And, yes, it does seem like I've been pregnant that long. And, no, it hasn't flown by. Surely you know by now I'm not going to sugar coat it.
Spencer has been napping closer to once every other day. It's bumming us out--me, Spencer, his father. And, when he takes a 2+ hour nap--yeah, then bedtime doesn't go over well at 7:30 p.m. I know he needs to be woken up about 2 hours after he falls asleep, but
man, right now, I just can't bring myself to do it,
especially since we've managed to stay somewhat sick with some sort of minor (or not as minor) "bug" since, oh, I'd say March. I remember blogging last year that the only thing I'd given up for Lent was health. I remembered it, ironically, as I was in bed with a stomach virus that I'd already had a week or so before. This was, of course, all during Lent of this year.
Once we were all "in the clear," and I was actually having many, many mornings where I was not throwing up while making breakfast, we ventured out into the real world. We played at friends' houses, we went to the Chick-fil-a indoor playground, the Wonderplace, etc. I was feeling more like a worthwhile person. I was smiling and laughing with my child, having conversations with my husband. Life felt a little bit normal again. But, as I always say in hindsight, you just can't go to those play places without coming home with a virus. It's amazing. My child is like a magnet. Truly.
So, I began to suspect he had a cold, he was rubbing his nose, pushing my hands against his head, etc. And, then he woke up in the middle of the night with a fever--which, by the way, we will take over waking up vomiting EVERY night of the year--then the next day the fever was gone (he hadn't had any Tylenol or anything, it was gone by itself). Then, he was fine for a few days. Then, the fever came back one afternoon. And, now, bless his heart I finally caught whatever it is that he has, and, let me tell you, we need a new word for having a "cold." You know? I mean, there should be degrees or something! Because there
are degrees. And this cold is at least a third degree cold.
Along with this cold, there has been lots of screaming (usually Spencer), but once I came down with it, and have spent many nights in a row lying awake in bed, stopped up and miserable, I have to say, I don't fault him so much for all the tantrums, and I do feel a little guilty for some of the harsher disciplinary measures that I've employed this week now that I know how bad he has been feeling. And, I don't over-medicate him, so, he was pretty much feeling
all the symptoms unless it was bedtime.
He is still my sweetest little boy, though. And he does the funniest things. I can't wait 'til he's four and finally talking in sentences--yeah--that's still the rate at which we're traveling. (Don't worry, I'm keeping a close eye on the situation, lol.) He has a paci only for sleeping now, and even when he feels horrible, he knows it is supposed to be put up once he's awake. I don't snatch it out of his mouth right when he leaves his bed, because, honestly, that seems mean. Half of the time, he's not even fully awake as he staggers into the living room. It also just doesn't seem to jive with his personality. He can be very compliant, and he likes his boundaries, but he doesn't like to be rushed. I know in some instances, he'll have to get over it, but in this one, I feel like he deserves a little understanding. So, usually, by the time breakfast is served, we trade it for the paci. Believe it or not, there is actually a point to this annoyingly rambling paragraph. It's in the next one.
A few mornings ago, I made him his waffle and eggs, brought it into the living room (where we frequently eat while partaking in some media over load--I know, I know, Mother of the Year alert), and he just sort of stood by the food, glancing around the room. He obviously was congested; his face was all puffy; he looked kinda pitiful. We sat there in silence while I scarfed down my couple thousand calories to last me about an hour or so, and then I said, "Are you going to eat your breakfast." Without saying a word, he walked over to where I was sitting on the sofa, still in his little cream sleep sack, then proceeded to lean down, so that his head (face first) ended up right next to my leg, where my hand also happened to be resting; and it finally dawned on me--he wanted me to take his paci out of his mouth! LOL! I asked him if that's what he wanted, and he leaned back over, right to my hand, again, so I took it out and stuck it in my pocket. Then, he walked over and started his breakfast. Ha! I felt like he was my little well-trained dog. "Lassie, what's wrong? Oh, you want me to take your paci out? Ok!" I don't know if the humor translates or not, but it was hilarious at the time.
He got some new books at Easter, and he has really been enjoying them. He even lets me read the ACTUAL words on the pages, as opposed to just requiring me to name all the animals that he can find. Never mind that these books are about Dora and the Wonderpets. I didn't buy them, and he's letting me read to him--whatever. His Dora book has a line where it says, "Do you want to ride with us on the bus?" And every. single. time. he says, "No!" as I continue reading the rest of the page. The only question in the whole book, and he can't wait to shout, "No!" Every time. He usually smiles while he says it, but not always. He says it even when he's not really into it. So consistent. Love it.
I've mainly been sneezing, lamenting my inability to breath through my nose, eating so much at one sitting that I restrict the room required for my lungs to completely expand, and trying to remind myself that food isn't fun if you can't continue breathing to enjoy it. But, being awake in the middle of the night is replete with opportunities, plenty of peace and quiet, perfect for contemplating where to cram all of the stuff that's currently in the "nursery-to-be" and what sort of cloth diapers I'm going to use when "the baby" gets here.
