All the happy pictures on this blog may make it seem like it’s all sunshine and roses around here, but that’s not quite accurate. Wow, what a challenging afternoon. I got home, cleaned up the house and got everything ready for our first Early Childhood class of the school year. We’re doing Wednesdays from 4-6, and I wanted to make sure the boys ate a good snack, since we’d be home late. As a treat, I made happyface plates with beans for the mouth, crackers for the nose, and cheese wedges and cherry tomatoes for the eyes, and banana-carrot hair. At 3, both boys were still asleep, but I was completely ready, my keys sitting on the diaper bag. I went in to get Oliver, and when I touched his wrist, I could feel that it was bumpy and swollen. Mosquito bites, and O is allergic. There must have been a mosquito in the bedroom. His whole forearm was swollen from the bites, and I gave him some Benadryl right away to try to keep it from getting worse. It seems that with his allergy, if he gets the Benadryl immediately after the bite, he’s pretty much fine, though you can see the bite mark for weeks. If he doesn’t get it right away, he gets very swollen, very upset, and gets a slight fever and a bit of diarrhea. Unfortunately, the Benadryl also makes him groggy and cranky. So here we were, stuck with both – the effect of the Benadryl plus the symptoms of the bite. We had to get to that class, though, because you can lose your spot if you don’t show up, and after all, mosquito bites aren’t contagious. I also know from experience that Ol*ver usually does better when he can get out of the house.
I sat him up with a BooBoo Buddy ice pack for his wrist, and he ate some of his happy face snack while I got his brother. No*ah was thankfully in a jolly mood, and we got out the door on time despite my having Oli*ver on my hip almost the whole time we got ready. The swelling was a bit better by the time we left, but he was a little warm. When we got to the school, I could see a couple of other families standing outside the entrance door. When we walked up, it turned out to be locked. A couple more families showed up, and a janitor let us in, but the staff was very surprised to see all of us. It seems that the confirmation letter has the wrong date, though he brochure had the correct date. We got to see the classroom, but the boys were so disappointed, especially N. He cried quietly all the way back to the car.
I took the boys to the park down the street from there, and all was well for about 10 minutes, but then a very cranky Oli*ver started picking fights with his brother, pushing him and yelling at him. After a time out on the bench, I swung him in the bucket swing for a while, but then it was his brother’s turn, and Oliv*er was so unhappy about giving up his swing that he threw the first bona fide tantrum I’ve ever seen him throw that’s lasted longer than a minute or so. He lay face down in the sand and cried and kicked and screamed for about 10 minutes before he calmed down enough to sit with me. It was getting late, and I noticed more mosquitoes buzzing about. I had a splitting headache.
It was clearly time to go home, and I went to go get No*ah with Oli*ver on my hip. No*ah was at the top of the climbing structure, and picked that moment to refuse to come down. Ol*ver was loathe to be put down, and I wasn’t about to get him going again, so I had to climb up there and go down the slide with both boys on my lap. At the bottom, neither boy would cooperate and walk with me–which has literally never happened before–and I, thankful for my backpack-style diaper bag and fairly strong arms, walked about half a block to the car with a screaming, thrashing boy under each arm.
No*ah was singing along to the music within a minute or two after the car started, but Ol*ver cried most of the way home. When we were about a mile away, he stopped. I noticed a smell coming from the back, and when we got home, I found that he’d pooped all over himself and the car seat. He also had another mosquito bite, this time on his leg, despite the fact that I’d sprayed him well at the park. When we got home, I got him and myself cleaned up, and both boys ran around screaming and getting into stuff while I waited on hold with the nurse line to find out just how much Benadryl I could give him. They ate a few bites of dinner, got separate baths (in case of more uncontrolled pooping), we read a story, and they went to bed. Oliv*er cried through about half of all of it. The poor, hoarse boy was asleep by 6:15. I didn’t notice the poop on my pant leg until 6:30. When we get that first hard freeze that kills all the mosquitoes, think of us. I’ll be doing a happy dance.
The thing is, I think that once we get past these stages, a kind of amnesia sets in. It’s happening to me too – I hold Aug*ust or Zo*e, and it seems so easy. I’ve already partially forgotten all those night-wakings, the mastitis, the constant exhaustion, crying and jiggling one has to endure with a new baby. I look at my nieces and my friends' babies, and I don’t think of any of that; I just remember how tiny they were, how sweet their first smiles, how it was to fall in love with them more with each stage. I suppose I’ll forget this hard stuff too – the tantrums, the defiance, the fighting, and the sickness, and remember instead the wonderful things they say, the love they have for each other, the way they’re starting to make friends. But not today. Today I’m writing this down for posterity: some days, or even just parts of days, were no box of cupcakes.
