Probably a decent product: The Smart Baby Sock.

After my son made his way out of his coma and ICU and out of the hospital…eventually…we were absolutely fearful to bring him home.

After all, we had gotten so used to a monitors and alarms and, well, basically being intubated to keep him breathing.

When you have a child that is high risk of dying and breathing and everything in between, and then you get to bring him home to live—you fear life as much as death.

And you don’t know how to watch your child and keep them alive.

You don’t know how to make them breathe.  You don’t know how to parent your child.  And you lose an awful lot of sleep.

You don’t sleep because you fear your child won’t make it through the night.  And then your child does—but that also means your opportunity for sleep is gone because now a new day has dawned.

My husband and I love God but lived in the reality that God gave us our baby and we were to use wisdom and discernment in watching this precious gift in our lives.

So, how did we manage to sleep in peace while making sure we were doing our best to monitor our baby through the night?

We bought a sleep apnea pad.

Yes.  It cost a fortune.  An absolute fortune.  And it was worth every penny.  The constant beeping (the sound we chose) allowed me to actually close my eyes and sleep at night, knowing that the beep was a good thing.  The alarm was a bad thing.

Well, unless you forgot to turn off the machine when you lifted your child out of bed.  Then the alarm was just an alarm.  Many chuckles came about from forgetfulness.

Whether this product is worth its weight in gold or not—I no longer have to live through to determine that.  My 3 are safely alive and breathing and past the devastating “stage” or risk of SIDS.  But if they weren’t, and I was raising Max all over again as an infant, I would most likely be the mom to invest in one of these.

Simply for a peaceful night of sleep.  Even as little as I might get.  Every minute is, well, just that.  At least a minute.

Here’s the link in case you want to check it out for yourself:

The smart baby sock

You know your husband has been away when…

So today I fed my son lunch.  He is the cutest thing.  But he ate his chips (of course) first and his blueberries next.  His strawberries and hot dog remained on his plate.  And then he did what any normal human would do—he asked for more chips (I mean, come on, we all love salty potato chips).

I said, “No.”

And then he started to cry.

Typical response of a toddler who has been told no.  So I was not worried.  Not only was it typical, it showed me that it was time for the little man to head to bed.  Nap time.  Obviously he had good food in front of him:  strawberries and hot dog (okay, the hot dog is questionable), and he didn’t eat.  Therefore, my mommy sense picked up that he was tired.

So I did what I would do any other day…I said, “Okay, Maxie…Nap time!”  He didn’t object.  I prepared his milk (coconut milk—the boy has a dairy allergy) and got him down to change his diaper before his nap.

That’s when the man of the house came along…”You want more chips, Max?  Okay.  Eat a couple hot dog bites and strawberries for daddy and I’ll give you more chips.”  Boy walks dad to the pantry and points to the chips.

Oh no!  Sinking ship—and fast!!!  Where are your water pails???  Because it became a tsunami of tears.

“Chips, Dadda!  Chips!”

“Eat 2 bites of hot dog for Dadda.  You are two.  One.  Two.  Eat two bites.”

“Chiiiiiiipppppppps, Dadda!”

Crocodile tears are now cascading down his cheeks.

“Maxie, do you want chips?  You have to eat your strawberries and two bites of hot dog for Dadda.”

“CHIPS!”  Waterworks galore.

At this point, my husband looks at me, “Should I give him chips?”

“Yes.  Give him chips.”  The toddler has won.

One.  Two.  Chips for the sobbing toddler.  Mommy packed up the hot dog and ate the strawberries herself.

“Moh (for more) chips, Dadda!” As I sweep him out of the bar stool and proceed to change his diaper.

Yes, you know that your husband has been away when you try and stick to the routine you have been doing on your own for the past month and in an instant there is another factor—the Daddy factor.  And all of what you have been doing gets flipped upside down and inside out.  And daddy gets suckered in.

But, you know, in the end, I would rather my son take my husband by the hand and lead him to the pantry and ask for more chips, while leaving a perfectly good uneaten lunch on his plate.

Why?  You may wonder.

Because that means daddy is home to ask.  And there is nothing more grand than that.

Except, perhaps, chips…

 

It takes a village. Now would someone please help me clean up the pee?

I admit it.

I need help.  Lots of it.

It takes a village, and I am living proof of that.

Even today, I, mother of ONLY 3, got breakfast eggs from my sister when she came to pick up my daughter for school.

Have I mentioned that my sister has FOUR children?  So, let’s do the math.  Sister + 4 kids = 1 more than me.

Yet…

She somehow got 4 kids dressed, lunches packed, and out the door…Made eggs and picked up my daughter.

I got one daughter dressed, fed, and ready to be picked up.

ONE.

The other two in my posse of 3…two poopy diapers changed, one baby nursed, and one toddler stuck in a high chair watching Sesame Street.  Oh, glorious Sesame Street—how I love you!

It takes a village, and I am living proof of that.

Last night, at my daughter’s softball game, I had one amazing friend take my infant.  One nephew babysat my toddler, my brother worked with my daughter on her hitting stance, all the while, I sat (or jumped and screamed), keeping score during my daughter’s softball game.  Boy, it was an exciting game for 5-9-year-olds!  Although, I must admit, the other coach took the game a little too seriously.  After all, we cheered at the last double out of the evening—and it was against us.  But it was so exciting!  I think the other uber-competitive coach thought we were all crazy.  Maybe we are.  But at least we had fun!

It takes a village…and I am living proof of that.

Today my mom is going to go shopping with me while I pick up some stuff I want to bring back to Poland with me.  Like a collapsible wagon.  I have birthday money for it.  Glorious birthday money.

Oh, yeah.  I finally turned the big 3-8.  It’s official.  (happened a couple weeks ago, but I’m too tired to keep track)

And then I did it.  I ventured out on my own and did something big.  I’m talking huge!  I bathed two babies after breakfast, simultaneously.  And it was fun.  No village needed, SuperMommy came flying through.

Baby one—out of the bath, while toddler one still got to splash around in the sinking water.

Wee.  All of this is fun.  It must be my sister’s breakfast eggs giving me super strength.

Infant one is finally lotioned, powdered, diapered and dressed.  Toddler is still happily splashing.

I can do it…I can do it…I am doing it!

Toddler out of the bath, towel wrapped around him, it’s actually like a towel dress.  I have grabbed infant and we are now heading in the direction of his (toddler’s) room.  He runs ahead of me.

The entire house is tile.

And when we (me and infant) finally catch him, I see him, squatting on the floor.

Happily splashing.

“Wee, wee, wee!” are literally the words coming out of his mouth followed by, “Splash, splash, splash!”

“MAXWELL!  Did you go pee-pee?”  Why did I bother to ask?  I know the answer.

“Pee-pee!”

Splash, splash, splash!

Yep…It takes a village to raise my family.  I will be the first to admit it.  But I am pretty sure that even in my village, when it comes to toddler’s random pee spot on the floor, it takes the momma to clean the mess.

After all, the village is busy doing everything else.

Life.  As I know it.