Well, Carl had his third and (we sincerely hope) final surgery on his ankle, this time to remove the 18 pins and 2 plates since the bones have healed well in the last (almost) two years since his accident. We were told the recovery should be pretty quick and easy this time—he’d be back to work in a day or so.
Which, incidentally, he was. He was back at work the next day, in fact.
But what they didn’t mention is that he would be on crutches and unable to bear weight on his ankle for the better part of two weeks. Holy mackerel, I’ve had a lot of flashbacks this week. I will say it’s better than last time. His pain is well managed, and he scoots around the house cheerfully enough. I just… Yeah. Two kids suddenly feels like a LOT when you have feed, change, dress them without backup; bundle them up twice a day to commute Carl; try to figure out how to buy groceries and do last minute Christmas shopping in the slim morning and evening margins when Carl can keep at least one of them at home. I do realize there are LOTS of parents who do all kinds of activities (in public!) with all their children totally on their own. But I am not one of them. It’s 12 degrees out and my oldest kid can’t even say her own name yet. No thanks.
So the week was challenging.
And then Iris decided to pop out four molars (she was up 3 times just in the 4am slot one night), and she STILL has an infection we haven’t been able to kick, requiring doctor visits and phone calls from pharmacy to the doctor’s office to find a medication our insurance covers.
We’re actually doing a little better than last week. Hence the time to blog (although Iris was upstairs sobbing a moment ago because she was alone watching cartoons and she would really prefer me to sit next to her because: toddlerhood). Also I feel like I complain a lot lately in my conversations with friends and blog posts, and while that’s true I haven’t totally lost sight of my basic privileges and blessings. And honestly, apart from the rough nights which are always hard for me, the work load wouldn’t be that bad.
But I had a bad case of baby blues when Iris was 2 or 3 months old, and it looks like I’m going back for seconds. Something about that rough stretch when the adrenaline high of birth is gone and the baby hasn’t quite managed the 3-6 month developmental milestones of (slightly) improved night-time sleep and day-time predictability.
I remember that the clouds pass, but that doesn’t always feel comforting in the moment.