I’m considering buying a new comforter. The old one is at least 10 years old, and has been through a lot. Oh, and Phoebe threw up all over it yesterday. There was really a spectacular amount of vomit, especially from a kid who had ingested almost nothing all day. Poor kid.

I felt very guilty afterwards because she puked, all over the bed and me and herself, and I did not immediately take her in my arms and comfort her. Instead, I hopped off the bed and threw towels on the bed trying to soak up the puke before it soaked into the mattress. I really really did not want to get more puke on me… oh lord, what a bad mama! Luckily she felt so much better after throwing up that I think she didn’t mind the lack of emotional support too much. I hope.

Here’s a semi-cute photo from our trip last week:

Playdough and Dirt

It’s the day before our monthly 600-mile round trip to visit Phoebe’s father. At least, that’s why he thinks we go. We really go to see friends and visit the place we lived until 9 months ago until I ran screaming from the state in a frantic bid for escape we moved to my hometown for more family support and so I could go to school. Too bad we kinda struck out on both counts. Ah well, win some lose some.

I should resent these trips, I suppose. I am bitter, no question. But the truth is that aside from the petty irritations, I like going back, and I’m looking forward to it. Not the driving. But the staying in a house with other grownups, not being the only person responsible for all safety, edification, entertainment, and sustenance is great. And I get to pretend that I still live there, which I had no idea I would want to do before I moved, but I do. So Ex thinks we go up for Phoebe to see him (or for him to see her, as he’d think of it) and Phoebe and I think we go for friends and familiarity, and everybody’s happy.

Rainbow Playdough

Here’s just one of the things I did instead of packing today:

We made playdough in rainbow hues and Phoebe made endless cookies from it. I love food coloring. I can’t wait to dye yarn. We did Easter eggs later in the day, but the photos from that aren’t in the computer yet.

Digging in the Dirt

Here’s the garden shot. Doesn’t look as impressive as it felt when we did it. Ok, I knew it wasn’t impressive… but it felt at least, sort of substantial. For a 3 year old kid and a distracted neophyte with minimal tools, anyway.

Gardening

We started a garden today. By which I mean, we went into the backyard with some rakes and a little hand tiller and destroyed a tiny patch of grass.

Meanwhile I seem to have gotten the hang of posting pictures, finally. It involves an alternate web browser, which doesn’t thrill me, but c’est la vie.

It’s a slow-starter, this blog, but I don’t mind. Slow & steady wins the race. Or ‘S & S Ws the R’ as we used to say on the road.

Experimenting With Uploads

Last time I posted a photo on here it was sliced in half. I’m trying again. Unfortunately I have no idea how to do it differently, so the scientific method is not exactly prevailing here.

Ok, so it’s not working at all, no idea why. I’ll try again next time I suppose.

Agita

Whew, rough night last night. Phoebe would not could not go to sleep, would not could not count the sheep. Mama lost her composure. A couple of times. It was not fun or pretty. Add another few hundred bucks to the Phoebe therapy fund, and for me too, to try to work through the guilt. My head spins with the various parenting advice and literature, images of other parents and family members roll through my brain, and I am apt to just lose my center of parenting gravity.

Happily, today was much better. I woke up earlier than she did (well, the kid goes to sleep at 12:30am, what do you expect?) and was able to get moving, start a fire, and have some time to myself, which just makes everything work so much more smoothly.

I had concocted a plan of going to the children’s museum today to try and use up energy and kind of reset the mood after the agita of last night as well as the constant whiny/cry-ey tone since the onset of the mono. The sickness has cleared up, but the attitudes have not. Phoebe didn’t want to go to the museum, and she was right (trust the child. Always trust the child). We stayed home printing out pictures of Phoebe and her cousin sledding and laminating them for everyone we know. She played with clay, and I’m hoping that her frustration and melting down over various aspects of that (she can’t make the shapes she wants to make; she wants me to help but not to actually touch any clay; she’s done but doesn’t want to put any of it away…) were manifestations of the therapeutic value of working with clay, and helped her get some stuff out of her system.

So, we had a pretty relaxed day. Not without some head-butting and some tears, but with several times of giddy laughter and connection. She’s decided it’s really funny to pretend to feed me random objects she pretends to pull out of a picture book: rocks, plates, elephants. My role is to pretend to eat them, then to spit them out and shriek “No! I don’t eat trees!”, thereby reducing her to helpless convulsive giggles. Very cute.

