Yes, I've been ridiculously bad about blogging. My sincere apologies to those who read this on a regular basis. But I've been absent for some pretty good reasons, I promise. Primarily, Jackson has been sick. Like, constantly. Thankfully, he was never VERY sick- just a little bit sick- but for almost 3 solid weeks.
I won't bore you with the details of Jackson's illness, but suffice to say, EVERY SINGLE TIME he started to recover from one malady, he was hit with another. We went from croup to ear infection to some nebulous virus that came with vomiting and fever. And while *knock on wood* he seems better now, it's been a rough time for us both.
I'm fairly certain there is no worse feeling than having a sick child. Even when they're not dangerously sick, they are miserable, and you are worried. While I have no scientific proof to support this assertion, it's been my observation that when we get sick, we revert back to our last developmental stage. For my toddler-ish son, this means regressing back to newborn behavior. I spent 2 solid weeks rocking and singing to Jackson. He didn't want to play or crawl around- all he wanted to do was lie there pathetically in my arms.
In my own selfish way, I kind of liked the baby conduct. I was mired in depression for his actual newborn months, so I didn't get to enjoy them. It's kind of nice rocking and cuddling a baby. And despite the fact that my singing voice resembles that of Fran Drescher mixed with a hyena, babies are genetically programmed to love the sound of their mother's voice, so for a few weeks I felt like Celine Dion.
Because Jackson was continually sick for so long, I started to go a little nuts. First off, we didn't leave the house the entire time for fear he would either get sicker or infect another child. Cabin fever started to set in as I declined lunches, play dates, parties, and dinners.
Second, I read our Curious George anthology like 17 million times. That stupid little monkey and his yellow-donning friend almost broke my brain, but it kept my son happy.
Third, I just became really stressed out, wondering why he wasn't getting better. As I mentioned before, he was never sick enough that we thought his life was in danger (unlike the time last November when we rushed him to the ER with a fever of 106, thinking he had meningitis. Want to know what a 5-hour-long heart attack feels like? Just ask me...). But I was genuinely concerned. And my natural propensity for drama really doesn't help in those situations.
You start to wonder what you did wrong to make your baby so sick. Maybe I didn't install the shopping cart cover properly. (For those of you without children, a shopping cart cover is like a reverse sneeze-guard, but for shopping carts.) Maybe I didn't vacuum enough. (And by "enough", I mean "at all".) All these ridiculous scenarios play out as to what you did wrong, and before you know it, you've driven yourself crazy with guilt.
I've stated in previous blogs that I don't believe in maternal instinct, but after this whole ordeal, I have to alter that pronouncement slightly. I still don't think the skies open up and knowledge beams down into you from the heavens, but I do have to admit that I gleaned some intuition over the past year. While Jackson was still battling the croup, he started acting worse instead of better. Since I spend all day every day with my child, I knew he was getting sicker. I called the doctor, and she kind of blew me off, implying that this was normal, and I had to let it run its course. Still, I insisted that they look at him again. And sure enough, he had an ear infection.
So it was kind of a nice affirmation that I do know what I'm doing (at least to a small extent). It was also an affirmation that I should find a new pediatrician, but that's a whole other story.
It now seems that Jackson is on the mend. And just in time, because there are only so many Bob Dylan and Joni Mitchell songs that I can sing to him. (I don't know many lullabies, and the ones I do know involve babies falling out of trees and birds that refuse to sing, which always seems kind of morbid and depressing to croon to a child.)
Anyway, I did come away from this experience with some education: trust your gut. Even when your pediatrician thinks you're a hypochondriac, go with your instincts. (Which, as it turns out, you actually DO have.) A strong course of antibiotics cleared up the ear infection that would have been overlooked were it not for my vigilance. You may look like a crazy person, but you may also actually be RIGHT. And while I still don't really know what I'm doing, I'm better at this Mommy Thing than I thought.
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