Coughing, Congestion, wheezing, horrible sounds to be coming from my little Heaven. Even after breathing treatments, the wheezing still isn’t subsiding. She’s lying in bed, propped up by two fluffy pillows, mimicking a raised hospital bed. Face mask strapped around her melon shaped head, fighting to keep her heavy looking eyelids open, after all it is 5am in the morning. She should be sleeping but that horrible cough keeps her awake. I lay cuddled next to her, supervising the treatment, making sure the chord does kink and that the medicine keeps being converted into inhalable vapors. As she hears the dwindling, sputtering sound of the air swooshing through the mouthpiece, she opens her eyes, widely, smiles big and happily says, “It sounds like whip cream”. And just for that moment, I see the world through her eyes. My worries about her having a possible infection, my fears of her not continuing to breathe well after we fall asleep, the thought of her maybe suffering a febreic seizure if the Tylenol doesn’t take her highly heated body to normal temperature disappears. For that short, brief moment, we both close our eyes and listen to the wonderful sound of can dispensed “whip cream”.
Awoken by a call from my sister, I proceed to talk on the phone as my 5 year old, who cannot speak, pulls me by the hand and leads me to the restroom to start him a bath. This is a scenario we’ve done many times, so talking on the phone and completing it is like second nature.I run the water, help Eli remove his clothes and get him into the tub as I sit on the edge, still speaking on the phone, allowing him to enjoy his morning dip. Eli loves bubbles, so he grabs any soap, shampoo, conditioner within his reach and regularily begins to squeeze it in the hopes of creating them. This morning he reached for a bottle labeled body wash and squeezed, excitedly in an attempt to get as much out as possible before I noticed and snatched the bottle away. Unfortunately for me, as I continued to sit on the edge of the bathtub, with my back facing him, the excited squeeze created a waterfall starting at my midback and continuting down my torso before splashing into the tub. On my end, I felt a cold rush of watery goo and immediely informed my sister I had to go. I anxiously snatched the bottle away from him as the continuous flow landed all over my hands. The yellow tinted appearance in the water wasn’t surprising to me, afterall it was honey scented, yellow colored bathwash. It wasn’t until I made the mistake of smelling the remnants left on my hand that I noticed that bottle he grabbed wasn’t body wash at all. It was a completely full, refilled bottle of URINE!
I hollered, disgustedly, for my 17year old to assist with the clean up of Eli, who was still bathing in the urine tainted water. As I went to investigate the crime at hand, I exited the restroom, angrily, suprisingly, franticially screaming, “Who the **** pissed in this bottle?!”, waving the now empty bottle in the air. I didn’t get far, when the stench of urine from the empty bottle and my soppy, dripping shirt reached my nose and I began to dry heave in the hallway. I had enough time to run to my bathroom, dispose of the bottle and jump in the shower without incident.
Upon gathering my composure, I immediately knew who the culprit was: Nathaniel! Afterall, he had been caught twice before urinating into empty bottles. The first time it happened, he was 5. We found a urine filled water bottle under his bed, capped, waiting for the next midnight pee. He was afraid of the dark and came up with the idea of peeing in a bottle instead of entering the dark hallway to use the toilet. When we moved to our second home, last year, and we found the bottle “outhouse” again, he had used the same reasoning. He was afraid of the dark. But, why on Earth would he ever feel the need to take a wizz in an empty bottle while showering?! And leave the bottle there for unsuspecting bathers?! I do not know. I may never know. I can’t even began to contemplate how any parent would handle this problem. Times like this I feel at a loss. The only thing I can be certain of at this point is:I HAD A VERY PISSY MORNING!!!!!!!!!
What a week! Eli’s been sick since Monday night. Him and I “enjoyed” my birthday home alone, basking in our sickness. I got well by Wednesday, but so was not the case for my little critter. Today’s Dr. appointment validated my concerns from yesterdays worries: He has an ear and chest infection. I should be greatful, I know, because he hasn’t been sick in over a year and a half! That’s a miraculous triumph for him. But discussion about possible hospitalization brings the fragileness of his tiny body to light. I will pray that his system responds well to the medication prescribed.
On another note, what about that pregnant teen? Hmmm, never had I imagined that I had raised such a monster! I never seen MY DAUGHTER as the ungreatful, mean little beast she became last night. Why do today’s children not have the realization of responsibility. It’s simple, you choose to become pregnant, you choose all that comes along with it. And yes, that means making money and the discussion of it. Am I really wrong to expect the baby’s father to pay for the hospital co-pays? Or to expect him to find a full-time job, soon, to help pay for the necessities of the baby before it arrives in six months? After all he is a high-school graduate and technically an adult at the tender age of 19. But, I am the mean old mom that is only concerned with money. I certainly believe that I raised her with values, morals, and most definately respect. After last night’s antics, I’m not sure it matters what kind of a parent you were. I’m convinced they do exactly the opposite of what you teach them. I know, I know, this may not sound like a loving, normal, mom, but I can’t wait for the day she ventures out into the world (at 18….which is her plan) and is jolted into reality. It’s not about being right, I know, but I long for the day to be able to say, “I told you so”.