The Queen's Rambles

The last several nights have been rough. I don’t know how Heather does the no sleep thing for nights on end. Except she has to because she’s a mom and that’s what moms do when their kids don’t sleep.

Elsa hasn’t been sleeping. She’s been very sick (not sick enough for a doctor, but sick enough to be up all night). I am trying to reign in the grouchy, but it’s difficult.

I felt so bad for the wee might last night. We finally went to bed around 2 am (she had a long evening nap and woke up around 10 pm), but suddenly her little body took over practicing a new skill and even though she was droopy eyed and obviously wanting to sleep her body wouldn’t let her. Over and over and over again she had to push up from her belly into a sitting position. I don’t even think she was awake for half of it.

Then, of course, there’s the coughing, the fever, the projectile vomit. Lovely!

Thanks to suggestions on FB I changed the flavor of her pain med/fever reducer and that helped a little. She hasn’t projectile vomited up the meds since then, which is nice. I wanted to get her a suppository instead but have been unable to locate such a beast.

I feel bad that the last few entries have featured Erik naughtiness. Honestly, he is not that naughty of a child. He is bright, engaged, curious, sweet and very helpful around the house. He is five, though, and five year olds don’t always have the best judgment. I only seem to write about him when he does something that drives me crazy, mainly because I have to get it out of my system. And how exciting would it be to read “he got dressed by himself! Again! Like he’s been doing for the past several months!” and so on.

His language development cracks me up. I guess I do speak in a more formal way than I realize since his speech is just a reflection of what he hears. My mom makes fun of him because he speaks like a little grown-up, but there’s nothing wrong with a polite, well-spoken child is there? The other day I let him lick the peppermint mousse bowl clean and he said “Thank you so much, mother, for the mousse. I really enjoyed it.” Doesn’t sound like much written down, but hearing it in his little five year old voice is a crack-up. His two biggest descriptors are things I say all the time “Isn’t that interesting? I find that quite curious!”

Of course, he sometimes hears things I wish I wouldn’t say. Yesterday he was watching a semi-scary movie (rated PG so not like Nightmare on Elm Street or anything) and I kept reminding him that it wasn’t real. He practically rolled his eyes at me “I know mom, it’s just a bunch of crap.”

Ok, so we’ll be hitting the word “fiction” pretty hard over the next few weeks.

He had his Christmas program yesterday and was so, so sad because Elsa wasn’t there. I wanted to dress him up, but he insisted on wearing his “Big Brother” t-shirt. He wanted Elsa to see him sing, but what with the projectile vomiting and all Mike came home and stayed with her while I went to the program. You have never seen a boy wish such a broken heart. I’m so thrilled he loves being a big brother and loves his little sister, but so sad that his day was ruined because she wasn’t there. He wouldn’t even sit on Santa’s lap because it wouldn’t have been fair for his sister to miss it.

I love that boy so much, yet he knows how to push every button I own and several that I’m just borrowing.

I fear I have created something of a monster with him. I look at him and think he’s the most handsome boy I’ve ever seen, so I often tell him he’s handsome. I have to stop. Seriously. He has an inflated head and even though he is handsome (says the biased mommy), he shouldn’t be telling everyone about it.

I remember reading that you shouldn’t comment on your child’s looks to your child because it could cause them to think looks are important, but I ignored that advice. I don’t ever remember my parents or anyone else telling me I was a pretty little girl. Doesn’t mean it never happened. I have very few memories of my early childhood. I just remember my mom trying to put me on diets on the time and telling me I had such a pretty face, if only I wasn’t so fat. I’ve been convinced I was the ugliest person alive since. . . oh. . . forever. I don’t want that for my kids, but perhaps I went overboard.

I guess I better go bathe this stinky baby and try not to stress about Christmas. There is just so! much! to! do! I guess it is mostly done, but when the hell am I going to organize the gifts and get them all wrapped? I am thinking Mike is going to have to take Erik away for several hours on Christmas Eve, but even then I’ll have Elsa to deal with. Oh woe, woe is me. The problems of a first world, middle class parent are endless, are they not?