I am completely preoccupied today. This morning, I tried to make coffee without water. Then I fed the dog the cat's food. I'm out of it. But, I have an excuse. For the last 2 weeks or so, I've been dreading July 18. Now I'm less than 24 hours out, and I have no idea what to do with myself.
Those of you that know me, or followed me on social media pre-blog, already know the saga of my daughter's spider bite. The CliffsNotes version: She was bitten (the doctors say it was a black widow, but for the purpose of this story, we'll call it a venomous, 8-legged, hellbeast) during an egg hunt on Easter Sunday. And, just about every waking second since then has involved wound care, medications, doctors visits, pain management, and tears. 109 days of this, and the bite still will not heal.
I hate spiders.
Tomorrow morning, the saga continues. She will go into surgery to have all the damaged tissue removed. Hopefully once this is done, the area will heal on it's own. No more medicine, no more hot saline soaks, no more tears...from either of us.
I should be happy that we're so close to the end of this story. But, if I'm being honest. I am freaking terrified. The idea of strangers wheeling my unconscious child away from me is just not appealing. At all. This is the first time in my 11 years as Mother-in-Chief that anyone besides myself, or my husband, will be in control of one of my children's well being. I'm driving myself nuts about it.
I'm a mess of nerves.
And I hate spiders.
My daughter, on the other hand, is handling it like a champ. We avoided telling her about the surgery, thinking that telling her in advance would just give her more time to worry about it. I finally had the conversation with her yesterday. She asked some pretty smart questions (about how much it will hurt after, and what happens if she wakes up while they're working), then she went to watch TMNT. She's fine. She's not excited about it or anything. But, she's anxious to get it over with. She's ready to have her arm back. And, she's thrilled to be able to eat all the Reese Cups her grandmother sent her when the surgery is over.
She's even planned the outfit she's wearing to the hospital. She's going in full Ninja Turtle regalia, so that everyone there will know that she is tough and brave. (Yes, I know. My daughter is awesome.) She asked me if she's going to act like this kid when it's over. I promised her that if she does, I'll take video so she can see it. I think that's what she's hoping for, so at least she'll have a funny story to tell. The apple doesn't fall far...
I know most of you have been through some sort of scary situation with your kids. It happens to all of us at some point, and every parent is sensitive to the absolute helplessness of having a sick or injured child. It sucks. We all know it. But in an effort to make it suck a little less, I would love to hear from any of you who have been through something similar. Or any of you who dread going through something similar. Words of encouragement, tips for tomorrow, questions I should ask, or maybe there is something you've thought of that I've forgotten to panic about. I'll take them all and be grateful.
Showing posts with label panic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label panic. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Saturday, July 13, 2013
Mom Panic!
It is Saturday. We made it. And nobody died. Or spent time in an asylum.
I'm surprising myself by even thinking this, but I'm not sure it was worth it. It turns out that kids complain a little when moms ask them to do anything, not just turn off games. It turns out that siblings will always fight a little, not just over controllers. It turns out that moms will always stress out and convince themselves they're doing something wrong, not just over allowing too much screen time. Moms will worry themselves over not hosting the proper number of play-dates, making sure their kids are eating vegetables, or whether their child is wearing clean socks. Moms drive themselves crazy over everything. Games were just my thing last week. I'm sure I'll have moved on to some new insecurity by tomorrow.
As I'm writing this, I'm holed up in my office appreciating my coffee and the quiet that the morning provides, and contemplating all my crazy kid-induced anxieties. It's a rabbit hole I really shouldn't have gone down. Do I yell too much? Do I hug enough? When my kids are grown will they remember all the fun birthday parties, family nights and vacations, or will they only remember the time I summarily banished their video games? Mom panic.
I know that I am not the only parent who has these thoughts. My own mother has confessed to me at times that she still has regrets and worries that she did things wrong (For the record, she did everything right. My mom is a parenting ninja bad-ass. Just look at how well I turned out. My sisters too. We are walking, talking evidence of her mothering superiority.) My beloved Gran once told me the same types of things. She said she knew she made mistakes, but everyone does. The trick is to let yourself off the hook for them. She told me that I'll make my own mistakes too, because no matter what we do or how hard we try to be perfect we all mess up our kids our own way. I think of that conversation almost daily.
