Sunday, June 13, 2010
I try to be respectful and loving toward my dear, good husband in my blog (please ignore the Labor Story post in which he was referred to as The Fucker). Let’s give props where props are due. My husband is a fabulous Husband and Father. He gets up early with Parker in the morning so I can sleep, he loves taking Parker places, he is confident about taking care of him if I have to leave out of town, he has always been a completely contributing partner in parenthood, he helps me clean the house, he does the dishes because I cook, he washes my car, cuts the grass, and does all “boy” identified tasks around here too. You see how I go on and on? He is a good, dear husband.
So, bless his heart, but there are a few things that I think are just hilarious and surprising. Hunny, I apologize before-hand here, but come on, you’ve been giving me some pretty good material lately and I’ve gotta use it.
My husband tends to have anxiety around things being “wrong” with Parker. This has caused some harrowing events and entertaining stories. Here is the evidence:
1. Most recently, I came home from a trip to Maine. Richard sheepishly tells me, “I took Parker to the doctor this week because I thought something was ‘wrong’ with his foot.” I asked, “What was ‘wrong?’” He explained that perhaps Parker had stepped on something, but he was favoring his foot and walking funny. My husband got concerned and took him in. Medical diagnosis: bruise.
2. I hardly ever go to a happy hour, and this is something my husband enjoys doing a couple of times a month. So, in April, I went on a special happy hour with a work friend. Our drinks and appetizer had just arrived. My husband called my cell. As soon as I answered, I could hear Parker in the background screaming and crying. Richard frantically said, “I don’t know what is ‘wrong’ with Parker! He just started crying and freaking out, and I don’t know why! I think something is ‘WRONG!’” I was at a loss for words. What did he want me to do? I said, “Do you want me to come home?” as I looked longingly at my glass of wine in front of me, waiting. Richard said, “Well, what should I do?! Do you think I should take him somewhere?!”
Exasperated, I said, “Give him some candy and put on a movie.”
There was silence on the other end. (By the way, at this point, my friend was just staring at me with her mouth open.) Richard tersly said, “Well, if you’re not going to take this seriously, then I will let you go.” I quickly said, “I’m serious, hunny! If this behavior continues after you offer something fabulous, then you know something is wrong. Just try something! If it doesn’t change in 5 or 10 minutes, call me back!”
I received a text about 2 minutes later. It said, “He is fine. He is watching a movie.” Mommy diagnosis: 2 year-old fit for unknown reason.
3. One night, the whole family was upstairs getting ready for bed. My husband and son were in the bathroom getting toothbrushes out and some spontaneous rough-housing began. I was in the other room and did not get to see exactly what happened, so I could only rely on my husband’s description. Suddenly, there was crying and shouting. “What happened?!” I shouted. My husband came in the room, holding a crying Parker. He said, “I don’t know! I was flipping him around, and I think something might be ‘wrong’ with his arm!” I asked, “What exactly were you doing? Did you have him by the arm?” Richard said, “No, I had him by the hips and flipped him over my shoulder and he just started crying!” I was thinking that maybe Parker got a little scared, maybe slightly hurt, and my son has a tendency to freak out big. I started taking a look at his arm, all the while Parker was crying and holding his arm and yelling, “Urt!”
Richard started in. “I think we need to take him somewhere!” I was thinking, “Let’s give him some ibuprofen, see if he can settle down a little, and then decide if he needs to go ‘somewhere.’” But, it was already late, already past bedtime, and if he was going to go “somewhere,” then we needed to get going. I said, “Ok, fine, let’s go.”
Parker fell asleep in the car on the way to the emergency room. Upon waking, when we arrived at the downtown emergency room, Parker was dazzled by the big buildings and lights. He began happily shouting, “Ook! Ook!” And he was POINTING and GESTURING wildly at all the bright lights WITH the “urt” arm. He was fine. Just for good measure, I wiggled his arm around. There was nothing “wrong.” We put Parker back in his car seat and headed home. Richard said, “Parker, a few more years were just shaved off my life.” Mommy diagnosis: A fine acting session for a “urt” arm.
I will not go on at length with the other examples, but just know that Parker’s history of phantom medical problems have taken us to a neurologist for suspected seizure, frantic conversations with Ask-a-Nurse to determine Parker had night terrors, and a keepsake X-ray picture of Parker’s baby foot (and can I please mention that there are hardly any bones in a baby foot that could be broken).
I thought I was the one with anxiety problems, so my husband’s behavior has totally surprised me. I have to guard against getting riled up along with him because that can happen. As soon as I hear, “Something is WRONG,” instead of calculating the time in an urgent care and what needs to be put in the diaper bag, my eyes instantly slit in a suspicious manner. Bless my husband’s heart. He cares so much about our bub and God forbid anything is ever WRONG with our bub!