Worried Sick -- by Cara

A couple weeks ago, I wrote about my upper respiratory illness and how it always seemed that no matter how sick we Moms are, we still put our own needs aside for the sake of our families, especially our children.
Well, this week is the reverse. Now I have recovered, however my son came down with...well, we really didn’t know what.

My son started to exhibit signs of not feeling well last Saturday night.
My night owl son, who typically falls asleep between 9:30pm - 10:00pm (genetics...not bad parenting), fell asleep at 8:30pm. That was my first clue. The ONLY time my son falls asleep before 9pm is if he is sick or becoming sick.

The next day, Sunday, my son was extremely cranky and whiny. He also didn’t look very well. He had circles under his eyes and looked extremely tired. We had a birthday party to go to that day and my son wanted to go desperately. But throughout the party, he kept coming out of the play area and would plop down next to me and rest his head on my upper arm. I felt his head...it was hot. But it could have been hot from all of the running and jumping he was doing in the party room. It was when he asked when we were going home that I suspected something was wrong. My son NEVER wants to leave a party early. We stayed until the end, but said our thank yous quickly because I really wanted to get home and take my son’s temperature.

I almost fell over when I did take it. 103.3!! I ran to get him some Motrin, but getting it into him was an even bigger challenge. He hates sweet tasting things, so he can’t stand the children’s liquid medicines.

He won’t take pills, even crushed up and put into applesauce. He didn’t want to eat anything. So we just decided to let him sleep and hoped the fever would break soon. My son’s only request was water. Lots of water.

I lined up little water bottles on the table next to his bed, and by morning they were all empty. And this was the scenario, day after day:
lots of sleep or awake and lethargic. Temps ranging from 103-104ish almost around the clock. No eating of food of any kind. Water, water, and more water. An occasional dose of Motrin when his temps were so high he was practically delirious and would take the medicine with minimal fighting. To put it mildly, we were scared out of our skins.

I have a fairly solid medical background, although I am not a physician.
I have real, professional medical books that I combed through. I went to some professional, medical web sites to look for answers. I even consulted a handy iPhone App called Pediatric Symptoms MD which walks you through determining whether your child’s symptoms need immediate attention, call the doctor in the morning symptoms, or wait a day or two and see what happens symptoms. This handy App suggested calling our Pediatrician first thing in the morning.

I was up that night practically every hour on the hour either checking on my son or hearing his weak requests for more water and running to get some for him. The next morning, we bundled our son up, and my husband carried him to the car and then into the physician’s office. Other than extremely high fevers, our son didn’t exhibit any other symptoms whatsoever, which led the doctor to diagnose him a viral fever. He assured us that the fever would break in 2-4 days. They did a rapid Strep test which turned out negative, but the doctor said he would call us the next day if the overnight test came back positive.

The rest of the day was the same...extremely high fevers, hydrating him with only water, and occasionally being successful at getting Motrin into my son.

Concerned friends were calling and e-mailing. Could it be the flu? The Swine flu? An undetected infection? Were we sure it wasn’t Strep? I called the doctor the next day and said there was absolutely no change in my son and if anything, he appeared to be getting worse and looking terribly ill. The doctor told me to bring my son in the next day for another Strep test and a blood test.

We went back the next day. Again a negative Strep test, no true indications of any type of flu. White blood cell count was NORMAL (which blew me away...how can someone’s white blood cell count possibly be normal when their body is fighting something so hard to handle? But, like I said, I’m not a physician). We left with no definitive answers and a little boy who was getting worse by the hour.

Now it was Thursday. Fevers still hadn’t broken and the time frame for a “viral fever” had expired. We called the Pediatrician again. He said if the fevers didn’t come down by the next morning, he wanted him to get a chest x-ray. Then we noticed throughout the day, the fevers dropped to the 102-103 range. We managed to get more Motrin into our son. As the day went on, the fevers dropped even more to the 101-102 range. Our son still looked absolutely awful, but he started moving around. He wanted food. Of course everything he wanted, we didn’t have in the house. My husband ran to the grocery store. Slowly, our son was starting to eat. Fevers were down again to between 99-low 100s! My son hadn’t slept or taken a nap at all that day. But he had a very full belly and his fever seemed to finally be breaking!

