Without fail, right when I feel like I'm in over my head and I am ready to throw in the towel, the wind shifts and suddenly it all gets a bit easier. Or I get the patience to handle it all. Not sure which, but I am so thankful to be out of the storm and into calm water again. We almost have a healthy household again, me being on the last leg of my cold. I had my first mommy-of-three freak out and I really didn't think I was going to make it through. Gavin was sneezing snot rockets every three seconds, Fiona was struggling to eat and her congestion was making her eyes stream rivers of tears, Breiden was running a fever, achy and crabby and I was feeling the same as B. And it doesn't seem to matter how much help I get, when the kids are sick, they only want me. My perfectly healthy husband was ready and willing but no, they wanted to climb and whine all over sick mommy. And all mommy wanted was 24 hours to relax and recuperate so my head cold would go away. Well, with the help of lots of fresh garlic and numerous steamy showers, I'm just left with a sore nose and three kids that are in much better moods ( and some pretty kickin' garlic breath).
We had a nice weekend with my dad in town, its a shame we were sick the whole time he was here, but still great to see him. He was a great help with the kids, letting me have a night out with some girl friends and watched the boys while Charlie and I took Fiona to her doctor appointments, the first time in a couple of weeks we went together.Such a great grandpa and its always hard to say goodbye.
Its a lot easier to tolerate the terrible two's whining without my head pounding. There has been a lot less clenching of the teeth in the last couple days, and a lot more laughter at the crazy adorable things that come out of my two year olds mouths. They have been bossing each other around lately. Today, I asked Breiden where he was, and Gavin demanded him to "Come here, Bray-en!" And when I say demanded, he screamed it like he meant business, stomping his foot down and pointing to the ground. Gavin trys so hard to have full conversations, and the Italian in him comes out, hands going as fast as the mumbled syllables that tumble off his tongue. I usually only can catch the last word of his conversation and 90 percent of the time its "trains". Breiden has become quiet inquisitive, always asking "How works?" and "Who's that?". He also learned how to answer, "I don't know" when I ask him questions, probably because that is my response to the majority of his questions.
It had been awhile since we had been to Fiona's local cardiologist, who's weight is the only one we take seriously because its the only consistent scale she is weighed on. She's 8lbs 14oz, a slight improvement from four weeks ago's 8lbs 9oz. She only gained 5oz when she should have gained 28. But at least she's still gaining. We head back up to the children's hospital this coming Monday for another GI evaluation and unless she drastically packs on some weight between now and then, I don't have high hopes for avoiding the feeding tube. Its heartbreaking and frustrating watching her struggle and refuse to eat. And strangers don't realize the panic they inflict when they point out how small she is for three months and that she wasn't preemie. Shes still the size of most newborns. But as much as I want her to grow for her health, I'm cherishing the extra time with a little one, because I look at my boys and I know this time when they're small doesn't last for long. I blinked, and the pregnancy was over and one day I am going to blink and all of this is going to be behind us and she will be running circles around our kitchen, chasing her brothers. That's my prayer.