And here, making her photographic debut on this blog, is Phoebe modeling the outfit she wore this evening:

(I have no idea why it’s only showing the left half of the photo. Clearly more WordPress practice is needed).

To sleep. perchance to worry

One of the hardest things about being the only parent is that there’s no reality check for my worries. Is she sick? Spoiled? Emotionally squashed? Am I spending enough time with her? Too much?

Every parent worries, and much of it is irrational unnecessary, I suppose, but in my imagination, two parent families have a built-in reality check. When Mom is freaking out, Dad can say ‘relax, she’s fine’, and vice versa.

Phoebe is still not herself. She finished the course of steroids (I have been afraid all week of what they’re going to tell us about steroids in 5 or 10 years, when they’re not the ‘it’ medication anymore. We already know a lot of bad stuff about them…) today, and is clearly not feeling good yet. Whiny. Clingy. Very very picky about food. I spent much of the day carrying her in the Ergo: in the Whole Foods. In the Barnes & Noble. Making supper. My back hurts. But it does keep her happy. Ish.

Tonight I took her up to bed right after supper, expecting that she’d be off to sleep immediately. She looked exhausted, she was asking to go to bed, she’d had no nap and went to sleep very late last night.

But she didn’t go to sleep. We nursed. She didn’t go to sleep. Other side. She didn’t go to sleep. She lay still and quiet while I read my book. She didn’t go to sleep. She squirmed. She said she was hungry and I automatically [bad mama] said “No no, this is sleep time”. She didn’t protest, just rolled over and Didn’t. Go. To. Sleep.

I felt guilty. I tried to connect with her somehow, but didn’t know how. I had a migraine and wasn’t really up to the task. Eventually I had to pee and when I came back (after surreptitious gulps of cold egg noodles from supper) I brought her applesauce. She was quietly happy and ate several big spoonfuls before “I’m done Mama”. More quiet not going to sleep. More nursing. More lying down. Finally, quiet drifting off.

I’m worried. That she’s still sick and not getting better. That I’m not an emotionally available enough parent. That she hates me. That her spirit is squashed because I’m not emotionally available enough.

Mostly I’m worried because it’s just the two of us and no one else is in it with me enough to ask if I’m crazy or if there is something to worry about. Because after 3 weeks of sick and sitting home trying to be Clara Barton, Rudolf Steiner, Dr. Sears, and my shrinkn all rolled into one, I’m addled, tired, and disconnected from reality. If there is such a thing.

Mono

Whew! I actually had written a post earlier this week, but WordPress, or my laptop, or something, ate it. Oops.

After a scary trip to the ER last Saturday (104.7˚ fever, which went UP to 105˚ after Motrin) involving an IV, chest X-rays, and – yikes – a catheter (the poor little thing just couldn’t pee in a cup. She tried, I tried to encourage her without scaring her; she kept wailing “I hope they don’t have to do a capital!!!”), as well as two popsickles (thank God for the popsickles), we came home with no diagnosis (‘fever of unknown origin’) and a bottle of antibiotics. Two days later, she was still miserable, still a bit feverish, and I was getting worried because the antibiotics, which I had accepted reluctantly, weren’t helping.

She’s got Mono. I didn’t know little kids could get it, but apparently it’s not uncommon. Now we have a bottle of steroids in the fridge and she’s feeling much better, but she’s still sort of quarantined. I’m at least as reluctant to give her the steroids as I was the antibiotics. Last thing I need is a recuperating kid with cabin fever all hyped up like Barry Bonds or somebody.

I know, I know, it’s a low dose. But I gave it to her yesterday morning and she didn’t sleep all day, completely fell apart at suppertime, and woke up for a couple of really fun hours in the middle of the night. I finally went to sleep (for the first time) sometime after 3am. I called the doctor today and he said “What can you do… it’s not for that long”. I like her pediatrician, but I think he ought to come over and deal with things from about 5pm on if he’s going to have that attitude.

Oh, and did I mention that yesterday I only gave it to her once, and I realized today that she’s supposed to get it twice a day? I didn’t do it today. I skipped today, hoping for some kind of magical reprieve. I promise to start tomorrow for real, twice a day, for the remaining four days. But I’m not promising to be anything like civil on the other end.

I suppose I should have a better attitude. It’s my beautiful wonderful child, and she’s already feeling better, and I should treasure every precious moment with her, even at 2 am, even after a whole day of attempting to remain involved and connected whilst breastfeeding, managing a household, cleaning up pee and ants and cat puke. And eviscerated mouse corpses (fie on the cat door!).

