anxiety, part 674 May 12, 2009

Here’s what drives me crazy, today. As everyone knows, my anxiety is frequently out of control. Quite often, friends family and healthcare providers tell me I need to Calm Down, ie stop worrying so much. And so I try.

Then yesterday: I phoned the nurseline to check on some abnormal blood test results for F. The nurse was very helpful in interpreting those results. Basically, F is anemic. Nurse says, “I’ll have the doctor phone you because you’ll want to start F on iron supplements as soon as possible. Iron affects brain development.”

Mmmmm-Hmmmm. Brain Development.

So how pressing is this? How long has she been anemic? Is it normal for children to be anemic at certain points? She eats fine; a pretty balanced diet. . .why is she anemic? Is her anemia a symptom of something else? Has she suffered any brain development decreases thus far?

I know that I am being somewhat melodramatic here, taking some poetic license with my written words. But still: WhatTheHell.

Working

mid-night activity February 11, 2009

Kentucky/Fried have both had garden-variety colds. So when F woke up at 2am coughing, and that progressed to vomiting, I was happily (and confidently) unconcerned. Cough, gag, vomit. Babies do that all the time. But then she vomited at 4am and 6am too and that kind of shot my theory. She’s sick.

word February 10, 2009

(written 12/31/2008)

F is saying more and more in an increasingly word-type way. She still can’t walk, god bless her, but she is a good talker.

In order of appearance

(and to the best of my memory):

ticky ticky ticky (tickle tickle tickle)

a-mah (mama)

da-da (daddy)

bud-duh (brother)

ow (ear)

hi

huh-lo (hello)

boar (bear)

up (up)

bey-bah (baby)

bub-bah (bubble)

mo (more).

As I mentioned she doesn’t really walk on her own. Well, we didn’t think so anyway until a couple of days ago when K had a toy that she wanted back. He scooted away and she stood up, raised her fist in anger, and followed him. Step, step, step. She definitely took more steps than she usually does.

Ordinarily, she is walking toward someone and will take up to 5 steps and then dive for the person. Not really that safe, but she laughs and laughs.

She is a short gal with a shorter temper. Oh does she get MAD. Her tantrums are advanced, beyond her 15 months. She lays on her belly, face pressed into the floor and screams, then her body starts to do a worm-like movement. It’s hard not to laugh. When someone is holding her and she gets mad, she claws them or hits. I don’t laugh at that because it hurts. Lately she has been practicing her mad face frown. She used to make that concerned frown when she was a little baby, but hasn’t for a while. When she does it now, it’s even funnier. She would still prefer, always, to be with me. That is nice and all, but sometimes it would be nicer to have a break. If T tries to put her to bed, she screams like a siren. For a long time. Short gal, shorter temper.

Today she was feeding her little baby. She plays by herself more than K ever did. She puts the donuts on the pole, she stacks the cups and boxes. Lately she has really taken to books and reading. I didn’t read to her as much as I did to K, but recently she started bringing me books to read to her. Books she likes: Moo, Baa, La La La, that Hippo book, Pat the Bunny, some longer books too that I can’t recall right now.

She likes to hug and kiss. She blows kisses. She waves hello and goodbye. She makes funny faces and likes to bat her eyes and look away and tease tease tease people. She’s very good-natured. She loves her brother. She only recently started going to T without a fuss. Well, if it’s on her terms, ie her idea. If it’s my idea to hand her over, she kind of fusses (ie screams like a siren).

She’s been sleeping in her bed for large chunks of time, sometimes all night. She was recently sick (another post) with chicken pox and pneumonia so I feel that set us back a little as she slept with us during her internment. It’s very hard to not sleep with her. She’s so pretty. When she’s sleeping, her long lashes on her white skin, her rosebud mouth. She’s very pretty.

She likes to try on shoes. Tom and Carol gave her some moccasins for her birthday and though they are still too big, she tries to put them on everyday. Uh Uh Uh which means Help me.

