Scenes from a day

In the midst of cleaning up a particularly stinky situation…

ME:  That’s it, I want a new agent!  This movie sucks.
NIKSDAD:  Um, Honey, this isn’t a movie.
ME: What do you mean “This isn’t a movie?”
NIKSDAD:  Honey, they couldn’t begin to write a move as crazy as our life.

True dat, honey!

***********

After a long day full of learning, playing and stuffing his hungry little face, Nik is usually more than happy to get ready for bed.  After pajamas and tooth brushing, Nik’s usual routine is to turn and give me a quick kiss as he reaches for his daddy to carry him up the stairs.

Tonight?  Nik launched his little leggy self right onto my lap —face first— wrapped his arms tightly around my neck and nestled his soft little cheek against my shoulder.  As I kissed the top of his head, he started to hum softly.

Me?  I may have leaked a tear or two.

**********

I am watching television; Nik has been asleep for a couple of hours.

Through the monitor, I hear a few small cries from Nik; he’s probably having a dream.  Minutes later, Nik’s whimpers turn into full blown cries and I can hear him banging his head against the crib.  As I dash up the stairs to Nik’s room, the cries become more shrill and distraught; I hear the sound of fist hitting flesh. 

It’s been a few months, I think, since we’ve experienced this familiar nighttime scenario.  With a deep breath, I steel myself for a long stretch spent at Nik’s bedside –one hand pressing against his ear, the other holding his hand to keep him from punching himself in the face.  The memories of his horrible self-inflicted bruises will remain with me for a long time.

Nik quickly realizes I am there and stands in his crib, arms outstretched for me to lift him.  I scoop him into my arms; he presses his face into my shoulder as his fists rain down on my hand.  His head rears back and cracks hard against my cheekbone.  “Shhh, Mama’s here, little bear; Mama’s here, it’s ok.” 

His little body shudders with a sob; my heart clenches and my throat tightens with the dread of this familiar road we are on.  I sit on the ottoman and begin to rock. I croon softly in his ear, “Hush little baby, don’t say a word; Mama’s gonna buy you a mocking bird…”  Nik’s body has gotten so long and leggy that my arms can barely contain him, but I refuse to let him weather this storm alone.  I hold him against my body and rain small kisses on his brow, each one a silent prayer that tonight is not like those other nights.  I feel moisture drip onto my forearm.  My tears? Nik’s?  It doesn’t really matter, we are one and the same in the darkness.

After twenty minutes— and two cramped arms— my prayers are answered; Nik’s eyes drift closed and his head sinks heavily into my chest.  I settle him back into his crib with a kiss.

**********

We’re still here and all is, generally speaking, well.  The tube-pulling has subsided; it seems we’ve reached a state of detente wherein we try to use the tube as little as possible (or give Nik smaller volumes of fluid slightly more frequently) and Nik doesn’t pull it out.  We’ve also gotten a different type of feeding tube with a slightly differently shaped “balloon” which, we hope, should be more difficult for Nik to remove.   Fingers crossed.

The potty training continues at a more subdued pace; we’ve had to choose our battles and are waiting for the arrival of a specially ordered commode chair that we can leave out for Nik.   It might arrive by Labor Day; I wish I were kidding —I am not.  Meanwhile, we’ve had to get really creative.  I may cover that in another post —minus any graphic or disgusting details, I promise!

I still have those posts I want to write about communication devices, communicating with music, and some prideful boasting about my amazing boy.  Yes, lots of the latter, for sure!