A Very Nearly Tea

Little Mudpuppy is on the move. After a long, frustrating journey, he seems to have arrived at his destination.

I know. It is traditional to go all gaga over baby's firsts, not thirds. But the camera's batteries were dead and the boy was obviously hungry, the way he slobbered over his new vantage point at the dining room table while we ate.



He may have taken awhile to get the hang of nursing, but he sure knows what to do with rice cereal!

The third time the insurance company called asking me if I had thoughts of harming myself or others, offering me information about my behavioral health benefits and requesting permission to send me more information, I couldn't help but wonder, "What's up with these people?"

At the time, the recovery from my hip infection was going well. I was still in pain, but hadn't needed any sort of pain medication since leaving the hospital and was seeing improvement every day. I was optimistic and upbeat. I still remembered the intense pain that throbbed and shifted and spread as more and more muscles spasmed around my hip. I still remembered the shot that ran from my hip down my leg that blurred my vision every time someone tapped up against the couch.

I was worlds away from that kind of pain when my case was finally closed out, but still close enough to appreciate each and every day and every small step in the recovery process. But still I had a lingering thought. "Maybe they should call me back in six months."

After all, I figured the recovery process would slow down eventually and that is when the depression might set in. Pain changes you. It affects the way you think, the way you go about your day, your priorities. As you plan out how you are going to take a shower, you think how nice it is to take some things for granted. To just be able to get up, step over something, trip without falling, sprint after your child.

As the days stretched on to weeks and then on to months, the improvement has slowed. I find myself increasingly making the choice to be joyful and upbeat. It isn't so natural. But it has been three months since I left the hospital and no one is asking about my hip anymore. Not that I'd really want them to. But I wish I could just sort of slowly forget about the whole thing, too.

Instead, I wonder what the future holds. My big question for the orthopedic surgeon yesterday was exactly what "recovery" meant. His answer was not exactly what I wanted to hear.

"As to the likelihood of returning to a baseline of no pain, like before the infection? It's difficult to say. I will say that you can continue to experience improvement for up to a year after a surgery like this.

And the fears that remained largely unspoken, that were scarcely allowed to surface even in my own thoughts, were simultaneously let out in the open and confirmed.

This may be my new baseline.

It isn't so bad. I can walk. I can keep up with the children. I can bend and lift and hold them. I can't twist. I can't sit with my legs criss crossed. I have a hard time sitting on the floor, and getting up off the floor. It hurts when the children run into me. I can't swing them through the air. I can't sit on the floor to play with them. When I'm thrown off balance, I can't recover before falling.

And now in the back of my mind is the fear of arthritis. It is difficult to tell how much damage was done to the joint by the infection, and no one really seems to know how likely arthritis is to set into that damage. But it is what I'm checked for at each appointment, and what the doctor warns me may occur later, as I get older.

I am only 35 and already I am looking at elderly people with their canes and walkers with a new sense of respect. The fight for mobility is like a battle you can win or lose with every step. But I don't want to join that battle until I am in my nineties, at least.

Every morning I wake up and decide how I'm going to meet the challenges of the day. Then I think of the various "theories" about how this whole thing got started. Pregnancy, bacteria introduced during labor, post partum, weakened immune system during post partum, mastitis.


And I look at my little Mudpuppy, nursing so contentedly while I type. If the two are related, he was worth every moment of it.

Rocking in a chair watching my baby nurse. His hands folded, his legs crossed. I stroke his legs and doze, slipping in and out with the rhythm of his suckling.

A moment of peace and contentment and perfection. I want to remember this moment. Etch it in my memory to recall when things are not so peaceful.

But such moments are fleeting and they disappear in the busyness of the day. Like the whiff of lavender floating on a Spring breeze, or that first sip of iced tea in the sweltering summer sun.

I feel, for a moment, fulfilled. At ease. My heart knows no yearnings, only contentment.

For a moment.

But such moments are fleeting.

Especially once you discover your two year old has blue hair. And no bangs. Because someone got hold of the toothpaste and the scissors.

I guess we're celebrating milestones here in our household. Now it is Mudpuppy's turn: three months old and really enjoying those dangley rattley things mom hangs over his head.


Look at that concentration! The very first time he hit one, he looked completely shocked, then flailed and kicked wildly trying to make it happen again.

I think he has officially mastered "batting at toys" now. We'll start working on "putting them away without being asked" next.

There's nothing quite like a baby to melt away the stresses of the day . . .


Even if that baby is one of the stresses of the day. Everyone asks me if he's a "good baby" and I really want clarification. What is a good baby? I mean, he does everything a baby should. He eats; he sleeps; he poops; he cries. In fact, he cries a lot . . . almost any time he is not being held.