She is 15 months and 12 days.

survival February 10, 2009

(written 12/31/2008)

Today’s saga involves documentation of 2 weeks (from hell) in the life of our little family. We were SICK.

(Now it is much later, but I will try to re-call. Because this really was a stunning stretch of ick.)

July 04, 2008 While we were preparing to go to my cousin’s cabin for the annual booya celebration, F’s eye looked. . . pink I took her to urgent care that morning and said that it seemed like she had a cold in the eye. I laughed saying, is that even possible? And Dr. UrgentCare said seriously, Yes, It is. There is bacterial pink-eye and viral pink-eye. Bacterial is goopy and very contagious. Viral is part of a cold and not so contagious. I’ll give you eye-drops. She also said a bunch of other things, some fairly conflicting with each other. At one point, I wondered if she was even a real doctor, because the name on her tag didn’t match the name on the prescription that she wrote for F. But like a good sheep, I didn’t ask any forward-seeming questions.

And off to the cabin we go, spreading pink-eye along the way. Not really, we didn’t, though some of my cousins threw us horrified looks while whispering, Pink eye? Isn’t that *really* contagious?

We had a fun day and went back to my parent’s cabin. Then K got a fever. Well, fevers are a dime a dozen in our family these days. Tylenol and to bed. I was tempted for a minute though to just go home.

While at the cabin, my own right eye started to itch and burn. Must be pink-eye I thought, or the beginning of a stye. I do have a lot of eye problems. Deep sigh. The stye grows. And grows. By July 17, I am going on a chh weekend with my friends. We go to pick up Ann at the airport. She can’t even say hello because she is hooting and hollering at my eye. It really did get big. And red. And swollen. Looking back, I’m pretty sure I had cellulitis or some rather advanced infection. But there was no way a little eye infection (or possible permanent eye damage) was going to prevent me from the beloved chh weekend. As I mentioned, I get a lot of styes. I assumed it would eventually go away. It didn’t. The swelling did go down, but even today, December 31, 2008, I still have a red patch on my right eyelid. The first doctor I saw gave me antiobiotics. The second said it would likely never go away; I would need to have it cut out by an opthamologist. Having high deductible health insurance I have so far opted out of that; I don’t want to pay for it.

Then later in July, or maybe August, I woke up with a burning throbbing ear. I tried to sleep through it, but damm it hurt. All day it hurt. I finally called nurseline at 3pm. Of course she said it was probably an ear infection, as I suspected myself. But then she said I should be seen so that I don’t do permanent damage to my ear. And so, in spite of my usual high-deductible reluctance, I pack up Kentucky and Fried and head off to Urgent Care. The doctor comes into the room and says, So which kid has the ear infection? He laughed when I said it was me. A classic case, a perfect case, a text-book ear infection. Antibiotics and home.

July 28 – Aug 01 Then F got fevery and it lasted for 3 days. Nurseline says: A baby fever for more than 3 days warrants a trip to the clinic. Off we go. Doctor looks here and there and says there are spots at the back of her throat. Most likely hand/foot/mouth. Nothing to be done about it, but come back if the fever doesn’t break in a couple of days. Well in a couple of days we were due to travel to Duluth for a folk festival type thing. I wasn’t sure about going with a fever-baby. But against my better judgement, I swallowed my concerns and nerves and anxious everything, and we went. Which led to . . . . .

