There's so much information to exchange during each precious phone call. Logistics, updates, stories from our world, stories from his, hopes, dreams, plans, finances, when we'll next talk, people dynamics, health, family news.
Sometimes this rapid exchange of mundane details is laborious, but often it's comforting. His knowing that I just changed the air filters and emailed his grandparents is trivial, sure - but, it helps ease the feeling he's missing our life.
Seems we always forget to tell each other certain things, though; and even when we talk for an hour or more, it's never long enough to feel quite normally connected.
However, Little One has embraced this new rhythm. Whenever my phone rings, she yells exuberantly, "Hiiiiii, Daaaaaaa!!!"
She's crestfallen when it's not him.
Friday, January 18, 2013
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Deployment Journal - Day #188
You know that Ripping-A-Bandage-Off-A-Deep-Wound feeling? That necessary agony you try to quell by convincing yourself that it's necessary? Yeah, that was this morning.
First, we had to wake up. (Don't even question the immensity of this.)
Second, we had to be back to another doctor's office by 8:00 again. And it was -6 degrees.
Third, today's appointment involved several blood tests for Little One. They needed slightly more than 4 cc's. Out of an itsy-bitsy, teeny-tiny, baby vein (sorry, Sweetie - my genetics, not your dad's!)
Also, we had to wait for 55 minutes in cruel anticipation of her blood draw. Combine terrified adrenaline with no breakfast, a squirming toddler who cannot leave your lap, (filthy floors, ew!) fast-forward two hours, and you have me, right about when they finally called her name.
She was beyond a trooper. After two tourniquets, twenty minutes of debating and poking and hesitating, they summoned this elderly, Asian gentleman - the best phlebotomist on earth.
We're now officially way past naptime, but she's just looking at everyone inquisitively wondering why we're all so tense.
He finally found a vein. A microscopic one. I had to hold her on my lap, clamped between my legs. I tried to distract her and make her look away by dramatically waving scissors and rubber bands. He got into her vein finally. There was digging involved; her eyes shot open and tears began pouring out. Her whole body started quivering, and she let out these out jerky, little, punctured cries, and I tried to soothe her while also trying to restrain her.
The tears kept rolling and rolling, but she was so brave. She whimpered - most adults would have done far more - but turned her head against my chest and bit her little lip, and held totally still.
The whole lab applauded when she was finished.
"What a trooper!"
"My gosh, I've never seen a kid take it so well!"
"How did you train her to DO that?"
Wish I could take credit, but she was born like this. When we'd bulb syringe out her nose, as a newborn, and practically waterboard her with nasal saline to stave of Reflux attacks, she would cry and cry - but, always tried to smile at us while simultaneously sobbing. It was kinda amazing.
Maybe she sensed our approval, and maybe that has fed her desire to be brave, but I don't want her to ever feel like she has to be too brave. She's just a wee little girl.
Still, she seriously has been like this since Day #1. I swear. Husband will confirm it.
But, they wouldn't believe me.
Also, we had to wait for 55 minutes in cruel anticipation of her blood draw. Combine terrified adrenaline with no breakfast, a squirming toddler who cannot leave your lap, (filthy floors, ew!) fast-forward two hours, and you have me, right about when they finally called her name.
She was beyond a trooper. After two tourniquets, twenty minutes of debating and poking and hesitating, they summoned this elderly, Asian gentleman - the best phlebotomist on earth.
We're now officially way past naptime, but she's just looking at everyone inquisitively wondering why we're all so tense.
He finally found a vein. A microscopic one. I had to hold her on my lap, clamped between my legs. I tried to distract her and make her look away by dramatically waving scissors and rubber bands. He got into her vein finally. There was digging involved; her eyes shot open and tears began pouring out. Her whole body started quivering, and she let out these out jerky, little, punctured cries, and I tried to soothe her while also trying to restrain her.
The tears kept rolling and rolling, but she was so brave. She whimpered - most adults would have done far more - but turned her head against my chest and bit her little lip, and held totally still.
The whole lab applauded when she was finished.
"What a trooper!"
"My gosh, I've never seen a kid take it so well!"
"How did you train her to DO that?"
Wish I could take credit, but she was born like this. When we'd bulb syringe out her nose, as a newborn, and practically waterboard her with nasal saline to stave of Reflux attacks, she would cry and cry - but, always tried to smile at us while simultaneously sobbing. It was kinda amazing.
Maybe she sensed our approval, and maybe that has fed her desire to be brave, but I don't want her to ever feel like she has to be too brave. She's just a wee little girl.
