T.Puzzle still was not up to par yesterday after his prior late night vomit session. Overall, he was happier and ate well but still had some interesting colored diaper discharges. Since I was exhausted and so was he, we took a long nap together midday.
As I layed him down next to me for the nap he immediately got in my face and started saying, “Mommy! Mommy!” I did my best to ignore him and stated simply and firmly that it was time to close our eyes and go to sleep. That didn’t work. He got even closer to my face (as if this was even possible) and started to vary the cadence and tone of how he said my name. First, he started slow and deliberate almost like a long, southern drawl, “Maaaah-meeee! Maaaah-mee!” When that drew no response he tried a more militaristic approach, “Mom! Mom! Mom!” It reminded me of a submarine alarm that alerts its crew it’s under attack. Eventually he realized that I wasn’t reactive and after a few pathetic, whining “Mommy. Mommy. Mommys,” he gave up and went to sleep.
The nap helped us some. As bedtime approached we were still tired and borderline cranky (especially Mom). T.Puzzle only lasted about two hours that night in his own crib and then was promptly relocated to our bed. He was crying miserably and we could tell he was still feeling off.
The first hour or so he was still and we all slept peacefully (oh, how Mad Dog and I wished our queen sized bed was a king!). Then, he started with the fierce dreams where he would randomly start to pummel the pillow and then me. This went on intermittently throughout the night and I was about ready to pummel him. At some early morning hour in the middle of one of his crazy, physical outbursts, he reached over and I swear to you, he tried to rip my nose off my face! That was it. Mad Dog and I couldn’t take it anymore. He was unceremoniously placed back in his bed and that was the last I saw of him until morning. Thank goodness.
I decided to let T.Puzzle sleep in as late as possible in the morning to recover. That meant Full Speed and I had some time alone. He was in a sweet mood which is always mightily appreciated and he told me that T.Puzzle could play with his new, Batman car while he was at school today (T.Puzzle was skipping school, I wanted to wait until his BMs stopped being neon green before he returned). I love it when Full Speed shows his empathic side especially when it’s towards his brother.
Full Speed seemed mellow and excited about school (which is usually a 50/50 proposition on a Monday), that I thought it was time to talk to him about his upcoming eye surgeries scheduled for September. The boys have a rare, genetic eye condition called ectopia lentis et pupillae with lens subluxation. In laymen’s terms it means they are extremely far-sighted and near-sighted respectively (they truly are opposites!) and their lenses are dislocated. Full Speed is going to be the first of my two boys to have the surgery to remove his lenses. We are hopeful this will improve his vision dramatically.
There is a delicate balance with Full Speed. He is the type of kid who needs to know what to expect or what comes next to get a handle on his world. If you tell him too much he obsesses about it and can’t come to terms with it. If you tell him too little, he gets frustrated and prone to moody, tantrums. I think I did well with him today. I made sure he knew that for lots of the upcoming doctor’s appointments it would just be him and Mom (he loves that) and on the days of the big surgeries (one eye at a time) his Dad would even be there.
“T.Puzzle will stay home?” he asked hopefully.
“Yes, it’s just you and me, kid. You know we make a great team,” I replied.
He high-fived me and said, “Let’s go eat breakfast.” And we did.