August 03 We went to the folk-y thing and F’s fever broke. And darned if it didn’t break so hard she started to feel cold. And she wasn’t drinking much. And she wasn’t peeing much. Like the fun party-girl I am, I started taking her around to everyone I knew and asking if she felt cold or if her soft-spot seemed indented. Being that everyone else there was drinking and there to, you know, have a good time, no one really validated my concerns. I called the nurseline about 5 times. Each time they said that feeling cold wouldn’t be related to dehydration; don’t be concerned; just try to get her to drink something. Well, she wouldn’t and she still wasn’t peeing. My sister-in-law and I took all 4 kids back to their place and T stayed at the festivus for an overnight. (Our ride home was a whole other blog-worthy saga; for later.) When we got home and got kids 1, 2, 3, in bed I took F’s temp just for kicks. It was 94.4 axillary. We took it again, then pulled out the big guns and did a reverse-temp taking if you know what I mean. I have never done that, ever. That temp was 95.4. I freaked. I called nurseline yet again. This gentleman was not concerned at all, the on-call doc was not concerned at all. Nurse-man said, “Wrap her up and let her sleep. Don’t take her temp again until the morning. Don’t go dragging her into . . . I mean don’t take her into the E.R. Just wait until morning.” All I wanted to know from him was HOW LOW IS TOO LOW? At what temp is there damage to the body. I know that 105 can do possible damage on the high-end. WHAT IS THE LOW-END LIMIT?? He gave me this speech: “It isn’t how high or low the temp is. You could have a slight high or low temp and be very very sick. Or you could have an extremely high or low temp and be not so sick.” Suffice it to say I was very very very pissed off and worried and pissed off. So sister-in-law and I try to decide what to do. God bless her, she stuck with me throughout. I finally laid down with F. At 5 in the morning the temp was still 95.something so I called the nurseline again. I mentioned that she still hadn’t peed (now about 15 hours). He said, well you didn’t mention that before. You should take her in. I waffled for a bit longer and took her in. Of course she was fine, her temp was fine, and I was a little embarrassed but just glad to have my worry alleviated. But here is the moral of the story. One, he said don’t worry unless she hadn’t peed in another 8 hours. So we have gone from 8-hrs to 15 hrs to 24 hrs of no pee is still ok. Don’t worry. Two, dehydration can cause a low body temp. As the body is dealing with the dehydration, it is routing resources to vital organs. Temp goes down. Dehydration IS RELATED to low body temp. Listen up nurseline nurses. Three, 93degrees (oh gosh I’m not sure if 93 was the number now), but he gave me a number that is the lower limit for body temp. Again, THAT is what I had been asking for Nurse-man.

August 04 – 08 Being the fair-minded egalitarians that we are, it’s only fitting that K should then develop a high fever illness. He was staying at my parents for some reason. In August? Not sure why, but I know he was there for this bout. T and I had tickets to los lobos at the zoo. I called my parents to see how K was and he had a fever of . . . . 104. Again, I swallowed my nervous everything and decided to go to the concert. It was good. In the following days, his temp outperformed itself again and again, rising to the 105s for a couple of days. I phoned the nurseline over and over. She said, as long as it goes down with Tylenol, as long as he is acting mostly normal, as long as he is peeing, as long as his neck doesn’t hurt, he is fine. And so I waited and waited and waited. At one point he vomited a soft white log of congealed milk because that was all he’d been ingesting. Apparently motrin is hard on a guy’s stomach. We switched back to Tylenol. And. . . . he survived.

That was the end of our summer travails with the sicknesses. Starting daycare in May really did a number on us. We had a month or 2 of health and now we’re back in it. Let’s say that will be yet another post. This one has reached a gigantuan proportion that even I could not have predicted.

truth December 9, 2008

As I dropped Kian off at school this morning he told me, “Maybe you should put your hat on so you don’t look so crazy when we go into my classroom.”

