Stool Samples on New Year's Eve

When I worked in the music business in my past life, one of my favorite things to do with my co-workers and friends (Thanks, Danny and Todd) was to come up with our faux album titles – because we are all stars in Nashville just waiting for our shot – might as well have our titles ready to go.  It ranged from “Tacos in the Fellowship Hall” to “Getting Waxed at 2pm.”  I coined one of my son’s album titles tonight – “Stool Samples on New Year’s Eve.”

We’re in the hospital again.  He’s got wicked belly pain flaring back up, so they’ve got teams of wonderful doctors running more tests – from Gastrointestinal to Infectious Disease.  I started to get all broody about spending the end of our 2014 this way.  I could easily pitch a fit about the fact that we spent way too much of our Christmas season in a hospital.  But I won’t.  Am I sad? Yes.  Am I angry? Yes.  Am I going to let it ruin me? No.  I’m still learning the art of letting myself feel but not letting it suffocate me.  So much happened in 2014. So much cool, crazy, beautiful stuff.  And also some hard, painful, awakening stuff.  It's interesting how it's a metaphor with my son's belly issues. We've got to do a serious gut-check and clean out anything that doesn't belong so we can move forward with a clean start - you know, check your crap.

Here’s what happens when you hit a threshold of disappointments - you grow up.  I can’t have a celebration cocktail toast with my husband and cuddle with him at midnight.  He’s with Wendy at Vanderbilt Children’s collecting stool samples, and I’m at home with Wilnes and Woody trying to maintain normalcy and explain why brother is in the hospital again.  I had a dream that after our boys came home, life wouldn't be so hard and sad anymore.  But our sadness wasn't limited to 2013.  And thankfully our celebration is not limited to tonight.  The joy does not have to be reserved for this particular holiday. There is always an appointed and right time for everything (check out Ecclesiastes 3). And now is not our time to party.  Now is our time to feel the growing pains. It is time to let go of our plans and expectations, to feel both the hardship and beauty of parenthood, to sit with complicated unanswered questions, to lean into struggles and trust we are not alone.  And maybe next week (or next month), we’ll get a hot date night. 

So on this eve of 2015, while Todd is entertained by our boy’s magnesium-induced colon flush and I fold a third load of Christmas travels laundry, I am both grief-filled and grateful.  The grief reminds me I am no longer a young newly married woman to be whisked away for a night of dancing and fun to close out 2014.  I'm grieving the loss of independence.  And it’s okay to grieve what I miss.  At the same time, I am gratfeful for the opportunity to be someone’s mama.  I’m grateful to be stretched outside my comfort zone. I am grateful to be amid the hard lesson of releasing my plans and expectations.  I am grateful for the men in my life.  I am grateful I have a whole new year ahead to continue doing life with them and find another night to light sparklers, wear funny hats, and dance to Iggy Azalea.  I am grateful for answers currently being explored regarding our sweet boy's health. I am incredibly grateful for a completed family.

Friends, what are you both grieving and grateful for in 2014?  You are not alone.

Mom Confession Part 2 - "In Recovery"

I cannot describe the amount of guilt and shame I have felt the past week.  After my last post about my “doctor mom” inadequacies (click here for a refresher), it all spiraled – his health, my shame, and our sanity. 

I am writing from Vanderbilt Children’s Hospital where my son is sleeping peacefully beside me in his Santa hat.  He got out of surgery 3 hours ago. They found abscesses in his belly, so there are now tubes draining out some mean ol’ bacteria.  We don’t know what caused it right now.  We are here a few more days for further tests and to make sure all the bacteria is cleaned out.

For the last week I have been telling my sweet boy that “this is just a virus” and “it will all be over soon” and “just eat or drink something” and “it’s okay to fart and poop yourself.”  I even went as far as to say, “Buddy, they aren’t going to cut your belly open again.”  Shit. Why did I say that? I’ll tell you why – because I believed it. I believed it was just a virus and that he was okay, and I desperately wanted my kid to not be afraid of the trauma he had already endured in Haiti (if you didn’t know – he had an appendectomy in Haiti right before coming home – potentially the source of these abscesses).  But I lied.  I didn’t mean to, but I did. I spent the last week convincing him and myself that he had a stomach bug that was being exacerbated by his fear and trauma.  And to be fair, that happens sometimes. It’s possible.