By 7pm that same evening, I had to tackle an enormous pile of clean laundry by folding and putting the items away in my bedroom. My son crawled under the covers of my bed and watched me. After 5 minutes, I heard heavy breathing. He had fallen asleep. I finished a little more folding then turned off the lights and let him sleep.

I went to check on him a couple hours later and found him burning hot and drenched in perspiration. His fever was finally breaking! I didn’t want to move him, so when I was ready to fall asleep, I simply crawled under the covers next to him. Throughout the night I slept lightly, feeling his forehead, which felt cooler. And he sensed my presence because he kept snuggling closer to me and even would grab my forearm and clutch it to him like his favorite stuffed animal. He even interlocked his little hand in mine, drawing it close to his body. I was half asleep but gushing with emotion! This little angel needed me, wanted me, cherished me enough that he wanted to draw himself as close to me as possible and hold on tight to whatever part of me he could. All while in a state of sleep and return from the depths of a terrible illness.

I loved sleeping with him that night. In fact, I think we may have more occasional Mommy and son sleep togethers. I know he felt safe, warm, protected, and loved. I was overflowing with love for this child, even though I didn’t sleep very soundly. But the love I did feel from him was tremendous! He is approaching an age where displaying physical affection, especially towards your Mom, can be a little embarrassing.

But feeling the true, uncensored adoration of me, while my son slept, made my heart swell one-thousand-fold!! I felt so relieved that he was finally on the mend! But most importantly, I felt just how much I really mattered to him. And I know I made him feel exactly the same way! I can’t wait for our next sleep together! I can feel my heart swell as I remember him interlocking his little hand with mine, pulling it real close, and sighing himself back to sleep. The two of us, together.

Unlike My Mother -- by Laura

I’m new to blogging, to motherhood, to New York, and Motherhood Later...Than Sooner. My name is Laura Houston, I am 45 years old, and I have twin boys Lyle and Wyatt who are 10 months old. I recently moved to Manhattan from a farm in Oregon, and I transitioned from having my own business to being a stay-at-home mom. We’re a different lot – we mothers of advanced maternal age – and I find older moms bring a richness to their job that opens up a treasure chest of insights and wisdom. I hope we can all share.

I didn’t have much of a role model when it came to mothering. After four kids and a desperately common life in the suburbs, my mother got tired of being a mom and she checked out. And I got tired of being her kid, so I checked out. I did whatever it took to get out of the house, out of that Midwestern suburb, and as far away as possible from her life, her bitterness, and her unhappiness.

That was the start of my journey into motherhood. I called it the Do-Not-Turn-Out-Like-My-Mother Plan, and I hoped it would serve me when I finally became a mother, which is something I desperately wanted some day. I made most of my life decisions based on this question: “Would my mother do it?” If the answer was no, I would do it. If the answer was yes, I would not.

In order to have a life unlike my mothers, I wanted an extraordinary man who would want an extraordinary woman. I made a list of everything I desired in a man, and I set about to be that person. I went back to school to get my master’s degree. I spent a summer kayaking in Glacier Bay, Alaska. I started my own business and became financially solvent. I bought an old house, remodeled it, and flipped it for twice what I paid for it. I volunteered as a tutor for at-risk youth, and I ran a half marathon. I became a temporary foster mother. My life was almost as full and as rich as I wanted it to be.

But at the age of 35, I still did not have that extraordinary man, and I was running out of time to have children. My friend Valerie and I made a pact that at the age of 37, we would rent a limo and take it to the fertility clinic in downtown Portland and get inseminated.

When you’ve got a backup plan in life, it often seems you rarely need it. I ended up finding that extraordinary man one year before the artificial insemination due date, and this man was worth waiting for. Together we bought a farm that would be the ideal place to raise children. After going through six years of fertility treatments, we were finally able to get pregnant with twins. Finally, I could be the mother I had been training to be.

But five months into my peaceful, blissful motherhood, the phone rang with a job offer for my husband. It was a big job. In Manhattan. I asked myself, “Would my mother do it?” And of course she would not. So we left the farm, the chickens, my gardens, and the grape vines and headed to the city with our twin boys. And here we are trying to figure it all out and navigate the new challenges of motherhood and a fast city.