1yr girl September 25, 2008

1 yr girl (posted a little late)

she will stand; claps her hands and sits down.
she sits next to K, gazing up, puts hand on his knee.
throws head back, literally, and laughs.
wakes up and waves
loves to sit UP on things.
points at everything, very serious.
her bites hurt, but her pinches really hurt.
tickles herself and laughs.
tickles others, saying “tckl, tckl, tckl”
kisses with a wide open mouth.
often with a furrowed brow.
reserved joy.

i never wrote about her birth.
i was anxious of course.
a planned c-section has its own crazy surgery-related worries.
in addition to the regular old is-it-healthy worries.
we waited a long time for dr  to show up. but she’s well worth the wait.
i walked into the operating room and kind of freaked out.
it was so like . . . .surgery, and not like. . . .childbirth.
everything so sterile, so clean, so cold.
last time i didn’t walk in; i was wheeled in quickly and was so tired i didn’t notice much.
my bp dropped and i got really woozy and lightheaded and more scared.
the c-section was quick.
dr held up babe and said: Dad, do you want to announce it?
Dad, of course, had broken his glasses and without them couldn’t tell if babe was a Girl or a Boy.
he stood there, squinting at the babe.
dr said again, Dad. . . . ?
someone figured out it was a GIRL.
i was shocked.
they brought her around and positioned her 1 inch from my face.
with my arms and everything else taped down, i could only look at her through the corner of my eye.
she’s cute, i thought.

Making it to a year with a baby is very reassuring to me. And as of tomorrow, we made it. This little baby is such a joy, honestly such a joy. She is very attached to me, and her near-constant demonstrations of that attachment are very gratifying and joyous. Ok, sometimes a little wearying, but only sometimes. She will mold her small body to mine, burying her head in my neck, hanging on as if for dear life.  Now is the time to cut out the pumping and move her from our bed to her own. But I don’t want to. I don’t want to. K still comes in most nights, pillow in-tow and Cubby and a second pillow. . . . “That one’s for daddy.” And I love having them both there. I know, T and I need our bed back; we need to move forward. But I truly love having both of their warm bodies nestled close. This is going to be hard for me.

She is so engaging and engaged. Even strangers remark on that.

Having been somewhat lax in the solids department, we are now fast-tracking her to eating independence. Having had only purees up until this point, we’ve recently added finger foods, pieces of cheese and toast and some vegetables. We are trying the whole milk in a sippy cup. She’s doing better with the food than the milk.

Weaning. I am having a hard time deciding what to do. I do not want to stop nursing full-time. I DO want to stop pumping. I would like to continue nursing at night for certain and during the day if she wants it. However, I also feel like I should take care of myself by having a mammogram, as I’ve never had one and will be 42years on Sunday. So. What do to. Weaning K was not a problem. I don’t recall what we did, but it wasn’t a problem. I just stopped during the day and in the night, but kept the bedtime nurse. I didn’t have a problem with engorgement or anything. With F, I think that I might need to be more careful with the weaning (for myself), ie do it somewhat gradually.

I just need to say though that I love nursing. I love the closeness and that she is so happy. I love that she gets such comfort from it. I really don’t want to stop. So I’m going to slowly ease up and get her drinking cow’s milk. And then in a month or so, I can make my final decision.

At her 1year appt.
She originally weighed at 17 lbs, meaning she lost 2 lbs and was now at 7th percentile for weight. Being that, once upon a time, she had been in the 85% for weight, that was concerning, ie my heart jumped and my stomach fell. Her length was only 13%, but that is consistent with her past measurements. Dr came in to express surprise at the weight and re-weighed her. The resulting 19 lbs bumped her to XX% (can’t remember) and that is fine. Otherwise an uneventful visit. She has 2 cafe-au-lait spots and that is ok, but something to watch. We don’t want any more as that would be a marker for bad-things-to-come. But for today, NO BAD THINGS. I’m focusing on today. Really trying anyway.

4yr boy September 15, 2008

Well howdeedoo can you believe that? K is 4.

I remember that first year, just hoping to make it through the first year. His 3-week-old spinal meningitis scare; the antibiotics I.V. screwed into his little head. The second year, when he started saying things like: I know you don’t like it when I do this mom, but I just have to do it.   His third year, when he got the awesomest black eye at his cousin’s house–  when everyone was there except me. His fourth year when he became a big boy; there is just no baby in him anymore. A common response from him now: “Dumb,”  muttered under his breath. He was saying it quite a bit, so I asked him what it meant. He doesn’t know.

