NOW: What is Mommy thinking about today? Ya da da DAAAAA!
Runny Noses. You know, runny noses.
The kind that are super annoying to the person with the runny nose and also annoying to the person taking care of the runny nose.
The kind that makes your upper lip and nose raw because you have to keep wiping with a tissue. (FYI: Will kinda can blow his nose, but Ariel just blows out her mouth when instructed)
The kind that cause you to break protocal and actually put something on the end table…..which is a big no-no in my house because everything on the end table winds up on the floor. And when it’s a box of tissues, it’s not like just the box ends up on the floor. It’s like a winter wonderland in the living room when I come back from the bathroom.
Not only that, but guess how many children in my house have runny noses? The obvious answer is two. But you would be wrong. Three. Three Children. Because every Mommy knows that when their husband is sick……they’ve suddenly birthed another child and become a single mom all in the same instant. At least that’s how it is in my house.
I’ve realized as i’m writing that this post is going to be more about my husband than the kids. 🙂
Because when the kids (the twins, I mean), have runny noses:
They want to cuddle (only a problem when they’re pushing each other off of mommy’s lap).
They don’t eat as much (only a problem because they drink more…..causing more pee-pee accidents).
They are eternally grateful that Mommy is taking care of them (not a problem at all). Like the other night…..I put Vicks rub on Will’s chest and told him it would make his nose feel better. In a little, pathetic, grateful voice he said, “Thank you Mommy.” I can still hear his words in my head. Everyone say, AWWWW.
Now……when Tim is sick there’s a whole other ball game going on.
He wants to cuddle (by himself, on the couch, watching tv and not doing much of anything else).
He wants either soup (acceptable, although annoying when I already have something else planned for dinner)
Or pizza. And he uses his near-death illness to try and wrangle it out of me even though we are supposed to be watching what we eat and only ordering out/going out once a week. And we’ve already gone out twice this week as it is. And we will be going out Saturday and having pizza Sunday. And we’re supposed to be saving money. But somehow his pathetic-ness always wins me over. (Probably because I wouldn’t really mind pizza either and I have no self-control, but that’s besides the point).
He is pretty grateful…..although doesn’t do much to return the favor if HEAVEN FORBID…….I get sick and need a break. Unless I really am on death’s door. Which hasn’t happened yet.
Although, I have to say…..a couple weeks ago when I was achy….he did bring me home a pumpkin latte. And came home early so I didn’t have to deal with twins and making dinner alone. But he did talk me into ordering pizza.
This is now.
THEN: The time has come. Although time seemed to have slowed down indefinitely for the past 8 hours, somehow it was 4:00 and time for us to get ready for the C-section.
And I mean US. Everyone was on-hand. I had drugs already pumping through my system (Magnesium Sulfate, more on that later) to help control my impending seizures. Nurses were standing by. My families were ushered out of the room, but waited in a nearby hallway.
I was transfered in my hospital bed. As I went past my mom…..she told me to tell her the names of the twins. I knew why. She was scared. So scared that I might not be able to tell her later. Or that maybe we wouldn’t have to have names anymore. But I refused (I’m so mean). I refused because my eternally optimistic self was not going to give in to her worries. Even at this time. I had told her she wouldn’t know the names until they were born. So when she asked as I was wheeled past her, I told her they weren’t born yet and she would have to wait a little longer. She smiled at my stubborness. That was good, at least she didn’t try to strangle the names out of me or something.
I had prepped Tim to bring the Baby Book. I wanted footprints. They told me it might not be possible, depending on the condition of the babies. But they would try their best.
They whisked Tim away to get his suit of armor on. Actually it was scrubs and booties. That made me nervous. I had heard a horror story (what pregnant woman hasn’t) about a woman having a C-Section and they forgot to get her husband until it was almost too late. And it was at this very hospital. So I was freaking out. A lot. I think it had something to do with the drugs too. They were making me a little crazy.
So I asked the nurses about a thousand times not to forget about Tim. Anytime they were fiddling around or moving me around or setting things up, I would ask them again if Tim could come in yet or if anyone had gone to get Tim. I was neurotic. I couldn’t do this without him. That was then.