Coxsackie Virus: Or My Descent Into Hell

It all started on a Monday. We received an innocuous looking slip of pink paper from Luke's daycare:

"Please note that a case of coxsackie virus has been reported in your child's classroom. Please take appropriate precautions." 

Naturally, I wadded that bad boy up and tossed it in the trash with the rest of my junk mail. We get these notices a lot this time of year. Big deal! Kids get sick. What am I gonna do? Quarantine my kids because some other kid has the sniffles? 

Stop right there. You can clearly see from my dismissive stance that I had no f'ing clue what coxsackie virus is. I thought it was some sore throat thing. No big deal. First rule of war: know your enemy. I was already on the losing side. 

Anyway, we continued with our hectic schedules. With 4 kids in the family ain't nobody got time to worry about some crazy little virus! We were soon forced to slow down when Luke developed a fever and sore throat. Now, my husband and I have 4 kids ages 9, 6, 2, and 6 months. We are past the point of running to the pediatrician for every fever. We got the fever and sore throat protocol down pat. No biggie. I still didn't connect any of this to that little slip of pink paper.

Welp, one by one this bug circulated through the family. First 2 year old Luke, then Logan and then big sister Sarah. I prayed that somehow I'd get lucky this time and avoid catching what the kids have. I washed my hands diligently, I popped some pills preventively, but in the back of my mind I knew I would not make it. I never do. If my kids get sick, I eventually get sick too. Sometimes I just embrace the inevitable and let the sickness take me like an antelope that knows it can't outrun the lion. Just kill me and be done with it! 

And if I get sick, my husband gets 20 thousand times sicker! He claims that the virus mutates into a much stronger version once it gets to him making him much sicker than the rest of us....yeah, no. 

Like a thief in the night I felt the symptoms begin to creep up. Was that a tickle in the back of my throat? Was my forehead a little warm? Sweet baby Jesus, why!? I must have picked up my kids' flu. Pretty soon I was calling my mom on the phone at 8:00 a.m. insisting that I was dying and that she needed to come now before it was too late. It was a Wednesday and the kids who weren't sick (in this case Logan) needed to get to school. I was officially useless. My daughters looked to me for love and comfort. You are on your own kids I rasped with only my bloodshot eyes peeking out of the blanket. Go find my mother. She's our only hope now. 

I could see Sarah shaking her head at me. Slowly. As if in disbelief. I know what you're thinking kid. This wasn't my proudest moment as a parent. 

With a little bit of love, grandma's soup and some penicillin both of our fevers broke later that day. Sarah was fine the very next day and I thought I was on the mend too until....the itching started. 

It begins quite innocuously. A few red bumps on your hand. They kind of itch. You think, hey no big deal, must be a bit of a rash left over from the virus. But then the bumps start spreading. By evening, both hands are covered in red itchy welts. No biggie! You think to yourself, clearly in denial. Nothing a little Benadryl can't fix. Pretty soon though your kids are like "ew mommy what's happening to your face?" And you look in the mirror and realize that your nose looks like it's about to rot off on account of all the sores. What the hell was this illness? All the kids had was a fever. No one got this crap!

Flash forward and I am sitting in the local urgent care wearing a hijab because I am literally covered in sores head to foot. I brought along my 6 month old Stella too because she was feeling a bit warm. I know what you are thinking, "awe poor baby!" Screw the baby people! She's fine all the kids were fine! I'm the only a-hole in the family who erupted like Mount Vesuvius. I'm like the elephant man confined to my house. I'm being fed through a slot in my bedroom door because no one wants to come near me!

Anyway, the doc at the urgent care took one look at me and said, "Ew. I know what you got." By that point I was ready to submit myself to an episode of Medical Mysteries. I must have some exotic ailment like flesh eating bacteria! "It's coxsackie," he said dismissively. "Nothing you can do about it. Just has to run its course. Your co-pay is $20 dollars. Thanks." 

And that's our family's first experience with coxsackie virus. 

P.S. Note that in end we all actually had some form of the coxsackie virus. That is what caused the fever and sore throat.

P.P.S. Really lucky bastards like me also develop nasty sores on their hands, feet, mouth and other areas like the scalp and face. Fun times I tell you. 

P.P.P.S. How come all my kids just got a sore throat and I get the same illness and my nose basically rots off? It just ain't right. 

So tell me, has your family ever dealt with this dreaded virus? 