K has fairly recently turned into a big boy. He is now a preschooler, no doubt. His reasoning is more sound, his humor is more sophisticated, his expressions more expressive, his conversations multi-layered.

I don’t even know what to write about him. It’s not like writing about F, who is hitting obvious developmental milestones every other week. K just is. So let me try.

He still loves pink. He loves books, the library, bookstores. He still doesn’t really play with toys; his playthings continue to be people.  He has ramped up his imaginary play. He’s always had his friend Taba. She was gone for a while but is recently back. He talks to/plays with her and a slew of others, it seems, that I haven’t figured out yet. He will eat carbs and sugar but little else. Favorites are pancakes, toast/jam, peanut butter/jelly sandwiches, yogurt/blueberries, cereal and milk. Oh and honey on a spoon. Jelly on a spoon. You know, basically sugar on a spoon.

He talks a lot. He follows Grandpa around with a running commentary on what they’re doing, what they’re going to do, what they should  be doing. Grandpa tells him to put some wood on the woodpile and K comes back with a 15 minute explanation of why they should really put the wood in the FIRE-RING and not on the WOODPILE. My father can only say, ok, rendered otherwise slightly speechless.

He is still pretty shy around others. He is either silent or does goofy things. . . .like talk in a made-up language and perform odd acts of physical humor. But he simultaneously craves interaction. Often when we leave school, he will approach other parents. He won’t say anything, he will just wave his project at them. Occasionally, he’ll say something: “I made this.” “Today is my birthday.” ” This is my baby sister.” But often, he’ll just go stand by them, silent.

Last night was his birthday dinner at my parents. He was REALLY goofy all through dinner. I know, it was the third day of birthday celebrations, his cousins were there, he was being silly. However, I do so want him to be respectful and have manners, I need to figure out where to draw lines/boundaries for that type of thing. Ahhhh parenting.

He is very affectionate. He will frequently and randomly say, I love you. My favorite is when he, out of the blue, runs over to Grandpa, throws his arms around his neck and says, I love you, then runs away to continue playing. I think Grandpa is surprised every time and it makes me smile.

I’m not sure how he’s doing in school. I would love to be invisible and watch him. Is he quiet? does he play with others? who? is he silly and goofy there? is he nice? are other kids nice to him? He is such an odd/interesting mix of characteristics, that I can’t quite figure him out, ie predict his behavior.

I’ve really been working with him on appropriate social interaction, ie good social manners. We practice ahead of time and I give him reminders. If someone says hi, you can say hi back. If someone asks how you are, you can say fine thankyou. When you leave you can say goodbye. When someone does something nice you can say thankyou. He will occasionally follow through and then he says, Did you hear that mom? When xx said goodbye, I said goodbye back.

His temper. I think it’s getting better. I say that quietly, with some reserve, lest he prove me wrong, you know, tonight. I’ve been trying to be so so so so consistent with him. And not let him make EVERY choice. I think that is where we were going wrong. . . too many choices so that he started thinking that ALL choices were his to make. Not so, my friend, not so. And so now I say: This you don’t get to choose; this is my choice. I’m sorry if that makes you frustrated, but this is my choice. If you don’t listen to my choice, xxxxxxxconsequencexxxxx will happen. We’re getting there. I think.

Overall, he is so good, so sweet, so smart, so funny, so loving, so amazing.
I. Love. Him.

my 10month girl August 11, 2008

It strikes me that perhaps it’s unbalanced that my F posts are joy and my K posts are difficulty. That of course is not indicative of their whole beings, it just happens to be their ages and where we’re at these days. After this love letter to my daughter, I’ll try to switch in up a bit more.

