Proud Parenting

For the past six years, at practically all times, I have been pregnant, nursing, or both. (This is actually month 62, but who's counting?) And people talk about pregnant brain, and nursing brain, and new mommy brain. But what they really mean is between the hormones and the sleep deprivation, you are going to be a blooming idiot. (Not to mention being Captain Crankypants. And the Folger's commercial with the son coming home from the army to surprise his family for Christmas? It will have you crying every time. And that's just when you think about it in July. You shouldn't even turn on the TV after Labor Day.)

But despite this, I think I have held it together pretty well. Really. (Denial and the ability to repress memories are what make us do silly things like think going through labor more than once is a good idea.) But in December, I hit a new low. I could not get my shit together. Holy cow. I could not concentrate on anything. I can't tell you where my mind was. It was racing through some insane thought. Making to-do lists instead of getting stuff done. Worrying about, hmm, I don't even know.

Going back to work this week has really made me realize how bad it was. This week I have quickly knocked out tasks that I struggled with for hours before giving up in the weeks leading up to Christmas. Oops.

I suppose I should've been clued in to my sad mental state the night I found Leon standing in the bathroom holding an empty bottle of infant ibuprofen he just drank. Now there is a proud parenting moment! We had been telling the boys for months that when we got back from vacation, it would be time to use the potty all the time. And they foolishly agreed to the silly plan. And of course the week we started potty fun, the toilet in the master bathroom broke. And the kids take baths in that bathroom. That particular night I took the boys into the bathroom and got Michael undressed for his bath before I remembered the toilet was broken. So while I took him streaking through the house, Leon was alone in the bathroom. Normally, I am anal retentive about double checking that the cap on any medicine is secure, and I keep the infant ibuprofen in a high cabinet in the kitchen. But I had only been getting about 4 hours of sleep a night in 30-45 minute bursts in the week or so since we had been back from vacation. Natalia had been miserable, so I had given her meds around 3am the night before in a desperate hope that she was just waking up because she was teething and the magic medicine fairy would make everything better. (Apparently, I was just full of great parenting moments.) So, anywho, I just put the bottle on the bathroom counter and I probably didn't close the lid that securely. So Mr. Eagle Eye Busy Hands spied it among all the flotsam on the bathroom counter. And in the brief time it took Michael to tinkle, Leon managed to climb on the counter, unscrew the cap, and have a little snack.

So then I got to spend 10 minutes on the phone with Poison Control and a lovely woman named Stephanie who was calm and refreshingly nonjudgmental. He would be a-ok although he might experience some side effects of having just ingested about 15 doses of ibuprofen and we could expect vomiting. (And do you know, he was just fine? Somehow it doesn't seem right. It was a good time to discuss the book about Curious George going to the hospital after eating something he wasn't supposed to and having to stay there all by himself. Bwahaha!)

And when I got off the phone, I had to laugh. I was relieved, obviously. And there was poor Michael, just standing there butt naked, a concerned look on his face, wanting to know if "my brother" would be okay.