Still, she seriously has been like this since Day #1. I swear. Husband will confirm it.
But, they wouldn't believe me.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Things I've Learned As a Mom
Some of my Mothering lessons were learned long ago.
The understanding that "Lack of sleep is miserable, but not crippling unless you get all dramatic about it" was solidified before I was fifteen. College etched it into my psyche permanently.
The enduring need for flexibility, music, the ability to rework a schedule for the 28th time today, and keeping paper towels within arm's reach at all times... I knew all about those, too.
But, I've learned several new ones this last year. This is not meant to be derogatory, or even snarky. I love my daughter more than life, and wouldn't trade her for anything, and I adore caring for her.
However, I care for her better when I observe the following rules:
- Don't sit down to do a project. You will stare at it, and work slowly, and probably fall asleep. You may never get up again. Or rather, you will get up - because your Little One(s) will need you - but you will resent it much more than if you'd kept standing.
- If you only have ten minutes to sleep, don't. It is less painful to walk outside barefoot in sub-zero temperatures than it is to be woken up ten minutes into Way-Past-Exhausted sleep.
- Remember that "You won't feel like doing it later either." This is a key lie I tell myself: "I'll come back to it after ABC is done." No, probably I won't. Probably then, I'll decide to do DEF first. Or GHIJKLMNOP. Pretty much anything else on earth than that task which I'm honestly, absolutely avoiding. Don't sugar coat your avoidance. Simply knock the task out, as fast as possible, so it can stop bugging you.
- Wait long enough; it will pass. Some days are lost causes by 1 p.m. Maybe just accept it. Don't give up, or scream, or despair. Just get to the end of today, and let it go. It's not worth the emotional loss of analyzing at 10 p.m. why your life is always so disorganized and How do all those other women do this?!
Go to bed. Try again tomorrow.
It may or may not be better than today, but at least you'll be a tad more rested. Maybe.
The understanding that "Lack of sleep is miserable, but not crippling unless you get all dramatic about it" was solidified before I was fifteen. College etched it into my psyche permanently.
The enduring need for flexibility, music, the ability to rework a schedule for the 28th time today, and keeping paper towels within arm's reach at all times... I knew all about those, too.
But, I've learned several new ones this last year. This is not meant to be derogatory, or even snarky. I love my daughter more than life, and wouldn't trade her for anything, and I adore caring for her.
However, I care for her better when I observe the following rules:
- Don't sit down to do a project. You will stare at it, and work slowly, and probably fall asleep. You may never get up again. Or rather, you will get up - because your Little One(s) will need you - but you will resent it much more than if you'd kept standing.
- If you only have ten minutes to sleep, don't. It is less painful to walk outside barefoot in sub-zero temperatures than it is to be woken up ten minutes into Way-Past-Exhausted sleep.
- Remember that "You won't feel like doing it later either." This is a key lie I tell myself: "I'll come back to it after ABC is done." No, probably I won't. Probably then, I'll decide to do DEF first. Or GHIJKLMNOP. Pretty much anything else on earth than that task which I'm honestly, absolutely avoiding. Don't sugar coat your avoidance. Simply knock the task out, as fast as possible, so it can stop bugging you.
- Wait long enough; it will pass. Some days are lost causes by 1 p.m. Maybe just accept it. Don't give up, or scream, or despair. Just get to the end of today, and let it go. It's not worth the emotional loss of analyzing at 10 p.m. why your life is always so disorganized and How do all those other women do this?!
Go to bed. Try again tomorrow.
It may or may not be better than today, but at least you'll be a tad more rested. Maybe.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Deployment Journal - Day #186
No longer feeling capable. Roadblocks everywhere. My whole world is a chicken-or-egg dilemma.
I can't take the trash out, because the trashcan is still under a MASSIVE snowdrift. K, fine - I'll pile bags in garage.
I can't even make cereal because the milk still hasn't thawed. (Brilliant pre-freezing plan FAIL.)
I can't even hang a shirt on a hanger before Little One is up the stairs. She was not this fast two months ago.
I can't sleep, because she can't sleep, because we're in another new place. So she wakes a million times a night to make sure I'm still here, and then sleeps during the day while I try to unpack.
And the toilet is leaking and the garage door won't open. And I don't know where the water valve is.
No, it is not on the back of the toilet.
... And there are many more things that are entirely impossible to solve, but I'm too tired to remember them. =(
We may never get unpacked. Or eat. Ever again.
We may never get unpacked. Or eat. Ever again.
G'night.
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