Her physical entity: Our F is really growing. . . not so much in stature, she is still a little fireplug—sturdy, solid, muscle and mass. But she can do so much now. Two weeks ago she got 4 teeth and started to crawl. About a week ago, she finally rolled over. Now I wake up to her sitting in bed next to me. Or having crawled over and inserted herself into the space between the wall and the bed. Or having rolled over and bumped her head on the wall. You get the idea.

She is so so so different than K was. She puts EVERYthing in her mouth. She is a little vacuum cleaner, crawling along, hoovering up every speck of dust with her particular little pincer grasp. (She’s still quite good with her fine motor skills.)

Her temperament: When she is happy, she is joy. When she is mad, she is furor. In the last couple of days, she has started to throw back her head, arch her back, stick out her legs and scream/cry/wail/keen. It’s almost funny how mad she gets. Of course, if I then pick her up or rescue her from whomever else is trying to hold her, she throws them a smug, I’m-so-cute, AND I’VE WON smile. She is a smarty (and spoiled).

(Note that now, as I continue this, she is almost 11 months. . . )

She continues to charm, bewitch, captivate, and generally wrap-around-her-finger everyone who falls within her realm. I picked her up at school one day and one of the other parents said: That’s your daughter? She’s always so engaged and interested in whomever is coming in the door. She’s like a little ambassador.

Yes, she is.

I remember the nurse in the hospital said something like: There’s something about her, her eyes, her look, her wisdom, her something. She’s special. The pediatrician said something similar. I know that’s what people say about babies and I’m not necessarily relating this to brag (though I have no problem bragging about her), but rather to document for her that she has always been noticed for the light shining out of her eyes. . . . always.

She still laughs so hard at K. They tussle and wrestle and she laughs and laughs. He helps me out quite a bit by making her laugh (instead of continuing to cry as she is wont to do.) In the last 2 weeks, she has started to play ball or push car – - basically a reciprocal game of back and forth. Last night she picked up a doll and said: Baa Baa. She kisses it with a big open-mouth suck. She holds it out to be kissed. She’s very serious as she notices things throughout the day. Her pointer finger is pretty much always extended toward something as she utters: Da Da. Then she looks at you for confirmation, like, did you SEE that. Very serious. My mother said that she will try to repeat whatever word you might say to her. I’ve kind of heard her say: Buh-duh (brother) and a few other approximations.

A couple of weeks ago she started waving in earnest. She makes a circle motion for fan. She waves one hand for hello/goodbye. She waves both hands for everything else. She waves at the drop of a hat.

She loves bath time and tries to tip over so she can drink the bath-water.

While sitting on her bum, she bounces up and down so hard she almost leaves the ground.

She’s moving about with a purposeful crawl. She pulls herself up. She occasionally will do a funny 2 straight-legs crawl and try to stand up. When she’s laying on her back getting her diaper changed, she puts her legs in the air, pointing opposite directions, basically doing the splits, and then pats the inside of both thighs and laughs.

Since we started daycare, both K/F have been sick (but that’s a whole other post).

We’re going to start transitioning her into her own crib soon. Parts of me are happy about that, but I’d have to say that most of me is sad. I like sleeping with her. I like night-feedings (though yes, they tire me). I like waking up to her. This morning she woke up, rolled over, and waved at me. Big smile, big eyes. I’m going to miss her at night. But I know it’s probably for the best of the whole family that she move on.

2 snippets of F July 17, 2008

I’m in the midst of writing my 10month F update, but thought of this now. . . . she has developed a new nursing protocol. We start out nursing on our sides, laying down, as usual. She (now that she can roll over) flips over, on to hands and knees and approaches the breast thusly, like a small puppy. A small, happy puppy, as she is grinning devilishy all the while. And so she nurses facing me, on all fours. It’s a little freaky.

