At Justin and Maia's baby shower on Saturday, they had us sign a little guestbook where we could enlighten them with some parental advice, maybe an axiom or two. I wrote something stupid and glib in a weak attempt at humor, and now I realize that I missed an opportunity for trumpeting some real advice. I send this advice out to them and all future parents in the spirit of mental preparation. Here it is: Some of the worst moments of your life are on the way.
Last night, the ink wasn't even dry on yesterday's blog post and we were barely asleep when Abby woke up. Jen went to feed her while I made my half-assed offer to do it. ("Uh...snort..uhhhoh, hey, I'll get her, Jen, Jen Jen I'll get her, oh you're already up, okay......snore.") After a few minutes, Abby's crying increased sharply in urgency and unhappitude. In a rare moment of lucidity, I got up to help without Jen having to call in. Sometimes you just know when a spouse probably needs your help.
She must have soaked through the diaper, I thought. Or threw up, like last week. Or something solvable. Imagine my surprise when I went in the room and saw Jen holding her, bottle lying worthlessly on the carpet, Abby thrashing around, and Jen mouthing to me, "I have no idea what's wrong."
By this time, Abby was screeching. We went to the guest bedroom, laid her down, and proceeded to lie with her and try to calm her for the better part of an hour. She would double over in pain, then arch her back in pain, then she would somehow manage to do both at once, and the entire time her little tongue was all curled up with agony. We were at a loss. I checked to make sure she wasn't trying to pass a bocce ball out her anus, but that neighborhood seemed rather peaceful when I peeped down there.
We tried a few other things, but nothing worked. There was some talk about the possibility of an emergency room visit, and I was mentally working the logistics of it in my head while we laid there listening to her screaming. And this is where my advice becomes relevant: when you're lying next to your 16 month old kid who is obviously in some tortuous pain and when you have absolutely no recourse but to sit and watch, it brings about a feeling that I am powerless to capture in words. It is rather like somebody has captured your torso in a C-clamp and is twisting it slowly.
But these moments are finite, they always end, and when they do they end gloriously. I had considered almost right away the possibility that Abby might have been teething, but disregarded it because she was crying so ridiculously hard, so I assumed it had to be something worse than teething. Figuring it couldn't hurt, we jammed some Orajel in her mouth (after an enormous effort getting past those steel-trap lips of hers), and within about 30 seconds I could see the edge come off her.
It took a long time for her to wind back down, and this is where the second "glorious" part comes in. We spent about 45 minutes lying with her on the bed, just kinda staring at her while she quietly got used to her lack of pain. She moaned, but happily. We smiled. There was some serious quality time. This is the way it usually goes: terrible moments of soul-crushing empathy followed quickly by a soul-crushingly tender moment with the kid. So I don't mean my advice to be daunting or intimidating, but it's the truth: there are terrible times ahead. But there's almost always a happy ending just a fingerful of Orajel away.
Lily slept through it all. I love those kids.
Day one hundred and twenty seven.
Heart breaking!
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