The more I think about it, the more it amazes me that mothers have this innate ability to worry themselves over the littlest details of everyone's lives, while simultaneously forgetting to feed themselves, or shower. Moms are funny creatures like that. I find myself freaking out about my daughter brushing her hair, while I'm flipping my head over and tying mine in a knot. A hairbrush hasn't touched my head since...well...I don't really remember when. I worry about my son getting enough protein (he's my growing boy after all) so I'll make him a big breakfast before school. My breakfast usually consists of a coffee poured hastily in a travel mug. I even worry about my husband this way, and he is a grown, capable adult. I worry a lot.
My point is that maybe instead of worrying about everything and everyone else all the time, I should try teaching by example. Maybe my daughter would learn to keep her hair neat if I kept my hair neat (lofty goal.) Maybe the kids would learn that a nutritious breakfast is important if I could manage to eat something before 11am. Maybe they would learn to keep their rooms tidy if I stopped doing everything for them (I'm very skeptical on this point).
My anti-tech experiment has taught me much more about myself than about the way my kids cope without games. I didn't expect that. It's made me all introspective and junk. Perhaps my next experiment should be an internal one where I just calm the eff down for a week or two. I'm not sure I can do it without the aid of pharmaceuticals, but it's worth a shot. I'll let the kids be kids, and maybe I'll actually get a good night's sleep.
I'm surprising myself by even thinking this, but I'm not sure it was worth it. It turns out that kids complain a little when moms ask them to do anything, not just turn off games. It turns out that siblings will always fight a little, not just over controllers. It turns out that moms will always stress out and convince themselves they're doing something wrong, not just over allowing too much screen time. Moms will worry themselves over not hosting the proper number of play-dates, making sure their kids are eating vegetables, or whether their child is wearing clean socks. Moms drive themselves crazy over everything. Games were just my thing last week. I'm sure I'll have moved on to some new insecurity by tomorrow.
As I'm writing this, I'm holed up in my office appreciating my coffee and the quiet that the morning provides, and contemplating all my crazy kid-induced anxieties. It's a rabbit hole I really shouldn't have gone down. Do I yell too much? Do I hug enough? When my kids are grown will they remember all the fun birthday parties, family nights and vacations, or will they only remember the time I summarily banished their video games? Mom panic.
I know that I am not the only parent who has these thoughts. My own mother has confessed to me at times that she still has regrets and worries that she did things wrong (For the record, she did everything right. My mom is a parenting ninja bad-ass. Just look at how well I turned out. My sisters too. We are walking, talking evidence of her mothering superiority.) My beloved Gran once told me the same types of things. She said she knew she made mistakes, but everyone does. The trick is to let yourself off the hook for them. She told me that I'll make my own mistakes too, because no matter what we do or how hard we try to be perfect we all mess up our kids our own way. I think of that conversation almost daily.
The more I think about it, the more it amazes me that mothers have this innate ability to worry themselves over the littlest details of everyone's lives, while simultaneously forgetting to feed themselves, or shower. Moms are funny creatures like that. I find myself freaking out about my daughter brushing her hair, while I'm flipping my head over and tying mine in a knot. A hairbrush hasn't touched my head since...well...I don't really remember when. I worry about my son getting enough protein (he's my growing boy after all) so I'll make him a big breakfast before school. My breakfast usually consists of a coffee poured hastily in a travel mug. I even worry about my husband this way, and he is a grown, capable adult. I worry a lot.
My point is that maybe instead of worrying about everything and everyone else all the time, I should try teaching by example. Maybe my daughter would learn to keep her hair neat if I kept my hair neat (lofty goal.) Maybe the kids would learn that a nutritious breakfast is important if I could manage to eat something before 11am. Maybe they would learn to keep their rooms tidy if I stopped doing everything for them (I'm very skeptical on this point).
My anti-tech experiment has taught me much more about myself than about the way my kids cope without games. I didn't expect that. It's made me all introspective and junk. Perhaps my next experiment should be an internal one where I just calm the eff down for a week or two. I'm not sure I can do it without the aid of pharmaceuticals, but it's worth a shot. I'll let the kids be kids, and maybe I'll actually get a good night's sleep.
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