Pregnancy: I'm Doing It Wrong

As many of you may know, I had my fourth (and FINAL) child in April. What you may not know is that I am terrible at being pregnant. Now, this may sound like an odd thing coming from a woman who has been knocked up 4 times, but it is the truth. If there was an Olympic category for "worst pregnant person ever", I'd be bringing home the gold!

Some women just exude pure joy when they are pregnant.  Little birdies chirp around them. Angels sing when they enter a room with their glowing skin and perfect little bumps. They say things like, "I am just soaking in every moment of this pregnancy" while sipping organic juice and eating a healthy salad topped with grilled chicken. They talk about taking prenatal yoga classes and lovingly chart each milestone and prenatal appointment on a special keepsake calendar. 

I stomp around with a permanent bitch face slapped on. I get horrible morning, noon, and night sickness that lasts well into the second trimester. I eat hot dogs and cold cuts and sometimes cold cuts on top of hot dogs sprinkled with freaking soft cheese. The only exercise I do is throwing up. Occasionally I may rise from the sofa to hand my kids some money so they can run to the ice-cream truck and bring ME back a King Cone. I gain at minimum 50 pounds each pregnancy. On a small framed woman, 50 pounds is a whole lotta pounds let me tell you. There ain't too many places for that weight to go, so it goes EVERYWHERE. I get heartburn so bad I walk around with a Maalox mustache from guzzling the stuff. Speaking of mustaches. My pregnancy hormones get so out of whack, that I could compete for the role of bearded lady in my very own freak show. I become so forgetful that my doctors have to call ME to remind me that I do in fact need prenatal care. It's unreal how bad I am at gestating human life!

Well, every pregnancy, I have what I call a "come to Jesus moment." It is a moment in time where I realize that I am seriously done being pregnant and cannot imagine waking up even one more day looking and feeling like I've swallowed a basketball, a football, and a dang soccer ball. About 25 weeks into my last pregnancy, I had my come to Jesus moment.  Picture this: I am standing in my kitchen angrily slapping together a sandwich when my youngest runs in screaming about something or another. All toddlers sound like drunk people when they talk, so I really couldn't understand what he was saying.  Bending down to hear him better, I hear a loud "RIPPPP!!" In confusion, I quickly stood back up in search of the noise. Looking down at myself, I realized what had caused the sound.

I had split my pajama pants wide open. My pajama pants. Pants that are supposed to be stretchy and loose. Pants that had failed me. Apparently sensing the fragility of the situation, my son fled the room.

As I stood in my kitchen, suddenly nude from the waist down, all sorts of irrational thoughts flooded my head like, "could I sue the manufacturer of these pajamas for intentional infliction of emotional distress?" and "the youngest child witnessed everything - he will just have to go." Letting out a wail of pure horror I fell to my knees and gathered the tattered remains of my beloved Victoria Secret pajama pants in my hands.

Never again, I whispered, my fist clenched in the air. Never again. My husband Lou, alerted to the commotion by my toddler's drunken babbling, chose that moment to unwisely enter the kitchen to investigate. 

Any way, that's how Lou was scheduled for a vasectomy 6 months later. I wasn't kidding when I said never again. What was your "come to Jesus moment"?

Fakebook

If all you ever knew about someone was based on their social media presence you might be tempted to believe that everyone lives a pretty charmed life. No strife, no struggle, no need to change their underpants 'cause clearly their shit don't stink.

You'd also be wrong, wrong, wrong. Social networking sites like Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Pinterest are the equivalent of a perpetual first date: your legs are always shaved, your outfit's always tight, you're on your best behavior. You say all sorts of things people would never actually say in real life like "Look at my zillion carrot diamond ring!" or "just feeling sexy today!" Who talks like this? We do.  When we're on Facebook! 

There are actually people out there who become depressed when viewing other's pages because it seems to them that everyone else's life is so much better! See this article written about this phenomenon.

It's human nature, I suppose. We've probably all contributed to the myth that is our lives on social media. One thing that I try to remain aware of is that we never really know what goes on behind someone else's closed doors. You don't know what people are struggling with behind the posed stances and brilliant smiles. 

The same person who just posted a seemingly idyllic pic of themselves and their significant other wind-surfing in the South Pacific may have been arguing viciously with that person moments before the shutter clicked. 

That pic of a gourmet home cooked meal? The kids probably refused to eat it that night. They had chicken nuggets instead.

Those adorable pics of young siblings with their arms around one another? Their mom probably had to threaten them with extinction and then bribe them with candy to get them to sit still long enough to take the pic! It probably also took at least 104 crappy pics to get the one Facebook worthy shot.

Cute puppy dog pics? That little ball of fuzz probably crapped on the carpet later that day. 

