That's how we ended up at The Hospital for Sick Children earlier this week.
(Huds' pediatrician didn't think anything was really wrong - the boy probably just had some reflux, he said, because Hudson merely turned a bit red each episode, not blue. But to assuage my fears, and do doc's due diligence he sent Hudson for a gastro-intestinal scan.)
Of all the problems and trials this kid will encounter on the road of life (cheesy, I know), he probably doesn't need his mother making things more difficult.
What this kid has to put up with!
First I bathed him in too cold water. Then I sputtered with saline solution I was using to clear his nose - instead squirting him in the eye. I barely remember when I'm supposed to give him vitamin D. Now this. How on earth am I going to handle any of his future existential dilemmas?
His mother just means well. I swear she does.
I thank heavens everything turned out okay - "his insides are as beautiful as his outsides," the radiologist said before I returned the tiny hospital gown to the technologist and got Hudson dressed. But I wouldn't hesitate to race to the doctor again. And again.
He's my precious little boy. So what if he had to fast for four hours and drink an ugly barium/sugar solution?
Better paranoid than sorry, right?
It's been brewing for about a month.
And I, like so many times in the last three months, am at a total loss.
They say you are expensive and maybe that's the case,
When I came to, all I could see were my knees and the shadowy outline of two doctors between them.
"No, don't do that!" one whispers to the other. "Stitch it like this. Quickly. Trust me."
I muster all my strength and try to pull my torso away from the bed. I quickly learn abdominal muscles and legs I can feel are necessary to do so.
I have neither.
"What are you doing?" I ask. "Did I tear or something?"
"Don't worry about it," a doctor answers curtly. "We'll be finished in a second."
And so my recovery began.
Uhm, why did no one warn me about what was going to happen to my body after the baby??? What the hell?!
Somebody could have told me about the swelling, the excruciating pain, the stitches, the inability to walk for a few hours, the fear of peeing – or worse: the fear of “going to the bathroom.”
What’s wrong with you people (and by you people, I mean all women everywhere)??
Argh. There’s like some icky cone of silence around what happens after the delivery.
True – I should have expected, or at least anticipated, discomfort…. But I could never have thought it would be thaaaat bad.
Now, 11 weeks later, I’m just starting to feel totally normal again, like my body is finally snapping back to normal… down there, I mean.
Let's never keep secrets like that from one another again. Okay?
My husband and I love to argue. Rather, we used to. Now it seems, we tend to agree on everything. Of course, “everything” is our son.
Herein is a typical conversation:
Me: Isn’t he so cute?
Ted: So cute!
Me: Don’t you love him so much?
Ted: So much!
Me: Our son: great or the greatest?
Ted: The greatest!
Me: Can you believe we’re parents to this adorable, crazy, cutey shmoockey, snooky-ooky, teey tiny little puppy?
Ted: I can’t believe how cute he is. It’s effing crazy. I think, and I can’t believe this, that he’s gotten even… cuter. Don’t you?? It’s kind of his downfall that he’s so cute.
Me: yes! Yes! I feel that way too!! Totally. Why do you say that?
Ted: Because everyone falls all over him!
Me: It’s so true. Do you think they think he’s as cute as we think he is??
Ted: Totally. Of course. Obviously.
Me: We’ve turned into “those” people, haven’t we?
Ted: (pause) yes.
Me: (pause) But, isn’t he so cute??