Living my life trying not to be my mother is not easy. At all. In fact, it’s downright hard. Manhattan is a challenging place to live for a mother of twins. My stroller doesn’t fit through some doorways, on the bus, the subway, or in the trunk of a taxi cab. The winter weather alienated me from my walks in the park. My dearest friends and helpers are 3,000 miles away. But I’m not living my mother’s life. Sometimes that’s the only gauge I have for measuring how I am doing. And most of the time, that’s enough.

My Little Fashionista -- by Jamie

Before becoming a mother, I suspect I sometimes looked judgmentally at little girls in completely mismatched outfits…never really understanding why their moms let them leave their houses looking that way. But now I understand that often the way a child dresses really isn’t under the mother’s control. Sometimes it’s not worth battling with your daughter over outrageous fashion choices when you’re already battling to leave the house on time.

Jayda was fighting with me over her outfit selections earlier than I ever imagined she would—probably by the time she turned two. The blissful baby-dressing years—when I’d been able to dress Jayda in whatever I wanted without consulting anyone else’s opinion—ended abruptly, and she was soon pulling clothes out of her drawers, rejecting many of my choices, and throwing fits when I insisted that her clothing selections didn’t match, were out of season, or, simply no longer fit her.

To appease Jayda and foster her creativity, I gave my daughter carte blanche over her pajama choices; I filled the bottom drawer of her dresser with all sorts of tops and bottoms, and let her pick out whatever she wanted to wear at night. Often that meant polka dots on top and stripes on the bottom. Or pink velour pants with a green cotton shirt. And that was fine with me. Jayda’s wacky outfits were confined to the bedroom and I was content. But of course that wasn’t enough for Jayda; it wasn’t long before she wanted control 24/7.

Now, every morning, Jayda is in charge of picking out her clothes for school; I do get to supervise and offer opinions, but Jayda gets the final say (unless my daughter is insisting on wearing a sundress in 30 degree weather, in which case I put my foot down). Fortunately, I don’t have it as bad as some moms at daycare—who are forced to send their kids to school every day in swirly dresses, or swathed in pink from head to toe. But I do have to make sure that I do laundry constantly, because Jayda is obsessed with her Tinkerbell underwear (and asks for it constantly…throwing fits if I inform her that it’s dirty), and goes through phases where she likes to wear the same things over and over again. And lately, she gets very upset if I don’t listen to her fashion advice while dressing myself, as well.

A few weeks ago, I put on a tailored burgundy shirt I hadn’t worn in ages and Jayda snarled at me: “I don’t like dat, Mommy! Throw it in the garbage!” When I told her that wasn’t going to happen, she got very upset: “What?! You’re not taking it off, Mommy?” I was forced to placate her with fruit snacks and a Max and Ruby video, to make up for my “defiance” of her request. But alternatively, I scored points by purchasing a new “pokie”-dotted bra that Jayda thinks I look “bootiful” in…and believes I should wear “every day!” She even likes to check to see if I am following her advice (and, as I mentioned before, it’s a good thing I do my laundry very often!).

Fortunately, along with the bra, there are plenty of things in my closet Jayda does like—especially shirts that are pink or purple. And when she looks through my clothes, my daughter likes to remind me, “when I get bigger and bigger, I’ll wear these, too, ok?” Sounds fine to me…it would sure save us shopping time…and a heck of a lot of money!

Dream & Believe -- by Liimu

I am LIimu McGill. My husband, Glen, and I had our third child just a few months after I turned 36. I didn’t realize how much energy it took to be a mom until we added Autumn to our family, which already included two toddlers, then 3 and 4. Never one to back down from a challenge, I have continued to live life with gusto, regularly running half-marathons and participating in triathlons, running my own business, LSM Consulting, and most recently re-launching my singing career (my first CD is due out this Spring on an independent label). I live by the personal philosophy that the best way to encourage your children to follow their dreams is by following your own, no matter how late in life you start.

I look forward to sharing my journey with all of you!

