Until yesterday, I'd been away from the keyboard in almost every way for the last week. I barely managed to keep up with critical e-mails, much less to find time to blog or work on my novel. (Isn't it funny that I feel like a pretentious ass saying 'work on my novel,' even though that's exactly what I'm doing? I didn't say 'working on my awesome novel' or 'the Next Great Novel...' Weird.)
Early in the week, my working hours were absorbed by a very long trip to the car dealership so that we could pick up our new Sienna, and I could officially become a Minivan Mom. Over the years, I've been resistant to the idea of a minivan for a number of reasons: maintaining my individuality, disliking many aspects of suburban 'Soccer Mom' culture, thinking that some tiny part of me still had an outside shot at being cool one day... In fact, like many women I know, I'm pretty sure that I have more than once over the years uttered the phrase, "I will never drive a minivan."
Right.
And then we got pregnant a second time and I started realizing that it was getting harder and harder to hoist and twist Monkey into his car seat without blowing out all my abdominal muscles and shrieking in pain. We started evaluating my adorable, fun station wagon (a 5-speed Subaru Outback that I LOVE and will never entirely give up) in terms of camping, vacations, etc., not to mention seating space with two car seats. We looked at prices and fuel efficiency of SUVs, and... Well, practicality won the day. It didn't hurt that my new van comes with leather seats and satellite radio (which I've never had) and a sunroof (which I haven't had since I was single in my mid-20s). Compromise taken.
The day after we brought home the van, Monkey started to act clingy, whiny, etc. I wasn't too worried until we went out for lunch with Grandma and my child refused to eat. No one in our family passes up a quesadilla and chips unless there's serious illness afoot. Over the following couple of days, he developed a fever and croupy cough (the 4th time this year - yuck!); and by Friday he was a complete mess. He would actually sit or lie on the couch with one of us for upwards of 30 minutes, watching TV -- absolutely unheard of since he learned how to wriggle out of our arms at five or six months old.
Monkey wouldn't eat, drink, or take his medicine. I'd offer him ten different things to eat or drink or do and he would shake his head violently, say "No!" slapping away whatever I'd presented, and then cry even harder as though each failed attempt to please him was only adding insult to injury. He's been sick several times this year - first year in preschool, I guess it's to be expected - but I've never seen him quite like this.
Nothing made him happy. Well, almost nothing.
Our new van has automatic doors on both sides. You press a button, the door slides gracefully open. Press it again, and it closes in the same smooth, quiet way. This is pretty cool if you're a grownup (at least, I thought so when the Toyota salesman demonstrated it). But if you're an almost-two year old, it's the Greatest Thing Ever. From the first time Monkey experienced this feature, he began signing and saying "More" and then his version of "Open" (which sounds like "Apu").
The middle seats of the van where Monkey sits are also much higher than they were in my Outback, both in relationship to the ground and to the windows. So he can see much more as we drive around in the new car, which is nice. I've looked back a few times to see him mesmerized by the passing scenery. Also, apparently the van looks more like a train than either of our older cars, which I probably wouldn't have noticed except that at some point he started referring to the van as "Choo Choo Car." Looking at it, I had to agree with him.
Thursday was a beautiful day, and with my little guy not feeling well and a new set of keys on the table, I decided a bit of fresh air and commercial-free radio were the best medicine for both of us. It worked rather better than I'd hoped -- not only was he calm during most of the trip, but as soon as we got out of the car, he wanted to get back in. It took a few minutes for me to convince him that we needed to go into the house, the store, wherever, and each time we'd spend several minutes saying "Bye, bye, Choo Choo Car" before we could move on.
By Friday, my whiny wet mess would not accept any food or drink, or any of his usual sources of entertainment, including (GASP!) "Elmo's World." He wanted to be held at all times, except when he wanted to run to the front door and point, and the only thing he consistently said all morning was "Choo Choo Car, Go." So we went.
After a long visit to the pediatrician, we spent more than three hours in the Choo-Choo Car on Friday, making ambling little circles around the area near our house -- I didn't want to get too far from home so that we could be nearby if he took a nap or needed his medicine or decided he had had enough driving. Also, being four months pregnant means I already have a frequent need to pee, not a practical endeavor in a gas station bathroom with a 21-month old. So we came home every 45 minutes, and almost invariably, Monkey whined and cried until I strapped him back into the van for another ride.
There's nothing fun about having a sick child. You hate that they don't feel good, you worry if you're doing all the right things to take care of them, and (selfishly) you have to put your life on hold -- everything from working to showering -- to give them constant care. But as a parent, it's also a moment to shine. Somewhere amid the worrying and frustration, I realized that I was putting my needs aside and watching the odometer on my brand new car rise, because that's what Monkey needed in that moment. It was the best I could do; and that's the job.
Monkey is on the mend, and I'm happy to say that he's eating a little more at every meal and the fever is long gone. He'll be back in school tomorrow barring any unforeseen relapse. I don't know whether he's actually grateful for the care his dad and I have provided him in the last few days (Hubby had most of the weekend duty and was amazing, as always); but I do know that I came to sit next to him on the stair this morning while he watched TV, and he said "Hi, Mama!" and put his head in my lap. That's the payoff.
1 comment:
It is SO HARD when they are sick, not just logistically, but emotionally. I am just so incredibly thankful to have a generally healthy child. JAck was sick last week with the pukeys again, and I hated to see him that way. You are right about the payoff though; any sacifice I have to make to be Super Mommy to my angel is worth it!
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