My Sunday Mom Confessions will appear this week covered in every product in the Seventh Generation line that includes the words “anti-bacterial” in it, along with a heavy dose of Amoxicillin with Sudafed and Advil because I finally took my butt to the doctor when my magic powers and herbs didn’t seem to be cutting it.
First, let’s talk about the doctor. I’m not opposed to medical care; in fact, proper medical care is crucial to our existence. I follow a standard vaccine schedule with Miles. I encourage my husband to head to the doctor for any ache and pain. It’s getting myself to the doctor that can be tricky. Oh sure, I go for my annual OBGYN appointment (which I have affectionately dubbed “The Boat Show”, only because I get the feeling someone is trying to park a yacht in there with all the cranking open they do) and I go for an annual physical. But otherwise, I ignore any cold/flu/allergy/possible broken bone until it reaches the point of unbearable pain.
This is when WebMD steps in, urging me to “seek immediate medical attention.” Again, WebMD knew my appendix was rupturing, so I trust them a lot.
WebMD gave me a list of 50+ things, even though deep down I knew it was just a sinus infection. Saturday morning, if that’s what you can call it at 3:30am when you’ve been jarred from a seemingly peaceful sleep, I awoke to a strange feeling. It was actually a horrible feeling; the feeling of my eyes trying to escape from their sockets. With ice picks. And chainsaws. I took four Tylenol (because I’m sensible) and went back to bed.
The pain explosion continued forever. No amount of Advil, Tylenol, or Excedrin would touch it. If I looked to the left or right, the exploding eyeball feeling returned. So I did what any mom of a toddler would do: after his nap, I sat in the recliner with Miles and we watched four episodes of “Roseanne.” When Evan got home, I decided I should probably get this funk checked out.
I went to Urgent Care. Ugh, the bane of my medical existence. I absolutely loathe Urgent Care. It’s where people like me, the lazy and preoccupied, go when their wounds begin to fester and ooze (or stab through their eyeballs). Here I am in the waiting room, with a man who “hurt his back” on the job, but has no proof of employment; two men waiting to have drug tests, and parents of twin toddlers who are running around the waiting room like maniacs (something toddlers are completely capable of even when they’re sick).
I’m finally seen by a startlingly cute doctor (this never happens at Urgent Care) and he tells me what I already know, but he gives me the drugs…antibiotics, and choirs of angels sing hallelujah! I’m not a big medicine fan, but I was getting desperate (also, somewhat concerned it just might be West Nile Virus).
Today, my headache is gone, thanks to stead four hour doses of Sudafed and Advil. I can feel Big Pharma in there, clearing out the funk that has resided in my sinus cavity for the past eight (!!!) days. Finally, getting back to normal (seriously, I didn’t even drink any wine this weekend until right now).
And so, with the funky funk packing its bags, here are my confessions of the past eight days…
- Miles tried his first ice cream cone. Is 14 months too young? I care not one iota; it was awesome to watch the face of a child who has never eaten anything that cold. You could see the grimace of, “WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?!” mixed with a face of “oooh, gimmegimmegimme!” Those are my exact feelings toward ice cream, too.
- The light bulb in our closet has been burned out for eight days (it extinguished around the same time my plague arrived) which means I’ve been pulling articles of clothing out, holding them in the bathroom light, then throwing them on the closet floor if they aren’t what I need. I am down to a wrinkled mess on the floor, and sweaters on hangers.
- I taught Miles that dusting is fun.
- I have stepped on macaroni noodles, lo mein noodles and spaghetti noodles in the past 48 hours.
- I turned a pair of sweatpants inside out just so I could wear them in public (you know, the grocery store) without anyone noticing the tomato sauce stain.
- Did I mention it’s been eight days since I washed my own laundry?
- I also let Miles snuggle with me so we could watch The Cosby Show. I am not ashamed of our TV time while I’ve been sick; these could be some of the last “snuggly baby” memories that I get.
- Miles ate zero vegetables yesterday. Not that they weren’t offered; he didn’t want them, so I gave up. Peaches and macaroni it is.
- I let a perfect stranger (teenage girl) take a picture of Miles eating his first ice cream cone at dinner on Friday. He’s cute, I totally get it. And she did ask permission.
- Miles still takes a binky at bedtime (STOP JUDGING). It’s his one vice; he could go to sleep without it, but it’s easier with it. Over the past three days, all of his binkies have disappeared except one. I am at a crossroads: buy more binkies, or wean from binkies? What if he turns 30 and he still sleeps with a binky? Well, I hope he has a very understanding wife.
Maybe those aren’t as ridiculous as they usually are after a week in the toddler zone. It’s tough to be funny and creative when your head is trying to turn itself inside out to escape the mucus. Truth: I feel a little guilty about the TV, and a little proud about the dusting. But mostly I feel warm and fuzzy because I CAN FINALLY DRINK WINE AGAIN.
Even though we’ve had the funk in this house, we’ve also had a lot of arts and crafts, pillow fights, book time and snuggles in the past eight days. Miles has also started saying simple sentences like “Mama’s big helper!” which are simultaneously making me incredibly proud and breaking my heart, because being a mom and watching your child grow up is just emotionally weird sometimes. More on my Big Helper later, though.
It’s Sunday…10 minutes until True Blood, my last weekend vice before returning to real life. And I need my Lafayette fix.