When Robin (founder of MotherhoodLater.com) asked me whether I wanted my very first Motherhood Later blog post to run on March 4th or March 7th, I didn’t hesitate before answering that the 7th would be the perfect day. It’s a day of reflection for me every year, as it is the anniversary of the day I got sober, 15 years ago. Who would have thought when I was sitting in rehab 15 years ago listening to others share their experience, strength and hope about how they accepted that they needed to avoid a drink one day at a time, that I would one day be sharing my experience, strength and hope about being a nearly-40 mom of three?? Before I got sober, I didn’t really think I would ever have a husband, let alone children, though it was my deepest desire from as far back as I can remember. Sobriety has given me so many gifts, not the least of which being the courage to dream and the faith in a Higher Power and in the fact that He/She can make those dreams come true.

The recovery process is not just about recovery, it’s also about discovery. Over the past 15 years, I have learned ways of discovering what I do and don’t like about myself, what I do and don’t like to do, and who I do and don’t like to do it with. As a result, I have the life of my dreams. I run a business that offers me the financial freedom to travel and enjoy my own personal favorite activities like running and playing tennis, while also giving me the flexibility to spend time with my children. I have a husband who I often look at and think, who is that hot guy? Oh, wait! That’s my husband! I get to go home with him! (And it’s not just me – just the other night at a gig, another singer said, “Is that your husband? WOW – he’s hot!” Yep, and he’s all mine…tee hee.)

In addition to having my own business, I have always had the dream of being a singer. This past year that dream has come even closer to coming true. Before I got sober, I wrote a song about believing in your dreams, and that song was recorded with a real band (the drummer played for Stevie Wonder!!) and even played on the radio. People tell me that when they hear the song, they tear up with emotion. It makes me feel so good to know that I’m not only realizing my dreams, but touching others in the process.

And of course, the greatest dream I have realized over these past 15 years was to get married to the man of my dreams and have three beautiful, spectacular, breathtakingly wonderful daughters. With my 40th birthday fast approaching, I’m feeling an even more intense desire to continue to follow my dreams not just for my own selfish reasons, but also for them. I have come to the conclusion that the best way to get them to pursue their dreams is for me to pursue mine.

‘Cause if you believe in yourself
Then you don’t need anything or anybody else
If you believe in your dreams, then your dreams will come true
So believe in yourself, as I believe in you.
Believe in Yourself, © 2009 Liimu

Passage of Time -- by Robin

This past weekend was a whirlwind of activity. All good though, so I'm grateful.

My nephew had a Bar Mitzvah. Saturday was the temple service, and Sunday night was the reception. Sunday was also Seth's 7th birthday party...in the afternoon...so we had a very quick, if not somewhat hectic, turnaround from one event to the other. I went from flats to heels, pantyhose, and formal attire almost instantly. While it felt a bit overwhelming, at the end of the day, it turned out to be very special and I look back with fond memories.

What stuck out for me the most was the notion of the passage of time. We had 16 children, including my son, at his party, and a few I hadn't seen in some time. One boy, in particular, I didn't even recognize because he looked so like a big boy now. His hair was slicked back, and he had a maturity in this face (at age 7) that I had yet to see. Even a girl, who Seth has referred to as his girlfriend since kindergarten, looked taller and more mature.

Then we headed over to the Bar Mitzvah, which was quite a swanky shindig. Unlike any other I'd ever attended. Not a beat was missed....everything was offered from an extensive gaming area for the kids to comfy slippers for the female guests upon departure. I would have loved to ditch my heels during the affair and wear them then. Would have come in handy.

A highlight of the affair for me was a slide presentation of the Bar Mitzvah boy's first 13 years of life. He has two brothers. One younger, one older. His maternal grandma recently passed away. And, all were shown. It was so well done. They shared all kinds of moments....some special....some everyday....but all heartfelt, capturing the essence of family and depicting how fast time goes. You see it in the growth of a child from a baby to proud Bar Mitzvah boy.

He did his family and all who witnessed proud. And, if for a moment, it led others, like myself, to pause and take stock of who is in our lives who we love and how we spend time with them, then it's all the more poignant. And, also to value our children at every phase of their lives since youth is indeed precious and fleeting.

