That one day I almost cried at the butcher market
The First Home Project
Yesterday the plan was for David and me to meet my friend JoAnna and her son at a museum to let our boys explore a little bit. The weather was pretty crummy, and any indoor activity sounded delightful.
I get stir crazy if I have to stay in the house all day. And now that I’m enduring a relatively mild southern winter with a 1 year old, I find myself often thinking about those parents raising kids in frigid climates. Not only is there nothing do to outside, but it’s such a process to get the kids’ mittens, a hat, their jacket, extra socks because they will probably pull them off in the car, etc. If you are raising your kids in ridiculous climates, you are a stronger person than I.
Rewind to Sunday when I noticed David sticking his finger into the side of his mouth. He and I were about to pop into Home Depot for a little something and I thought, “I wonder if he has a tooth cutting through. . .”. So I cleaned off my hands and felt around his gums.
Goodness gracious this child is cutting 3 MOLARS. A bottom one had already cut through, and two top molars were very close to breaking through the gums. His naps have been weird, he’s been a little clingier than usual, he has quite the rash on his face, and I guess his drool had been a little bit worse (although he’s a pretty consistent drooler so that is not often a trigger).
Finally, the epiphany of why on earth my boy was not himself! I gave him some Tylenol when we returned home, made Justin look at all that was going on in his mouth, and hoped he would feel a bit of relief soon.
Monday was relatively normal, all things considered, but yesterday when he woke he was oozing clear fluid from his nose, and his poor face rash was looking quite a bit angrier. I scooped him up, wiped his face with a warm cloth, slathered it with Aquaphor (although I have since picked up a tube of BabyGanics Eczema Care Cream to see if that calms it more effectively), and we started our morning.
As anticipated, he wasn’t really himself, and with much reluctancy I canceled our plans to meet our friends at the museum.
Do you remember the books, for me it was in elementary or middle school, where you could choose the direction you thought the story would go, and skip to a certain page to continue reading? Well, at this point in the post I need you to join me on page 57. You could opt for page 34 and read this post through the lens of a complaining mom, or you could follow me to 57 and understand that I’m just sharing a tough day (for both of us!) and why I almost cried with an armful of pork at the butcher.
So, page 57. I have deep compassion on my boy for his teething and vicious cold. He had his favorite breakfast, we played his favorite games, and in general he was in good spirits. By about 10:00a I had been covered in snot and aquaphor from the sneezing and the face rubbing, and a brief outing sounded enticing. It was cold and rainy so I didn’t want to actually leave my van, but I needed a change of scenery.
We took a drive over to Starbucks. David dozed off for about 10 minutes, and I was thrilled about that because he was acting like he needed a little snooze.
We got back to the house and the hours ccrrraaaawwwwlllleedddd. Crawled I tell you. It was the longest day in history for some reason. Perhaps that was because I had excitedly anticipated a fun day with a friend, and instead David and I were stuck in the house, but either way I was ready for nap time as soon as the clock struck 1:00p.
David was ready too and pretty much conked out without a peep.
At 1:50p I heard him wake. I closed my eyes and let out a huge sigh. I was hoping, for his sake, that he would sleep longer because I knew he needed the rest. And I wasn’t being interrupted or anything, but I had just hoped that he would nap for at least an hour and a half.
Nonetheless, I got him from his crib, he had a bottle, and we killed a little bit more time before heading out to Target. I had gotten alarmingly low on diapers (like, there were only 5 left in the house) and I wanted to look at the eczema cream for babies.
David was cheerful and happy, and it was me that was starting to get weary. And sure, I’m at the tail end of my pregnancy as well so that didn’t help one bit.
Fatigued, bummed that David and I were also not going to get together with our small group* tonight, and looking very forward to Justin getting home from work later, I mustered all the energy I could to pop into the butcher and grab the pork chops.
While we were waiting David started to arch back as if to communicate “stop holding me mom I want to walk around” but I didn’t have shoes on him. So I struggled to hold his 26 pound self up, above my pregnant belly, and we danced to the music until the butcher returned from the back.
Upon checking out, the sweetest soul working at the cash register said to me, “Has anyone told you that you are glowing?” (my eyes are welling up with tears as I write this. I’m so pregnant.)
She went on to say, “You look absolutely lovely pregnant.”
I looked at her and said, “Well that is just what I needed to hear today. Thank you so much, that was very kind!” I could feel tears stinging in my eyes and internally started yelling at myself to PULL IT TOGETHER, GET YOUR PORK, AND GET OUT OF HERE BEFORE YOU ERUPT INTO TEARS AND CAUSE A SCENE.
The thing is, I knew my under eye bags were dark, and I probably had what looked like greasy stains all over my clothes from my little “snot-quaphor” kid, and I wasn’t smiling or happy. But here is the thing about complimenting a pregnant lady: EVEN THOUGH you know they are perhaps just being nice and trying to encourage you despite your questionable appearance, it will still be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to you in the entire history of time. And even though I knew I was, in fact, not glowing, I had a little bounce in my limp/waddle as I left.
I grabbed my bag, stepped out into the misting, cold weather, opened up the van door and watched David’s toys fall out, snatched them before they rolled too far away, got back in the car and headed home.
My spirits, though, were truly lifted. It was an unexpected compliment that was more timely that she’ll ever know.
Kids or not, some days are just taxing.
And while you are out, perhaps grabbing pork chops from a butcher market, maybe someone will say something to you that revives you a little bit and prompts you to do the same one day.
*Justin and I attend The Summit church here in Raleigh.