Sick and Sad

I finally got a job, started it, was doing well enough to be offered extra hours and -- after I accepted the etra hours, I got sick. I went to the Emergency Room and got medicines and went back to work for those extra hour days.
Not the best plan, but I had said I would do it, so I did it.
But by the time the time was done, I was dragging, and went to the doctor.
Who put me off work for the next five days.

Who gets sick like that? Babies? Old people?
I am neither, although I often feel very, very old.
Being widowed, losing my caretaker role, being unemployed (maybe unemployable) are all aging factors.

Being free of caretaking, being employed, I hope will be freeing. Will restore some youth, some joy, some energy.

So, I got sick.
Boo!

Seems to be a family thing going on. A curse upon our house, or something bad written in the heavens. A  curse upon us!

One sister had bleeding issues back at Thanksgiving and ended up with a hysterectomy in April.
She is doing much better these days -- even has energy to take walks for fun.

Another sister, more recently, fell and hurt her back. It has just come to light that she actually broke a bone in her back. She's still walking and stuff, although it's been painful for her -- but the broken bone isn't even the cause of her pain and discomfort!
She is, ever so slowly getting better.

Bronchitis, even the ever-lasting kind, looks like a walk in the park (for fun) after those experiences.

I'll get better, too.

After all, it's in the stars.

Little Guy's Handle on Handling

Our little guy has been slow to hold his own bottle. Here he is, eight months old (as good as) and trying to stand and walk on his own -- actually able to do both while holding on -- but not yet holding his own bottler. Doctor suggested getting him a sippy cup, which I did.

Some of this, I think, is from basic gender differences. Boys seem to learn gross motor skills before the fine ones. My children were both girls, and they did the holding on thing first and early, as far as I can remember. Hailey -- well, someone once gave her a pen or a crayon, and she hasn't put it down except to eat and sleep.
Now, I know that not all boys do it this way, and that some girls may very well ride a bicycle before they can feed themselves. I've been talking to experienced mothers and this is the conclusion I've reached.

Anyway.
Thanksgiving dinner at Tammy's house. (Yes, we shared the meal early. It's an ongoing difficult holiday for us this time around.)

We were waiting to eat, everybody moving around, doing things. I was playing with Warren, sitting him on the table and drinking from a can of pop. At one point, I out down the can of pop, and he made a beeline for that bright shiny can.
He got a hold on it.
And he picked it up, out it to his mouth and tilted it back!.

I called Tammy to come see, and she called the rest of the family, and they tried switching it out with the bottle. The bottle was a little heavier -- probably a lot heavier to the fifteen-pounder -- but he tried.
He really tried.

The best solution he could come up with was to anchor the bottle between his knees and put his mouth on the nipple. He didn't get much milk that way, but by golly, you sure could see the wheels turning behind his eyes.

He already knows how to go after someone -- he even goes down the hall in the trailer looking for his

mommy when she isn't in the room.

Yes, it's a big ol' world out here, Warren baby. It's a good thing to see you getting a handle on handling the "things" of this world.

Someday we may all learn how to handle the intangibles.

Until we do, we can usually find a baby to hug.

Smoother Sailing

Babies have gone home, heart-breakingly early, but for the best. Best for them, best for me, best for where we all are in this crazy life.

Supposed to be taking my ailing daughter to the hospital to apply for their financial assistance program so she can get her gall bladder out before it kills all of us. She hasn't wakened yet -- sleep is a  healer and a small cessation of pain.
Anybody wanna bet the first thing she says will be "Why didn't you get me up?"

I could, of course. Make her start hurting again, make her NOT have to take responsibility for her own needs, for her own health care.
I think not. She needs to learn independence, something that she has somehow failed to learn.
She also needs to make her own medical decisions, because that is the law of the land.

Did she not learn, or was she not taught? I've thought often about this and have no definitive answer. Not teaching would be my failure; not learning would be hers.
It doesn't matter, anyway. That's in the past, and we -- I -- must go on from here and keep trying to get those lessons across.

Not easy, with her daddy's nurturing helpful dispensing of the knowledge that "Your mom knows how to do that."
I learned by doing, as everyone must.

Dad has an appointment with his pulmonologist this week. We have questions about headaches and a tickle in his throat.
Anybody wanna bet I'll end up being the one who asks the doctor about these issues, because he won't speak up? (I'm going to try, if I must, just reminding Rex he wants to ask about these things.)

This issue annoys me because it makes me sound like a bossy managing dictator, and not in a good way.

Yes, I'm bossy. I'm the oldest of eight, and I know no one in that situation who isn't bossy. It's part of the job description of oldest child ( of a multitude.)

Yes, I'm managing. Someone has to take care of things.

A dictator? Possibly at times. Waffling on decisions has to stop somewhere; decisions need to be made.

But I only look like one of those militant fat-ass Battleship Broad!

That said, I have had some sleep and feel capable. I hope that I can remain so, even when the sailing once again gets rough. As it will.
As I well know it will.

I'll be ready.
I hope.

At least, for a while, I'll be rested.