Stroller Envy -- by Gina

Hi, my name is Gina Schlagel, and I'm a 41-year old mom with a 3 1/2 year old daughter named Gianna. I am new to the Motherhood Later bloggers, and this is my very first blog. Hope to connect with many of you MLTS Moms in the coming weeks by sharing stories/thoughts I am hoping others can relate to. I welcome your feedback!

It was a couple of days after last week's snowstorm. I was looking for the always rare parking spot near work, and I had just found what I was convinced was the last one in the entire neighborhood. I debated about taking it, as it was a few blocks from my office (and Gianna's pre-school). I always pulled into the temporary drop-off spot at the school, walked her in, then came back out to find a spot on the street. Given the scarcity of parking due to the snow, I figured I would break from the normal routine and grab the spot, even if it meant we'd have a long walk in the drizzly rain.

"Gianna, we're going to walk a little, today, OK?" I was answered with a whiny, "Awww, why?" "Well, Mommy has to grab this spot before it's gone..." No answer. "I know, wanna ride in the stroller!" "Yay," she cried. I figured it would sound like fun to her - we rarely used the stroller anymore and had actually never used it on the typically short walk from the car to the school. Besides, how resourceful can you get - I could walk faster strolling her rather than walking her, I could pull the stroller canopy up over her to keep the drizzly rain off her... this is great, I thought. Why haven't I been doing this all along?

We walked along, but something just didn't feel right. I realized that pushing a stroller while dressed in a suit and heels just felt... well, funny. Silly, almost. I felt almost self-conscious - what if one of my colleagues sees me? Would they too think it looked a bit...well.. out of place? I quickly dismissed the thought as we rounded the corner, thinking, "Oh, who cares what anyone thinks!" As we entered the daycare, I stopped, gleefully announcing to Gianna, "We're here! Time to hop out!" She froze. "But... not HERE!!??", she yelled. What? What's the matter? I saw her gaze land on the open door of her classroom. "They're gonna SEEEEE me! Like the BABIES!" I realized she was mortified at the thought of her classmates seeing her get out of (gasp!) a stroller just like the ones the babies ride in. As I comforted her, "Honey, don't worry, no one is looking at you. Here, get out here, then." I clumsily pushed the stroller back out of the double doors so she could make her stealthy exit outside the building, ensuring no jeering glances from her fellow pre-schoolers. We then walked in calmly as we did every day, no sign of the offending stroller in sight (parked temporarily in the hallway.) I kissed her goodbye as I did every day, and as she went off into class, I now turned my attention to getting the stroller (did I mention it is neon orange?) into the elevator with me up to my office without being spotted by those sneaky kids. I made it into the elevator unseen, entered my floor, strolled down the hall to my office (quickly), and "hid" good ol' Peg Perego in the corner of my office. Whew! I made it.

I felt sorry for Gianna - knowing that she was already, at her young age, worried about what other people thought. At the same time, I was a bit impressed that she picked up on what the norms for her age are and that her peers are indeed judging each other even at three and four. It got me thinking: at what point do our children start worrying about what their peers think of them?

My thoughts then turned selfish...I guess this means no more stroller? I began to mourn the loss of my own freedom...plop her in the stroller and get my errands done, do my mall shopping... were those days over? How will I survive? Who's going to carry all those heavy packages I stuff into the bottom basket, and my heavy handbag I sling over the handles? She was so safe and secure in there, too; now I have to worry about her slipping out of my grasp and running off. And so came the bittersweet acceptance that yes, indeed, my "baby" had outgrown the stroller, both physically and mentally. I, however, was the only only who had not.

Only time will tell if that was definitely our last carefree stroller ride. Maybe I can squeeze a few more long walks out of it in the coming weeks, for old time's sake. I will miss it, not just for the convenience and habit, but more for all it represented: my only child's fleeting "babyhood." Where did the last 3 1/2 years go? And what will the next hold? I am excited to find out as Gianna and I continue to "grow up" together...as I return to the world of full-time, corporate office work, and she readies herself for preschool and soon Pre-K.

I'm Scared -- by Cara

I’m not typically the type who gets worked up over minor things. I can usually discern the big things to worry about versus the little things. And I’m definitely not one to scare easily. But I have to admit...I’m scared. Or, to put it more succinctly, terrified.

