23 Mar

Broadway Dance class tonight: Hairspray.  Lots of fun.

An annual checkup almost 4 years after my last one.  Not as much fun, but necessary, I suppose.  It was like seeing long-lost friends.  The nurse gave me her phone number.  Last time I was in, I had a new baby.  And shingles.  Quite the challenging combination.  I was told that I absolutely HAD to continue nursing so that the baby would receive the antibodies and then might be spared chicken pox, which in the newborn can result in brain damage or death.   Having said that, it was crucial that the baby NEVER contact the rash that was all over my midsection because if he did, he was likely to contract chicken pox, resulting in possible brain damage or death.

Dr. Wehner had done some internet research AND called the immunologist in Dallas.  That scared me.  Having your trusted, knows-everything pediatrician consulting with the specialists and talking about immunoglobulin has the potential to wreak havoc with the postpartum mother’s fragile, hormonally-enhanced emotional state.  Just sayin’.

It was a pretty tricky and painful proposition to continue nursing at all costs, while avoiding skin-to-skin contact with the baby.  And shingles makes all of your nerve endings think they are on fire.

Did I mention that it was dove season?  Those were good times.

Life today is a walk in the park compared to having an infant.  When the baby before Henry was born, I had a seventeen month-old.  Wade as a newborn?  Piece of cake.  It’s his legacy.  He is doomed to perfection.  I have hardly ever known him to be anything but someone who makes sure that the rest of us are happy with him.  He lost a folder for school today and he was so disappointed with himself that big, fat tears rolled down his face.  He was cast as Puck in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.  I love that, but it’s funny because Puck was a real troublemaker.  Wade will have to stretch the limits of his personality to play that character.

Three new books in the mail today.  But I am transfixed by Lit.  I wish that I had time to re-read all of my favorite books.   Maybe once these under-tens grow up.  Or go to college.  Or camp. 

In the words of Henry, who nearly caused his mother anxiety-induced bedrest as a newborn: “this was a good day.”


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