Monday, January 7, 2008

I Love You . . . I Hate You

Vaccinations today for the spuds.

Poor little things don't even understand what's going on and are feeling so terrible. Whimpering in pain, hardly able to eat a thing, and running mild fevers to boot. They are so exhausted they just passed out after the doctor's visit and stayed in their car seats for a good chunk of time. I stared at them for at least a half an hour, feeling so bad for them that I could almost have cried.

Then one woke up.

And the screaming woke up his brother.

So there they were, screaming -- no, shrieking -- faces turning the color of pickled beets because they wouldn't even stop long enough to breathe. Holding them didn't help. Swaddling them didn't help. Rocking them made them scream louder. Pacifiers . . . that was just a joke, since their mouths wouldn't even close around them long enough to realize that they were there, ready to comfort them. I, on the verge of losing my mind, didn't know whether I should join them in their tantrum of tears or whether I should put them in the nursery, close the door, and put on some tunes on my new iPod. That pity and overwhelming love for them that had been there just moments earlier -- gone.

I don't know where it went, or how it could have fled so quickly, but maybe it heard the screams and headed for a safe place along with my cat.

After several minutes of screaming, Stinky fell asleep on my chest and Chubs had huge tears rolling down his cheeks. How could I be so heartless to even think about not holding them and helping them through this? They are such tiny things and so dependent on me for everything! I was overcome with the desire to protect them and provide what little comfort I could.

I looked at the clock and was relieved to discover that it was time for their dose of baby Tylenol. Stinky's went down just fine, and I stroked his head and assured him that it would help him to feel better soon. Chubs, however, didn't seem to like the grape flavor. He spit his back out all over his new bib (Italian, might I add -- one of the newest fashions from Milan). I'm sure it will forever be stained with purple spots as a reminder of his hard-headedness. Instead of wanting to stroke his pate and comfort him (as I had his brother), I felt like bopping him upside the head and yelling that he'd just ruined his last chance to feel better and it served him right, the little poop!

Needless to say, he didn't listen to reason.

Now they are asleep again, my little angels. And I am left to wonder how it is that such tiny things can provoke such big emotional shifts all in under ten minutes.

1 comment:

kelly said...

it's so true! i feel your peaks and valleys, friend.

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