Mammaws are Only Human, too (Even me)

Today, I feel like the worst Mammaw in the world.
Because the baby cried all night.
Because In  yelled at him.
Because I pushed  Hailey off him.

Because I am going to have to take them home early, and I never, ever want to take them home early. I wish they could stay, longer and longer. This is Hailey's last weekend/week to stay here as OUR  Hailey. Next week she meets the world; she'll be becoming a different child. (She starts school,)
I wanted this to be a long lovely time to enjoy with her.

But she's anxious about school, wants her mommy for every head-butting dispute, is weepy and whiny and singing the ABC song, incorrectly and incessantly.

The little guy is teething. Yes, young as he is. He has not one but two teeth just below hid gums and the pesty things won't come through. Poor little guy.  Mammaw can give him pain med -- not really a good idea -- and rub numb numb on his gums (very carefully) but all these things wear off way before they can be readministered.
He has chewed bigger holes in his nipples so now he drowns himself in milk and chokes. That is 4 nipples in about 36 hours.

Then there are the residents of my home. Rex is chronic, and Tracy is having a crisis. She's had intermittent gall bladder problems, and in this last week it's become constant. She went to the ER twice in the last ten days, but it's not quite bad enough for them to be able to help.

Took her to the doctor yesterday, kids in tow.
They were astonishingly good in the boring old waiting room for almost two hours. (Maybe that's why they had problems later on. They used up all their ability to be good.)

Anyway, Tracy is still in pain and trying to learn to deal with it, but in the meantime she wants cuddling and soothing that should be the babies' purview. (We all want our mommies when we're sick, even if they never really did anything for us. Such an odd facet of humanity.)

Anyway, the nine hundred bazillionth time I had to get up with Fussy Baby, in the wee small hours of the morn, I sat and cried with him in my arms.
When that didn't help, I put him in the playpen and I went outside on the porch to cry alone.

Baby Warren yelled at me, and I yelled at him. He can make quite an astonishing amount of sounds now.
It would have been funny if it wasn't so heartbreaking breaking.

I hope the little ones and their parents know if it were a necessity they could of course stay. That I would expect them to.
I hope they all know the little ones will always be welcome here and understand that some Times are just a little more difficult to live through.
I hope I hope I hope.

And still I feel like the worst Mammaw in the world because I am having such a hard time coping.

I feel so old and inadequate.

Crisis at Mammaw's house, I am ordering you to pass.
Mammaw just wants to be Mammaw again.

Food for Thinking

My new grandson is approaching the 4 month mark. He is also drooling, pushing the nipple around with his tongue, stuffing anything into his mouth, and seeming unsatisfied with just his milk.

In a less enlightened age, these would have been seen as signs that he's ready to try solids.
Nowadays, the doctors usually will not recommend feeding until six months of age, unless weight loss starts to 'trend' in the child. A calendar and a magic number are, of course, more rational guidelines than individual development. They are a better indicator than common sense that says if the baby is getting hungry, try feeding him.

I have an objection to the recommended feedings, too. Back in the dark ages, when I was growing up and helping with an endless stream of younger siblings, the first things we offered were fruits.
Now, historically, or maybe I mean evolutionarily, this makes sense. Humans started out as hunter-gatherers, and when our babies were ready to start solids, over ripe fruit was probably the softest thing available for gathering.. Thus, babies would start eating with fruits, and that practice remained at least to the 1970s.

Now, they want parents to start the infants on cereals -- grains. A food that, even at its purest, has to be ground and/or milled before it can be prepared for a toothless mostly sucking infant.
This just doesn't fit the needs of a hunter-gatherer society. Prepared foods would come a little later, logically.

Now, before someone tells me about the delicate process of sensitizing (or not) the baby's delicate digestive process, I'd like to offer a couple arguments.

1) gluten intolerance
2) celiac disease.

We didn't have these  runaway rampant allergy/digestive problems back in the days when we fed our infants by using common sense and instinctive traditions, did we?
Yes, there were some; proportionately, not as many.

Babies with delicate systems largely did not survive. It's good that we can now compensate, sometimes, for these problems, but maybe we should take a serious look at how they are started. Somewhere there should be alarm bells ringing that we are creating the problem by circumventing the evolutionary process.

Many people point at processed foods. Well, that well may be part of the problem, but is it the start of the problem? Maybe someone needs to investigate the possibilities that mothers have for eons been right and the scientists, in just a few decades, have created problems with their charts and calendars and thinking that "how it should be" is "how it is."

Those of us who have fed children out in the real world know that they don't live, grow, or thrive under laboratory conditions.
Ever.

Mourning this Morning

Today I look around my house and the many things I see bring a deep sense of mourning to me.

The baby's playpen, bought four years ago for Hailey, now in use again for another sweet baby. Will I see him again in there? Will I be around to see him stand and peep over its side and laugh at me? Will I hear him say "Mammaw, Mammaw"?

Hailey's doll house that I just bought for her, furnished, at a yard sale. Last time she was here, she played for hours sitting in front of the TV, but not even paying attention to the programming. Will I be around to enjoy her enjoying what Mammaw got her?