It makes it hard to get much of anything done. But then, I'd prefer holding a baby over dishes, anyway. After all, it isn't just doting grandmotherly types who have a fixation on counting baby toes.

My little Mouse too has noticed the calming effects of sleeping babies. I don't remember what she was upset about.

But then, neither does she. A testament to the calming effects of a small baby sleeping contentedly in your arms. As is the flicker of a smile.


So I ask, is he a good baby? Even with five loads of laundry to be folded because he doesn't want to be laid down?

I was going to write about my first big gardening flub of the year. This one here:


For some strange reason, my little seedlings remind me of a Veggie Tales nursery. At any rate, I carefully planted the exact number of seeds I needed for the eventual harvest I hoped to take in. I was so excited this morning when I noticed the first seedlings peeking out. And it wasn't until then that I realized I'd forgotten something very important. Are those my eggplants? Tomatoes? Brussels sprouts? Or perhaps the green pepper?

Anyway, that was what I was going to post about. Somehow the foibles of the day are much less frustrating when you know there are tens of people out there who may read about them and smile...leave a comment even.

Comments are like these M&Ms I'm munching on. They make everything (but the waistline) better.

But then I walked back to the computer with my memory card and peeked in on my little Mudpuppy. And garden flubs or no, who could resist this little munchkin trying to munch his new froggy toy?


And who needs to know what they plant where? I'll figure it out by the time they produce fruit, right?

Dear Mudpuppy,

You are a joy and a delight each and every day. Even your fusses warm my heart, for your cry is never inconsolable. Picking you up quiets you before I even begin to take care of your wet diaper or your hungry tummy. But there is something I thought I should clear up, because it will make our time together even more enjoyable (can you believe it?), especially since Daddy is now back to work and Mommy no longer has the option of afternoon naps.

See, here on the outside, we divide our days into two major periods: a dark period we call night and a light period we call day. During the night, we generally do most of our sleeping. During the day, we generally do most of our playing. Unless you're in college, but that is another matter entirely.

At any rate, your long daytime naps do help me get some things done besides just watching you sleep. And we all do a lot of that. But when you wake up near midnight wanting me to play with you, well, suffice it to say it isn't the best time. Mommy doesn't expect to sleep through the night again for a very long time. Actually, I think it has been a long time since I really have. But a few hours all in a row would be very nice. And believe me, Mommy is much more fun to play with during the day than at one in the morning.

Love,
Your blurry-eyed but oh so joyful Mommy

Dear Mudpuppy,

Or "Little Tias" as Bug so affectionately calls you. There are no words to express the love and joy I feel as I listen to you contentedly nurse, stroke the softness of your newborn skin and smell the wonderful scent of little you. As you relax, I have the peculiar sensation of not knowing quite where I end and you begin. I could watch you sleep for hours (if you slept that long). But the most wonderful thing, little Mudpuppy, is that I am not the only one who loves you so much.

Already in the hospital, Bug and L.E.Fant were captivated by you. Their little hands were rarely far from you.

And those little hands still keep you close. When I hold you, they shower you with kisses. While you nap in your bassinet, they stop their play to peek over the edge and stroke your sleeping head. "Baby!" repeats L. E. Fant excitedly. And once when I tried to take you back from Bug, she asked, "Why don't you get you a baby?" as she tried to keep me from picking you up.

Everybody lined up excitedly outside the nursery to watch the nurse give you your first bath. If it weren't for the snack room, I don't think they would have ever let you out of their sight.


But who could blame them? Even as you began to protest, you were absolutely adorable.


Bear has been anxiously awaiting your arrival since he first knew you were growing inside of me. His excitement grew exponentially when he learned he was finally to have a brother. Even as you had barely begun to make your presence known through my oversized clothing, everyone we came in contact with knew you were coming and that you were a boy. The checker at WalMart. The stockboy at Super Saver. The lady bagging fish at PetCo. People on the street who made eye contact with Bear long enough for him to blurt out that his mommy was having a baby and that you were to be a brother.

I think it is common for excited parents to feel like announcing the birth of their babies to the world. Your big brother actually did so far as he was able.

Mouse has always loved babies, so there was little doubt she would become enchanted with you as well. Who would have guessed her enthusiasm for helping care for you would extend beyond snuggling with you and kissing those oh-so-kissable cheeks?

You may not care to hear it now, but there is something special in a sister who wants to learn to change even dirty diapers to help her baby brother feel more comfortable. If there is one thing we have learned about you in these few days, it is that you like to be warm and dry. You are the only one of five who actually likes being swaddled. And you will even stop nursing to protest a dirty diaper.

And trust me. A sister who hears that cry and stops what she is doing to help you out is a rare and precious sister indeed.

God bless you little Mudpuppy.

Love,

Mommy