Social networking sites provide a moment frozen in time without any context whatsoever. Those of us on the outside looking in might be thinking "gee, that person has the perfect life!" 

Nope! 

Nobody does. So, wish your friends well, but know that no one leads a perfect life. We wouldn't be human if we didn't experience the full compliment of existence: joy and struggle. Facebook is just particularly good at highlighting only the joyful parts. 

Dumpster Diving

I have a confession to make. A dirty little secret, if you will. It is really quite embarrassing, so this is going to be difficult for me:

I am a dumpster diver. 

There, I said it! My name is Surviving Mamahood and I am a dumpster diver. I am sure you're wondering "how did this happen?" Well, let me 'esplain. First, do me a favor and put down whatever it is that you are eating.  My apologies in advance. Thank you.

It all started on a rainy Spring afternoon. My then 7 year old daughter, who is a Girl Scout, had been collecting orders for the annual Cookie Sale. For those of you not familiar, each girl gets a super long order form to track their sales. You can also track on-line but that can be a pain in the ass, so most folks use these forms to write down the names of the customers as well as the type and number of boxes ordered.

Now let me be absolutely honest with you. When I say that my daughter was selling cookies, I really mean that my husband and I were selling cookies. Warning to any adults foolish enough to get mixed up in this cookie business: you will be the one stuck pimping out cookies. Because we are naturally competitive when it comes to selling we enlisted the help of family members to sell even more cookies! We were building an unstoppable cookie empire, ya'll! Before we knew it, we had collected literally hundreds of orders - all neatly documented on the cookie order form.

On that rainy afternoon, this sacred document was left behind at the local diner. To protect the innocent (me), I am not going to talk about how this form got left behind at the diner.  Suffice it to say that mistakes were made and yada, yada, yada. No, we did not keep a copy of the form as a back-up.

Anyway, as soon as we realized that the form had been left behind, we raced to the diner hoping that they had set the form aside for us. Surely they would have realized that this precious document was not junk?! Tough luck for us. The form was no where to be found. The kind waitress explained that the trash from that meal service had already been taken out back and put in the ... DUMPSTER. My husband and I locked eyes in horror. I am sure he was thinking "Gee that sucks, oh well we tried, right?" Me, being the super psycho control freak that I am thought, "I wonder if they would let us hop in the dumpster and have a look around?"

I am going to pause here for a second. I feel like I need to explain myself. Clearly, the normal adult reaction to such a thing would be to think, you know, this really sucks, but what can you do?  I'm not gonna get in a dumpster for a lousy piece of paper?  Am I right?  Bueller? Bueller?  The truth is that I am not normal, people.  I am a fixer by nature.  I don't take no for an answer and truly believe that with a little bit of hamburger elbow grease, any problem can be solved. I also routinely suffer from Hot Mess Syndrome. My brain was telling me that we had to get in the dumpster and try to find that order form.  My nose was telling me that I was going to be very sorry if I did. I should have listened to my nose.

My husband made the first valiant attempt at my urging.  He returned home in five minutes, no form in hand, with a completely disgusted look on his face.  "I lifted the lid of the dumpster and it was nasty.  I tried pushing a few bags over, but I didn't see anything.  I'm not going back there. That form is gone, babe."

Cut to me pulling into the parking lot of the diner armed with rubber gloves, my own garbage bag, a flash light (it was dusk now) and one of those flimsy face masks.  I tiptoed to where the dumpsters were located and used an empty can to stand up on so that I could peer into the dumpster.  I am 5'1 and this dumpster was big.  I couldn't really see over the edge, so I made the fateful decision to climb on in.

This was a diner dumpster.  Therefore its contents were an amalgamation of every type of diner food and artifact that you can imagine. I was adrift in a sea of half-eaten hamburgers, cooking lard, and vegetable peelings.  I stayed in this dumpster for nearly 25 minutes rooting through the trash bags like the world's saddest and largest raccoon.  At some point during those minutes, it began to drizzle. I stared up at the moon from inside that dumpster and imagined myself a tragic hero. Wouldn't everyone be surprised when I returned home victorious!  And you know what?  I didn't find the form. I had to drive home naked, shoe-less, stinky, and empty-handed.

After my husband hosed me off on our front porch, I went to bed that night feeling rather defeated and mortified.  I had climbed in a dumpster! For a stupid form! Anyway, we were ultimately able to fairly easily re-create the list, which again, adds to my mortification, but hey, it's a pretty decent war story!

What nonsense have you had to do in the name of helping your kids?

