Therapy Day

The weather is bitterly cold and I have antibiotic-induced crampy diarrhea. How are you today?

Actually, I'm in a pretty good mood, temperature and gut notwithstanding. I'm working through my fourth sinus infection since September and, coupled with the three weeks of bladder-infection/stent/IVP antibiotics, my bowels are really not up to the challenge. But in general, I feel remarkably better today than I did all last week.

I'm just getting back to work from my therapy appointment, which, as is often the case, starts out with the usual "things are going pretty well" conversation and concludes with deep revelations about my behavior. A few big ones from today's session are covered below.

•Perhaps the reason Bubba's behavior has been improving somewhat over the past week or so is because a) J. and I are getting along better so the general atmosphere in the house is less tense; b) I'm making a conscious effort to be calmer around him and sometimes succeeding; and c) we've actually been consistent in a few things, like making him eat dinner with us rather than watch TV while he eats. Sounds kinda obvious but it wasn't, to me.

•Today we discussed why I either freak out or immediately give in when it comes to Bubba. What it comes down to in both cases is my aversion to him crying. Ever since Bubba was born, I have had what I would call an overreaction to his crying. I know we are hardwired to react to a baby's cry, but my reactions could probably be called panic attacks. I never realized it was really that bad, you know, to give it the 'panic attack' label, but when my therapist asked me today to describe what happened/happens in my head when Bubba cries, she immediately said it sounded like a panic attack and once I thought about it, I had to agree. We discussed various possibilities for my reaction to Bubba's crying--maybe something from my own childhood?--but nothing really jumped forth until...suddenly I made what I think is an important connection.

After Hope died, there were many, many things that would hurt--seeing babies out in public, seeing pregnant women, hearing people talk about their kids--but the number one thing that would cut me to my core for months and months afterward was the sound of a baby's cry, especially a newborn. It hurt so deeply I would usually need to leave the situation if I heard it, even if it meant boxing up our food at a restaurant or leaving a gathering early, and this continued up until Bubba was born. Bubba's cries, obviously, were different, but as I've described above, difficult in a different way. Both situations induced in me a panicky flight response. I still have some exploration to do on this connection, but it seems obvious to me now that the difficulties are related. I plan to do some healing energy work on this issue.

•Revelation Number Three: Maybe, just maybe, it would be good to ask J. for help before I'm ready to have a complete meltdown. For instance....on Sunday Bubba had had too much juice (because I didn't want to say no and then have him cry) and he had a total all over the floor and the slipcover on the couch diarrhea blowout. The moment I discovered this probably would have been a good time to alert J. calmly that, in the words of my friend Pioneer Girl's husband, "we had a situation." But I thought I could handle it, and why wake up J. who is finally getting some rest, etc.

Fast-forward to trying to wrestle a screaming shit-covered toddler into a bath he doesn't want while feces moulder in the living room and down the front of my shirt, and it becomes pretty apparent that this is not going to lead to a happy ending. Sure, I ended up calling for help....by saying "J.!!! I NEED SOME HELP! HE'S FRUSTRATING THE HELL OUT OF ME!" Perhaps it would be better to ask earlier and in a way that isn't humiliating or hurtful to my son. Yeah, he's only two, but wouldn't it be nicer for him (and J.) to hear a cheerful "Your turn!" or a polite "Could you take over for awhile?" Yep.

•Finally, I was relating the bathroom struggle and happened to mention to my therapist in passing that sometimes getting Bubba from the tub to his room is a pain in the ass because once, a long time ago, Bubba slipped on the bathroom floor and scared himself more than anything else, and now he refuses to walk on it after his bath. So for the last, oh, six months or so we've been picking him up and carrying him to his bedroom. My therapist suggested we put a long rug in there so that Bubba could feel safe walking in the bathroom. Is this brilliant or what??? Can you believe I never, not one time, considered putting a rug down???? Jesus.

We covered all this in an hour. She's worth every penny she charges.