I had a mammography done last Tuesday and the next day, one of my doctors called me rambling on about something being not very common, but just get the test done as soon as possible, and I stopped him. I politely said, “I don’t know what you are referring to.” “Your mammography, of course! Haven’t they called you to get a sonogram done?” I said no one except he had called me. He told me that according to the fax he received, I have a “suspicious node” that they need to do a sonogram on and possibly a biopsy. I was like a deer stuck in headlights. I was just so stunned, I didn’t even have my head together to ask further questions. The only thing I could think of was...cancer.

My mother died of ovarian cancer when I just turned 19 years old. My son is only 6. The affects of my mother’s death have traumatized me my entire life. I don’t want my son to have to experience that. I REFUSE to allow my son to experience that. That whole night, that’s all I could think of...my mother and my son. Along with, this can’t happen. This WON’T happen. I had a tough time falling asleep that night.

The next day, even before my son left for school, I was barraged with phone calls ALL. DAY. LONG. No sooner did I hang up the phone with the radiology place, then the gynecologist called. The radiology place made me an appointment for Monday. The radiology place called back...no doctors would be in to read films on Monday but they ALL would be in on Tuesday, so they rescheduled me for Tuesday (I thought, what crazy schedule does this place have? Can’t ONE doctor at least be there on a Monday??!! Healthcare is becoming beyond ridiculous. But we’ll save that discussion for another blog). Then the nurse at the gynecologist’s office said, “You mean they let you leave without taking more films?” I explained that, again, there weren’t any doctors to read films in that day. I called several friends I know who went through the same procedure, all with benign outcomes. A couple had to have two biopsies done. My head was spinning. Because all of the medical people I spoke with were nurses or receptionists, I couldn’t get any solid information. Everyone was vague but insistent. One minute I was practically in tears, the next I was being reassured by my fabulous group of friends.

The next thing I thought of was a Health Care Proxy. I needed a new one. Everyone should have one. I called my lawyers office to have my existing one dug up and revised to have my best friend put on it as my agent. She works in the medical field, has had 3 of these types of biopsies and has two very medically savvy parents. I wanted my health care proxy changed ASAP.

Then I thought of my son...he’s so young. He needs his mother. What if this doesn’t bode well and I am in the hospital a lot? Sick from drugs? How does one even attempt to explain this to a 6 year old? He needs me. I need him. We need each other.

My next thought, to try to calm myself down, was the BRACA test I had taken a few years back. It is a genetic test to determine whether you carry the gene to predispose you for breast or ovarian cancer. It came back negative. That’s good. Really, really good.

But then there has been the ongoing, unrelenting high stress level I have been experiencing the past few years. My father’s death. My son’s learning issues. The multitude of arguments with my husband. Anyone with this type of stress would have cells mutating! Heck, my whole life has been one heavy duty stressful event after another! Cells are bound to change with all of the stress hormones that have been washing over them during all this time!

And my friends. My wonderful, incredible friends. At least a dozen of them...old and new...calling me, e-mailing me constantly to find out how I am and reassuring me that everything is going to be okay. I have a lot going for me. I never, ever had even a slightly abnormal mammogram before this. I do regular breast self exams. Heck, I had an appointment with my gynecologist the week before and she didn’t feel anything suspicious when she did her breast exam at that visit.

So, I decided I had to pull myself together and remain as calm as possible. I can’t control fate, I can only control how I deal with it. If it were dire, I’m sure they would have either fit me in for a sonogram that first day or just plain sent me to the hospital to get it done.

So now I wait. And I pray. And I shoveled 14 inches of snow today off my porches, stairs, and walkways, thinking, “Maybe the exercise will be good for me mentally and physically.” And I vowed to do more regular exercise to at least temper the stress hormones. The endorphins can only help me. So shovel I did. And I will go to the gym or find more ways to fit in exercise into my ragged days.

By the time this is posted, I will know my results. Or at least know more than I know right now and have a better idea of what I am facing. Good or bad, I’m making changes. Big changes. And although I have every reason to believe that the outcome will be benign, I’ll be prepared for anything. I’m a fighter. I’m tenacious. And nothing is taking me away from my little boy right now. No way, no how. That’s just how it’s going to have to be,“suspicious node” or not. Nothing is coming between my son and me. Absolutely nothing.