Boob Wars

Raise your hand if you clicked on my post expecting to see actual boobs! Gotcha! No boob pics today readers. OK, OK, here is a boob pic. Now that we got that out of the way, let's turn our attention to the true topic of today's post:  mama drama around breastfeeding.

Yes, I am an advocate of breastfeeding. I have breastfed all three of my children. My youngest is 14 months old and I still breastfeed him in the evenings.  Yes, I am an advocate of extended breastfeeding.  I don't think it is creepy or wrong to breastfeed a toddler. Most importantly, though, I am an advocate of feeding your child with love.  Period. I don't think that formula is toxic or bad and I don't think that mamas should be shamed into believing that they have somehow failed if they couldn't breastfeed (for whatever reason or no reason at all).  Is breast best? I think there is a general consensus among medical science, including the formula companies, that it is (assuming you are healthy of course), so you don't need me to go through all of that here. HOWEVER, newsflash: formula is not the devil! I have supplemented with formula in the past and did not feel guilty about doing so. Again, a baby fed with love is a happy baby.

There are some women who don't have a desire to breastfeed, so they happily use formula from the get go. There are other women who simply cannot breastfeed due to a medical condition or incompatible medication. At the end of the day, you have to do what is right for you and your baby. To these women I say, more power to you mama! There are other women who want so much to breastfeed, but simply cannot make it work.  They often feel guilt and terrible sadness over not being able to breastfeed.  My heart absolutely breaks for them. To these women I say this: 

Your bodies have not failed you. You have not failed your child.  

The truth is that you're operating at a disadvantage here. You have not been equipped with the tools to make breastfeeding work. You have not been given appropriate maternity leave to solidly establish your milk supply. You have been denied time and a clean place to pump. Your hospital or other healthcare provider might have insisted that your baby receive formula right away (despite any legitimate need for it). You might be the first women in your family in several generations to breastfeed. Your families and significant others may not have understood or supported your decision to breastfeed. Your breasts have been so sexualized by society, that the slightest glimpse of your flesh in public while nursing a child results in looks of disgust and outright hostility.  

These things are not your fault mama.

We need to do a better job of providing women with the resources and education that they need to make the breastfeeding relationship work. I highly recommend visiting a Lactation Consultant right away to talk about what a proper latch looks like and how to address any issues that might arise. As a start, here are some great resources that I have used: La Leche League, Kelly Mom, International Lactation Consultant Association. In a nation where two income households are the norm, workplace policies should provide accommodation to nursing moms (a clean, secure place to pump is a must).  For optimal success, everyone in that mama's support system needs to be on that boobie train cheering her on!

Above all else, though, let's be about supporting each other - not bashing each other's basic parenting decisions. Whether you formula feed or breastfeed, we are all in this together as mamas and that should be enough common ground to push us past all the petty bickering and grandstanding that usually accompanies this type of discussion. After all, there would be no "mommy wars" if moms didn't want to fight. 

Our Sacred Doody As Parents

As parents we are entrusted with raising our babies up to be good people and productive citizens. From potty training to job training - it's all a little daunting. In fact, if you really stopped to think about it, the enormity of that responsibility might overwhelm you.  Fear not, though! The chances of your sweet little Teddy pulling a Bundy on you are slim!

My philosophy has always been, if I can keep 'em alive long enough to make it to adulthood AND they don't experience an overwhelming urge to eat other people once they get there - I WIN! It was all worth it. Some of you might be thinking "Well, geez, that's not aiming very high is it? Don't you want your kids to be successful. Aren't you a lawyer yourself?" Yes! And I am a little bat shit crazy as a result of it! Sometimes I wonder: was I always crazy and practicing law has made things worse, or has the practice of law made me crazy?  (The people who know me, better not answer that).

I want my kids to be happy above all else. Don't get me wrong. I want them to succeed. I just don't think making big bucks is the only indicator of success.  I want them to pick a profession that will never feel like work to them. We spend far too much time in our places of business to be miserable. Luckily, my kids are still a long ways off from having to prepare resumes.  Top job contenders currently include pirate and ice cream taste tester.  As it should be.

I have to say, though, that my kids currently have a more active and fulfilling social life than I do.  I'm ok with that.  What I try to be weary of is over-scheduling them to the point where things are no longer fun.  If you are five and feel like your part-time job is to attend birthday parties, soccer practice, dance class, art class, etc., - something is wrong.  Whatever happened to playing outside?