No, I'm not ill, and I have no current plans to do away with myself.
I don't want to do away with myself, just the mishmash disappointed and never ending duties duties duties my life has become.

I don't mind taking care of my chronically ill husband. But why in hell won't he do his part to take care of himself? He is NOT bedridden.
Is it my fault? Have I taken such good care of him that he no longer takes any responsibility for his own well-being? Have I put up with so much, too much, and has my caretaking crippled him more than his multiple illnesses? Have I solved so many problems and fought so many battles for him that he no longer feels any need to solve or fight?

Something has to change here, and I'm afraid that it will, once again, be me.
However, I will try.

For the sake of the beautiful babies that light up both our lives. They need the refuge that grandparents' homes  can be -- every child needs that.
They need grandparents -- a Pappaw as well as a Mammaw.
Mammaw needs Pappaw, too.

Will she ever have those things again?
Will she ever enjoy those things again?
Will anyone else cherish or change things?

What to do if the answer is "NO!"?

I wish I knew.

Sui-sides: My side

When I decide to die, it's not your fault. You are in no way responsible for my decision. It's MY decision.

When I choose to die, it won't be about you. I acknowledge that there will be a feeling that I didn't love you enough to live, and there will be a lot of wondering how could I do that to you. I say again, I can't say  often enough -- it's not about you.

I didn't love you enough?

First off, it is my great, great, overwhelming love for each and every one of you that has kept me going this long. Because I have loved you, I got up from my bed and cooked, and advised,  and even drove all over the countryside  because YOU NEEDED ME.
It is my love for you that keeps me trying.

My love for you has kept me going beyond all reason, beyond all sanity.

Sometimes, in the bad times, I resent that. I don't want held. I want free. Free to live my life  -- or NOT!

How could I do what, exactly, to you? End my life? Lay myself down to  a sleep where I won't have to go to the bathroom, or answer  the telephone, or do any of the many, many things that rob me of my rest, that steal peace from me?
How is that doing something to you? What makes you the star of my death?

I'm tired.
I'm sick.
I'm sick and tired.

I am also in pain. Mental, physical, emotional. Doesn't matter. I hurt.
I hurt, and you can't make that better, although  I know you want to.
I hurt, and healing is too hard. Another chore, another job, another effort.

It's not that you aren't worth  the effort -- you ARE.
It's just too hard, and it hurts too badly.

Finally.
I can't.
I just can't.

Not even you can make it worthwhile.

Give me rest.
Let me rest.

catching up

I've been busy this week. Like most weeks (or days, months, years)p, it's been a mixture of good and bad events, actions, and emotions
The bad concerns medicines -- prescriptions. Another time, I will post details about this battle. The writings I have done on the subject are more like rantings and I sound like a lunatic. Never mind that that's a good description -- I mean something different. But first we can't renew my husband's meds, and then it turns out I can't get mine, either. No one will say why. I don't have a problem with complying. Someone just needs to tell me exactly what I have to do to comply.

The good thing was being able to help my daughter. Supplied some of life's necessities while she is off work. I took her to the doctor. I took her to the store.I took her to the school to get Hailey enrolled in school. Hailey was mad when she wasn't allowed to stay at school.

Our new little man got to go for his first ride in Mammaw's red car. While we were in the store, I was pushing the cart and holding the baby. Tam came and rescued him from me, saying I couldn't do both. I had to laugh at her. I got him a bouncy seat that sometimes he likes and sometimes he doesn't.

Hailey came home with me from that day out, and immediately had me get out the calendar and show her when it would be library day and she could go home.
When she went home, she went all through her house and came running back to the front room crying. "My baby brudder is gone! He's gone!"Mommy and baby had gone out with a friend. It didn't bother her that Mommy was gone, but what heartbreak that baby brudder was missing!

Today I am again getting ready to go into battle, with doctor's offices ( foe me ) and government agencies ( for Rex ) and pharmacies and their assistants or techs. These people have been the most helpful to me in my quest, but they are powerless without orders.
Bolstered by Hailey hugs and baby brudders bounces, Mammaw is battle-ready again

Let us hope that this battle can be one, short of death.

Welcome Warren

It's been a while. I apologize. One of the many new distractions was the birth of my grandson Warren Daniel Ruhstaller. He was born March 29. He's a tiny little fellow, especially since his mommy had got to be so huge in the last few weeks before his birth We were expecting at least a seven pounder instead of barely making five-and--half.

He looks just like Hailey, his big sister, did. My daughter says that she had the same baby twice. Looking at the pictures, if Hailey's picture wasn't in a beautiful multi-colorred dress, it would be hard to tell which child was which.

Rex hasn't seen him yet. We're hoping to get that organized, but timing  hasn't yet worked.  The baby has had dr appointments and wellness checks, Tam is trying to organize some type of support for her family while she's off work,   But new baby's are always a bit of a fuss, and always precious.
Now, days begin to settle back to normality.

Until the thunderstorms start rolling in.