Ravin's Ramblings

There is a spider that lives inside my head. He’s a mechanical thing of shiny surgical instruments and dull gray gunmetal. Each of his eight needle sharp legs is barbed with razor thorns instead of the fuzz of steel wool. He casts a black web where he treds across my brain, dredging up dark dreams and distorted visions. Each tiny little pinprick of its pointy little leg sinks into my frontal lobe and causes an explosion of pain while white and black flecks dance across eyes. He steps on this neuron then that and tricks my nostrils into thinking they’re filled with the odor of rotten oranges or feral cats. It can take days to snap free from his black web, the mechanical machination is elusive. There is a spider that lives inside my head. His name is Migraine.

Oh the drama of being almost two! The constant frustration and disappointment! My son has pretty much been screaming and crying since Sunday. Mostly, he’s frustrated because he can’t do what he wants to do. His motor skills need of fine tuning and he has suicidal toddler tendencies (like cat walking on the window ledge while I’m trying to shovel the drive) that send Mommy’s heart into palpitations while visions of the ER dance through her head. It’s been frustrating for all parties concerned.

As the week progressed, I went from being good mommy to a taxed mommy to a Dear God give me the patience to endure and keep my son alive and also a nice strong margarita mommy. It hasn’t helped that my son has been exposed to some new emotions this week that he’s previously been unable to express. Fear. I inadvertently scared the crap out of him when I took the car through the automated wash. He covered his eyes and made worried moaning noises the entire time making the 5 minute car wash seem like 5 hours.

Also, humiliation. It was not my intent. My intent was a simple time out for emptying his bath water one cup at a time onto the bathroom floor. I didn’t think it could possibly matter to him that he happened to be naked since that seems to be his preferred state these days. So he went in the time out chair completely in the buff. For two minutes (the duration of a time out) he screamed “Diaper! Diaper!” and covered his bottom with his hands. Now, in my defense, it would have taken two minutes to put a diaper on him and I was busy cleaning the water up off the floor, so I didn’t realize he was feeling embarrassed and vulnerable until the timer went off and I came to get him out of time out.

Now there have also been two nights in a row where he’s been up every hour with bad dreams, a tummy ache, a dirty diaper, a kitty hair on his finger, a little toe uncovered, his head too close to the top or bottom of the crib, wants a drink of water, wants a song, wants a story, his 5^th chakra out of alignment, and his lay lines running parallel to his tantrum blocker. Yes, this is one frazzled mommy and one cranky little boy. One very cranky little boy who tries so hard to be good but temptation is just too much.

This morning, as he was practicing his high wire walk on the arm of a wing-back, I hollered at him to get down. Out of frustration he grabbed a glass, which is only accessable if he stands on the arm of the wing back and probably explains what he was doing there in the first place, and threw it to the ground. Of course it shattered into a million pieces and as my son scrambled to get down and make a run for it (from the loud noise as much as the trouble he was about to be in), I completely lost my temper. I yelled at him for putting himself in a dangerous situation, for the possibility that he could have fallen and broken a bone, I yelled at him for getting into things he wasn’t supposed to, I yelled at him for throwing things, I yelled at him for the glass breaking.

I must have been so scary with my pointy finger and my voice louder than I’d ever heard it. My poor son covered his eyes in fear and I realized that he was scared of me. It was a horrible feeling. He’s so tiny and little and vulnerable and he’s supposed to never ever be afraid of Mommy! Afraid of getting in trouble, yes, afraid of Mommy, absolutely not! I picked him up and hugged him and tried to make amends but the whole time I just kept thinking…do over…there should be a do over.

The waves, frozen in ripples, cascade in a white velvety blanket of twinkling stars. The moon reflects off the breaks like so many shimmering diamonds as we drive along the shore of Lake Michigan. The wind blows spray turned to snow in curtains across the frozen landscape while off in the distance a light house winks. Home, it says, memories. Each revolution of light brings up a host of kind faces, but one more than any other. One face, one smile, one golden memory from a life long past. And for one moment, as brief and glittering as the frozen spray, I am a child again with a smile I can hardly contain, practicing at being a woman.

We just got a potty chair for Z a week ago. He seemed to know right away what it was for. Today, my son came running to me pulling frantically at his pants and doing the tantrum dance. I thought, “Okay, I’ll play along, he wants to pretend to use his potty chair.” Because, really, he’s only a year and a half and we just put it out to get him used to it. So, even though it’s right next to the toilet and we explained what it was for, I sort of thought it would be a hiding place for his toys for the next few months.

You can imagine my surprise when I pulled off his pants and diaper and he ran like a bat out of hell straight for the potty chair streaming a fountain as he went. He sat himself down and squeezed out the last few drops into the potty chair. I was so impressed and happy for him I went to the kitchen to give him a jelly bean. My sweet little one thought I didn’t see his accomplishment, so he dragged the potty chair out to the kitchen to show me! I would have taken a picture if he weren’t half naked and trying to stick his finger in the chair and saying “See? See? See?”

As I type this, he’s so pleased with himself he’s running from room to room, arms flailing like a humming bird and squealing his little head off. I’ll admit it could be in part to the fist full of jelly beans he pulled out of the bag. I’ll trade a sugar crash with a potty trained boy any day. I wonder if this is the start of repeat behavior or if it’s a one time wonder. Regardless…What a good little boy!

Reflections on miscarriage.