What I like to do on a nice day is kick my kids outside of the house to play in the yard.  Once they are out there, I lock the screen door so they can't get back in. Yes, I said it. Of course, I stay within ear shot in case one of the little buggers bangs on the door (time to install a doggie door?).  It's a little old-school, but they're kids!  They need to run around outside and do kid things!  Like build a fort or dare each other to eat worms or something.  And for the love of God - have them turn off the (iPAD mini/Nook/Kindle/DS/Tablet) electronics.  

If you've managed to raise half-way normal people, my hat's off to you! Congrats! Now here's a pen and paper. Write down instruction for me showing exactly what you did.

Surviving Mamahood's Intro to Newborn: 101

I am re-posting my Intro to Newborn: 101 Guide here on my main blog.  I was lucky enough to guest post this topic on the The Martini Chronicles. Please check out The Professional Diva on her blog!

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Over the last few years I have had the pleasure of witnessing some very good friends enter the mamahood for the very first time.  My youngest is now entering toddler-hood, but I can still recall his newborn stage quite vividly.  The truth is that this baby phase can be difficult to navigate whether you are a newbie mama or an old pro.

Granted, some babies are easier than others and no one's experiences are ever the same.  That said, there are some fairly universal truths about newborns that I think should be shared.  In that spirit, I present to you: Surviving Mamahood's Intro to Newborn: 101

(1) Your newborn is equipped with a particular set of skills. Those skills include, crying, eating, pooping, and sleeping. These may not seem like much, but newborns are natural multi-taskers. They can easily transition from one skill to another while sometimes demonstrating two or more skills at once! For example, pooping can be combined with eating, crying, and sleeping!  Who says babies are boring?!

(2) Did I mention that newborns like to poop?  It cannot be overstated enough:  newborns. poop. lots.  In the beginning they go pretty much every time they eat, which is very frequently.  So, steel yourself mentally and dress appropriately for diaper changes.  A rain coast and eye protection are a must.

(3) Babies are like honey badgers. They don't give a f*ck.  The truth is that babies aren't supposed to care whether you are tired, hungry, disheveled, or unwashed. If you find yourself groggily trying to reason with your newborn at 3:00 a.m., using phrases like "But mommy has to work in the morning" or "I'll pay you for one more hour of sleep" - know that your precious baby does not accept AMEX. See number 1 above for the complete list of newborn concerns. Take heart as this stage doesn't last forever.  Eventually they will be able to clearly tell you that they don't care - which is a step up from crying all the time!  

(4) Human babies are amongst the most defenseless in the animal kingdom - unless they get ahold of a lock of your hair. With your hair firmly grasped within their tiny baby claws, they transform into Kung-Fu-Master-Jedi-Knights with the power to rip your scalp clear off your head. Therefore, wear a hair net whenever possible. Even better just go ahead and shave your head. 

(5) Infant poop is a master of misdirection. It can appear at a moment's notice or with no notice at all! Just opening a diaper thinking that you're changing a number 1? Surprise! It's number 2. Just cleaning up after an epic number 2? Too slow! Here comes the encore. Felt sure that the baby must have done a poop, but upon opening the diaper, you realize that the poop is gone? Look down. There it is on the floor! Never underestimate your opponent, folks. 

(6) Older babies completely lack the basic instinct of self-preservation. They are naturally fearless creatures who will not hesitate to roll themselves off any available high surface. They really can't help it. Install some carpets around typical landing zones - bed, next to sofa, changing table, etc. Disclaimer: of course the best prevention is keeping a close eye on the little bugger so they don't actually perform this particular magic trick.  I speak from experience here (ok, ok, maybe three or four experiences - tops). 

(7) Babies are natural connoisseurs. Their palates are quite sophisticated and like the evil chef in Ratatouille, they will not hesitate to slap an unsatisfactory spoonful of banana-barely-quinoa purée out of your shaking hands. Don't take it personally mama. View it as encouragement.  Your baby is just testing you to prove how strong you are!

(8) Your newborn is very much like an under-achieving college kid: she sleeps during the day so she has enough energy to party like a rock-star at night! This too is entirely normal and will pass as she begins to fall into a more predictable sleep pattern.  In the meantime, catch those zzzzz's while you can.  If sleeping during the day is not possible for you, I got one word for you: coffee.

Above all, though, remember that your newborn won't be new forever!  Soon, those cranky frowny faces will give way to smiles, coos, and giggles. Sleepless nights will get less sleepless (maybe not entirely restful, but better) and feedings more predictable.  So to those of you in the newborn trenches: hang in there baby!  The best is yet to come.

Did I miss any universal truths about newborns? Let me know in the comments.