I swear to God I felt that way for the first two and a half years. I really truly did. Possibly I have delayed PPD. I couldn’t love her more, but I really need some help here. Babysitting, surely, and adult connection and isolation-busting. I’m working on a plan. It’s a long range plan, but it’s a hell of a lot better than nothing.

Hot Tempers at Whole Foods

Tempers ran high at Whole Paycheck Foods today. Doing the shopping, sick child in tow ["Mama I want you to walk really close to me. No, closer. Auherrrrr… you won't hold me…"], the place was packed and people were constantly in the way, in the produce section as usual, but also in the aisles.

In the dairy section, I was baffled by the array of peanut butter choices (why, why can’t they just have the regular kind we always get?). Phoebe was in the cart whining that she didn’t want me to let go of her, and some self-satisfied guy in ridiculous bike gear came barreling down the aisle and crashed into our cart on the way past. Crashed into a cart clearly holding a small child. He did not stop or slow down; he offered no real apology, just a muttered “oh sorry”, practically under his breath. I caught his eye and stared him down as he went around the corner into the next aisle. His face held no trace of remorse or even acknowledgement that he was an ass being inconsiderate. Humph.

Next aisle. Look for lowest prices. Consult list. Hold sick, miserable, whining toddler. Pass diaper section – whoa! Weird new brands I’ve never heard of! No Seventh Generation!? (I didn’t actually need diapers on this trip, but the section was there, and took a gander… Though we cloth diapered for the first 2 years, I eventually switched to 7th Gen and have found no other brand that satisfies me, fits Phoebe and works). Hmmm!

At the end of an aisle was a woman wearing a Whole Foods apron, so as I approached, I genially asked, “What’s up with not having 7th Generation diapers on the shelf?” She perkily explained that they were two aisles down in the body care section. “Oh,” says I, “that’s funny.”

Bad idea. She launched into an explanation of how they were probably not going to carry them any more, how if a product doesn’t sell they move it around the store and then get rid of it. I stammered something about how they’d always carried them in the past. She bustled around leading me to the new shelf. Halfway there she turned to me and said, officiously and patronizingly, “but it’s not the end of the world if you can’t get them anymore, you know.”

I was taken aback. I was also in a less civilized mild-mannered mood than usual, and was possibly itching for a fight projecting a little of my frustration with the whole shopping trip onto her. I said (attempting to maintain a veneer of lighthearted civility in my tone) “You obviously don’t have a child in diapers!” To which this annoying creature took offense and replied “I have three, thank you… …I had three”.

I parted ways with her at this point. She followed me around the corner, determined to show me exactly where the diapers were, probably hoping I’d snap them all up and rid the store of the offending excess stock in such a pitiful seller. She accosted me in the vitamin section and asked what size we used. I finally got rid of her, with many insincere thanks.

But that’s not all! A few minutes later, while I was waiting for some incredibly slow, emaciated, highlighted, manicured, designer fleece-clad suburbanite to pick out the perfect package of boneless skinless chicken breasts, the same store clerk accosted me again! She put her hand in my cart, patted my paper towels and said “You’re really a 7th Generation girl, aren’t you! Good for you!”

Really. Really. So inappropriate in so many ways, so actually offensive and annoying… I was speechless.

We finished the shopping, Phoebe increasingly unhappy, and came home to a night of fever. Irritating people in overpriced natural groceries are not such a big deal compared to a sick kid.

Introduction…

Before I had my baby, I assumed single parenting was the norm these days – isn’t everyone a single parent? If I’d thought about it I would have imagined a bustling, probably harried and sleep-deprived, but certainly demographically significant community of people trying to cope with the viscissitudes of this life circumstance – like there is for adoptive parents, parents of multiples, of kids with disabilities, for every segment of the population a marketer can imagine.

As the single mother of a 3 year old little girl, I have gone looking on the internet and at the library for help, advice, support and whatever convivial ‘hang in there, you’re not alone’ camaraderie I could find. Shockingly, there is almost nothing out there for single parents. Not books or websites, not community resources, not social support.

I can’t be the only single parent trying to raise a small child mindfully, naturally, alternatively, in the Mothering Magazine, Dr. Sears tradition. In fact I know I’m not, because I’ve met, heard of, read about other mamas in situations similar to mine. I don’t know whether it’s continuing (or possibly renewed) social stigma, or just that no one who’s a single parent has the time or energy to do anything but get through the day, but come on! Who needs support and community and just plain help trying to do the hardest job in the world more than single parents?

Here is my little attempt to provide it. Hope you get what you’re looking for.