So now that I’ve admitted my mistake, it's important to remind myself I’m still a good mom. I may have misunderstood and misdiagnosed.  But I never stopped loving, caring, and looking for answers.  There was a reason I felt so tired, stressed, frustrated and lacking that “nurturing” mom piece. I literally had no possible way to ease the pain he was feeling. And as a parent, that is brutal.  I listened to my son cry out in pain “why, Jesus, why” for hours on end. I had nothing left to try – doctor visits, liquids, oils, meds, walking, breathing, sleeping.  If it was an option, we tried it.  So of course I was spent.  He was spent.  We were powerless.  I’m stubborn anyway, but especially for thinking I can fix something – and on my own.  So on Wednesday when he looked up at me with his tearful tired eyes and said, “mom, are you mad to me?” I knew it was time to let go. I was trying too hard.  Of course I was mad - mad that I couldn’t help my son. I said, “Buddy, I am mad -  not at you, but at the sick in your belly. We are going to call more people and figure this out.”  And with another call and dr visit, a CT scan was ordered, and here we are. 

I am painfully limited. And so are you.  I am also enough.  And so are you.  God did not make us to have all the answers. We cannot do this alone.  So even though my shame spiraled, it does not have power over me.  It is teaching me humility and humanity. I am doing the best I can do as a mama, and I am learning from my mistakes. I can use the guilt and shame as an opportunity to beat myself up OR I can use it to notice how I might want to do things differently next time.  The latter option is so much more compassionate.  We are all going to poop our pants as a parent (again, see my previous post).  I am cleaning up my mess as we speak.  But the reality is that I did do my job as a parent.  I got him to the help he needed. I persisted.  I didn’t give up.  I found answers I didn’t have.  I would like to go back and un-tell my son they aren’t going to cut his belly open again.  I can’t.  But I can use this opportunity to ask his forgiveness and model human imperfection and grace – possibly one of the most important lessons we will ever teach. 

Someday Wendy and his brothers Woody and Wilnes will read this and hopefully know how much their mama cared and how hard she tried – even though she messed up a lot. 

And hopefully you read this knowing you are not alone in your parenting shame. Hang in there, friends.  Let yourself rest in recovery.

Mom Confession

I have been at home with a sick child for the past five days.  You might be thinking a lot of things – like “Oh, bless his heart” or “Oh, it must be good to have a mama caring for him.”  Here’s what you don’t say out loud – “Oh, I bet you are tired of waking up in the middle of the night and cuddling" or "I bet you are ready to start seeing clients again." And I don’t care to admit it either.  But I’m going to admit it.  For the sake of all other moms out there struggling to admit their shameful inadequacies, here goes nothing…

I’ve heard other moms talk about cuddling their sick child, making soup, rubbing feet.  I’m doing those things, but somehow it feels like I'm missing something.  I know it’s important.  Heck, when I think about being a sick kid I wanted those things. I want those things as an adult!  But as a human, I’m painfully limited.  I make soup with frustration that my kid is home from school another day and all my plans are shot to poo.  I cuddle with thoughts of “Dear Jesus, please don’t let his germs jump on me and brew a demon in my belly too.”  I rub his feet thinking, “Please make this end soon.”  Ugh – are you still reading?  Are you thinking what a terrible and selfish mom I must be?  Me too.  It’s embarrassing. I’m a therapist for crying out loud! I help people! I have compassion! I nurture!  AND I’M HUMAN.  So are you, dear sister.  So call a friend. Be honest. Tell her that all you want to do is punch something because the monster in your kid's tummy keeps waking him up in the middle of the night.  When I said this to my friend today she was thankful I was honest with her.  She said when she has tried to admit this vulnerability to other friends, “the blank stares were enough to send her running for cover.” Oh dear.  C’mon friends, let’s be in this together.  We are all wired differently. I may feel completely inadequate at the nursing part, but here’s what I can do… I just taught my kid to take deep breaths and talk to his belly. He’s so pent up with gas and is afraid to fart.  He said, “Mom, I might poop myself and break my underwear.”  Legit fear.  So here we go…deep breath in. Deep breath out.  Now tell your belly it’s okay to fart.  “C’mon belly, it’s safe to fart.  If you poop yourself it will be okay. We’ll clean up the mess.”

Y'all, it's not warm and fuzzy, but it's working.  And that’s the kind of mom I am.  I’m owning it.  So what if I’m following my kid around disinfecting him and everything else with OnGuard oil (this stuff is amazing for keeping his fever down and keeping the rest of us from getting sick too – click here for more info and message me if you need some!).  I'm the mom I've heard other moms talk about.  But I love him so big.   I'm a million kinds of blessed to have him and his brothers in my life and to be given the job of being their mama.  I’m doing a good job.  I’m enough.  So are you!  If we do this all wrong and poop ourselves it will be okay – we can clean up the mess.

 Sweet sick little Wendy pictured with his elf he named Jason Derulo.