Also, last night driving home from G/G’s house, she entertained K and me with 45 minutes of straight screeching. At the end K started getting a little hysterical himself, “Stop crying!” “Mom, stop talking, you’re making her cry.” “MOM, DON’T SING.” Oh it was a comfortable ride home. Perhaps my habit of crawling into the back seat to nurse whilst T is driving is . . . . .not such a good idea in the long run. Because sometimes, you know, I’M driving and then it’s just not possible. I don’t think she gets that part. Poor thing.

pillow talk July 14, 2008

So many stories, such as that to follow, are probably a lot funnier in real life and/or in my head than they are when rendered in typewritten black and white on the page. But here goes.

We’ve been working on bedtime with K. . . well bedtime and daytime and whineytime and mealtime, generally all-time. He’s been a bit of a challenge lately. A cute, smart challenge, but nonetheless. So I put him to bed and tell him: This is it. After I leave, it’s bedtime and I’m not going to talk to you anymore or come in here. If you say, “Mommmmm I need XXXXX,” I am going to say “Goodnight K.” And that will be that.

Right. In my head, that will be that.

So this night he agrees to my terms, I leave to do dishes, and return upstairs an hour later, congratulating myself on a job well-done. He finally gets it, I say. My consistence and clear communication are working, I pat myself on the back. Clear sailing ahead.

At the top of the stairs I hear, “I need a different pillow.”

I visibly deflate.

Then say firmly, “Good night K.” (That is, after all, our deal.) He cries, he screams, he tosses things around his room. At one point, he walks out holding pillows A and B in his outstretched arms, “These pillows are not good.” He throws them, I collect them and they go away (another deal: You throw it, you lose it).

Then he goes to get pillow C and carries that out, still wailing. “This pillow is not comfortable.” Pillow C is thrown, picked up, gone away.

All this time, he is following me out of his bedroom. I turn around and walk him back in; he runs ahead of me and jumps into bed. I turn to leave, he follows me out. You get the idea. . . this goes on and on. He is wailing; I don’t speak. With every fiber of my being, I hate doing this. But I know from experience that if I stop and talk to him, or reason with him, or tuck him in, then we start over. So I continue.

All the windows are open; it’s 10pm. I can only assume that everyone in the neighborhood can hear what’s going on. It’s a little embarrassing.

Then on one of his trips back into his bed, he slips and falls, bumping his heel on the bedframe. Wailing increases tenfold. Now it’s not only, “Mommy, mommy, mommy, please listen to me mommy. PLEASE.” It escalates to “Mommy, mommy, mommy, owie, mommy owie, it hurts. Owie, mommy, PLEASE.”

So what do you think the neighbors are thinking NOW? T even comes in, looking concerned, to see what is going on. Needless to say, I have not touched K, have barely looked at him. Now it’s a lot embarrassing. I close the windows to spare the neighbors (and probably implicate myself further if anyone really *is* listening).

And here, finally, is the hardest part for me to think about. After about 30 minutes he gathers his composure, as best a very upset 3.75 year old can. Through his sobs, which become swallowed and muffled in his attempt to calm himself, he says, “Excuse me mommy, could I please have a different pillow.”

It hurts me to type this, but I didn’t give him one. I walked him back to bed. First and foremost in my mind was: BE CONSISTENT. And whoo-boy was I consistent, but I don’t think I did the right thing. I honestly don’t know what I should have done and this nutshell represents my hardest parenting moment. I don’t know if I did the right thing.

He has an anger problem; he throws toys and kicks and hits and screams. I am really struggling with how best to teach him and help him and guide him. I remember that anger; I’m pretty sure I was the same way. How can I help him?

I know that I will have moment after moment like this throughout the years. Indeed F is showing signs of her own magnificent temper. I need to figure this out.

To end the story, however, after 60 hellish minutes, K fell asleep. By that time his disdained/beloved pillows were gone, his bedsheet was gone, his diaper was gone (pulled off by him), his stuffed animals had all been thrown and confiscated. My small, dear, sweet, sweet boy was sprawled asleep, naked on his naked bed. I love him.