out of his pocket.  Liam took it and put his head on my chest.  We rocked and rocked and his stats slowly started to come down.  His BP evened out.  His heart rate stabilized.  He became Liam again. 

 

The doctor explained all about febrile seizures and what had just happened to our son.  His fever had spiked so fast, he went into shock and started to seize.  He was going to be okay.  They gave him a dose of steroids and some more Tylenol.  His fever dropped and he slept soundly on my chest, and then on Andy's chest.  By 1:30AM we were released and on our way home in the back of my parent's van.

 

We were shocked to see our Pastor in the waiting room.  He came back to Liam's room and laid hands on him and prayed for God to heal his tiny body and our minds after all we had just witnessed.  It was still hard to let Liam anywhere out of our sight for the next two days.  Even today while I'm typing this, I know he's safe with my mom but...he's not in my arms.

 

 

I don't know how to end a blog post like this.  So I'll just click publish and let it be what it is.  Everyone is safe, everyone is on the mend, time to move ahead.

 





The Heart

In the last few months, Andy and I have begun to reinvent our marriage.  I've fallen in love with him all over again, and in that regard, I've learned to love MYSELF again as well.  As I've watched the baby weight come off, I've also regained the feeling in my right leg and foot (my knee is still tight, but I can move.)  The year is coming to a close, and I wonder to myself if I will remember anything that happened in the past 12 months, or if it will be one of those things my brain will shut out.

No matter who preps you, what kind of advice you are given, or how many books and magazines you read- nothing can prepare you for parenthood.  It's like going to college, taking a class with no set curriculum, and then being tested daily.  All the professor does is scream and throw food at you and make the sign for "more" while pointing at inanimate objects.

The other week Liam started to break out all over his belly and back.  I thought it was dry skin.  Babies get dry skin, right?  I figured it was from a lotion I was using, and immediately went out and bought the dye-free, alcohol-free, everything-free lotion and started rubbing him daily.  The was to no avail.  The bumps and spots were still there.  He wasn't eating.  He was still active as ever, but he wasn't "himself."
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I need to stop for a second and talk about an intricacy in my relationship with my husband; he feeds off of my emotion.  If I seem uptight, he gets uptight.  If I'm in pain, he gets uptight.  If I'm angry, he gets uptight.  If I'm depressed, he gets uptight.  So in order to run our lives in a smooth, orderly manner, I know I need to keep calm and carry on.  OR, in the very least, give my husband warning when I'm going to lose control.

This is also true of your child.  Children and babies can smell fear.  So even when your world is crashing down around you, your eyebrows need to stay up and your voice needs to stay perky.  I agree that you need to teach your children that it's okay to have emotions and how to deal with life's issues.  But children are also on a "need to know" basis.  Sometimes?  They just don't need to know.
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Andy encouraged me to take him to the doctor, which I refused.  "He's fine!" I assured him.  "I know my child!"  But after two weeks, his rash wasn't going away and he still wasn't eating.  So into the doctor we went. 

Did you know strep sometimes presents itself in rash form?  Evidently I was the only one on the planet (besides my mom, who also did not know) that in small children, strep will present itself in little red bumps all over the belly and back.  How was I supposed to know?  She prescribed a Z-pak in liquid form and $50 later, my son was on the mend.  (Yeah, $50.  That's WITH insurance.)

As of last night, Liam hasn't eaten for a few days.  For supper we convinced him to eat five grape tomatoes.   Last night, Liam started wheezing.  And then he started barking like a seal.  I brought him into bed with us and listened to his chest.  "Mommy is nervous about that cough, Little Bug!"  I said in a cheerful voice.  Right away Andy got uptight.  "Call the doctor.  What should we do?  Call her right now.  Give him something.  What should we do?  Will you call the doctor?"

I sighed.  "No, I'm not going to call the doctor.  I'm going to set up the humidifier and hold him while he sleeps."

"You know I get uptight when I feel helpless."

And there it was.  The proof that the woman is really the heart of the household.  Why is that?  Is it that inborn sense?  That "motherly intuition" with which we supposedly leave the hospital?  Why do children run to daddy when they want to play, but sulk to mommy when they're sick or hurt?  What is it that even as an adult, I will call my mom and talk for hours, but when it comes to my dad (whom I love desperately) my regular phone conversation with him is, "Can I talk to mom?"

More often than not, I feel I'm not giving my husband the attention he needs.  I need to do better on that.  We have this phrase we use when we feel out of control: I need centered.  That's usually a clue that we need a hug, or some quiet, or some time to sit and be a veggie for a while.  In the same respect, my husband needs a wife- not a mom.  So here I am with all this "motherly instinct" and for a moment I have to turn it off and be a wife again. 

Confession:  I called my husband "Liam" during an intimate moment the other night.  I had hoped he didn't notice, but he probably did.  But how many times during a day do I say my son's name?  How tired was I at that very moment?  It happens.  This is why, if you have siblings, your parents probably went through a slew of names before they got to yours.  I just now realized this.  It's because they were drained- and now, so are you.

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A friend of mine is the daughter of a colonial in the US Army.  For most of her formative years, her mother was in Afghanistan.  She and her father are very, very close because he was Mr. Mom for a good portion of her adolescence.  My friend recently got married.  During this time she sent a text to her mom: There are no colonials invited to this wedding, only moms.

It's hard to turn off ALL those other things you're used to doing and focus on one job.  Women are so used to multi-tasking.  Why?  Because we have no other choice.  My husband took our son to the mall to do some Christmas shopping and repeatedly text me through the trip: I don't know how single parents do it.  Single Parents?!  I do it every day!  But I don't say that- I only say: you are an AMAZING dad.  Because he is.  How many dads do you see at the mall with a 14 month old child?

Next time you're pressed from every angle, remember that you are the heart.  You can live without many of your organs.  Even your brain can fail, but if your heart is still beating, you're still technically living.  Feeling like you're having cardiac arrest?  Check yourself first.  What's going on with you?  Fix it, and then start to beat again.