Momma Bear

So last week Junor got sick.  Actually, last week Junior was getting over his first ever tiny baby cold, and it had been a mild little sinus thing, leaving him a bit stuffy,  but still his usual smiley, easy-going self.    Having just been to see the doctor for his 6 month check up, we were starting to add in a second helping of baby oatmeal and/or veggie puree to his days, and so when he started vomiting occassionally early in the week, we thought we were just pushing the solids too fast and cut back to one meal a day again.

Um no.

By Wednesday crazy amounts of crazier smelling substances were erupting out of both ends of my child with no explanation and no sign of letting up. Visits to the doctor ensued (that’s right, multiple visits.)  He just kind of kept getting sicker.  More pukey, more poo-y, more inconsolable.

Saturday night I think he slept maybe 2 hours total, in 15-20 minute intervals, and only if I was holding him – I slept not a wink over the weekend.  He would get slightly better, just enough to offer hope, during daylight hours, but return to his very sicky self as the sun went down (isn’t that always the way it is with the sick kiddos?)  Sunday night there was a projectile vomiting incident all over the kitchen, and cleaning up the aftermath seems to have scarred The Hub deeply. (Better thicken that skin, dear.)

By Tuesday, I began to see signs of my sweetie baby boy coming back out of the sick kid whimpering in my arms.  Wednesday he returned to school, where he had an ok day, albeit he was a little Dr Jekell and Baby Hyde – happy one minute, whimpering and whining the next.  Extra attention and extra cling time to people he wants are still very much called for.  But he is eating normal-sized bottles and smiling and playing, although his schedule is totally messed up and he is feeding around the clock every 3 hours ala Newborn Cooper (but when he was “Newborn Cooper”, I was “Maternity Leave Mom” and could catch little sleeps in the day when he did.  Now I am “Walking Zombie Mom” hoping he will start to stretch out his night sleep times again soon.  I think he has a lot of calorie intake to catch up on.)

Poor, poor baby – it was awful.  I remembered feeling helpless when he was little and his reflux was just beginning to be treated, and he would scream and cry and writhe after meals.

This was worse.  I was beside myself.  I was in the trenches fighting this illness for him, I didn’t even notice if I was tired, I was just worried.  Out of my mind worried.  And so sick that he was hurting and miserable and clinging to me for help and I felt like I had so very little to offer.

So tiny and so hurty.  😦

By Saturday I was railing at God – FURIOUS that my child was suffering and lashing out at Him, begging Him for help,  angry that it had gone this far to begin with, and constantly thinking of all of the babies and the children who are suffering much worse trials.  I am sorry, but watching a child be ill can be a faith shaker.

I was also BEYOND ready to come at anyone I perceived as threatening the little “please get well, Jr” bubble I was creating for him.  A survey taker in the King Soopers parking lot got a “Get back from us – my baby is sick! NO!” as I went to grab supplies.  A doctor who came in to consult at one of Coop’s appointments and had the gall to ask me “What is the matter, mom?  You look about to cry.”  got such an earful from me that my occasionally shy little self could not believe I could articulate thoughts so well when I was so mad. (I remember having a moment like that when discussing a treatment plan for Potter when he was sick once – so I guess it is my momma bear protective instinct that brings out the fighter in me.)

And I held his little self as they drew blood from his itty bitty arm, and I walked the floors of the Tree House cradling him in my arms all night while he alternately snoozed and screamed, and at one point in the wee small hours (no pun intended) of the morning on Monday, I realized I hadn’t been to the bathroom in around 12 hours.  And I didn’t really care.

Slowly I saw signs that things were getting a little better.  The first full barf-free day, ( huge reason for celebration,) allowing himself to be placed in a swing, and then even in his crib to sleep.   Then on Tuesday evening he was smiling and smiling at everything, like smiles had been building up in there for the whole week and he was finally able to let them come bursting out. (Of course, this renewed my crying jag, but we all knew that would be true, right?)

And he continues to get a bit better every day. (Can I get an amen?)

But I can’t deny that it made me question God in a very quick, very real way.  It is harder to reconcile the idea of suffering in tiny little ones being part of His plan -harder even then my M.S. diagnosis, harder than watching my mom lose her BFF to cancer while she stood bravely beside her, helping her and  being brave for her and knowing that she was losing her every step of the way.  It threw me for a big loop.  It caught me off-guard.  I honestly needed some time before I could even go do some research to see what His word says that might offer guidance on the subject.  I would have been too angry to absorb it.

I know God is with him, with us.  I know he is strong in the Lord – just like I was strong for him even as I was crying in that doctor’s office.  But oh how it pains me to know that even the smallest of His flock can’t always be protected from the things that would hurt them.

 

 

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