Friday, August 31, 2012

Sometimes parenthood isn't so sparkly. There are a lot of difficult and sometimes, gross, things that a mom has to endure. It comes with the territory. Late nights, "code browns", and meltdowns...all part of the job description. To toot my own horn, I have a pretty high threshold for what I'm able to endure. I was raised by hard workers, who were themselves, raised by hard workers, so pushing through fatigue or doing something that you just plain don't want to do, isn't something new to me. It's all part of reaching a specific goal. Sacrifice baby!
So when it comes to parenting, I can endure a lot with a smile on my face. It's simple really, when the goal is to give the best possible care to the most important thing in your life. Yes, I realize that I just called my child a thing.
However, in my relatively short stint in parenthood, I have discovered that something I absolutely can't endure is my baby being sick. After our happy beach excursion, Claire woke up from a nap a little on the crabby side. Since she and I both come from a long line of "slow waker's" (that's the nice way of saying grumps), I didn't think too much of it. But then grumpiness turned into a low-grade fever and a low-grade fever into a "call the on-call doctor on a Sunday night" fever. She had a rough few days (making Grammy hold her non-stop was apparently the cure for her ailment) but I think that I took it worse than she did. Seeing my child sad and in pain is basically unbearable. My parental ideals instantly go out the window and I will do almost anything to make her less miserable. Yes, you can watch Mickey Mouse. A bite of Grammy's ice cream? You got it! You don't want to sit in your highchair? Okay, mom will hold you while you eat your eggs.
She's fine now. Happy and healthy, with the dimples to prove it. The little pit in my stomach has been removed and life returns to normal. However, I now have answer the question "Mickey?" at least three times a day, followed by her backup question "hot dog?" (the dance Mickey does, not the food). Plus I have to convince my dear baby that she may not reserve my lap for all future mealtimes. Back to the drawing board in a lot of ways. 
Since we've been quarantining Claire (you're welcome to all the other parents in the Greater Tacoma area), I've been having to come up with some creative outings. No other kids, plus nothing else that other kids would come in contact with (i.e. no park). An evening outing to Harbor Freight fit the bill on Tuesday night ("Daddy, what's that?" might have been said a few dozen times) and a trip to the waterfront at Chambers Bay to throw rocks (rocky's) in the water did the trick on Wednesday.

Here is some pics of my healthy kiddo.

Searching for "rocky's".

Can we please take a second to acknowledge that these may just be the cutest set of legs in the history of legs?

Claire would throw a rock into the water then look at me and say "I throw (frow)" and make a fake throwing case I missed it. 

Then we got up-close and personal with a train. They may be a little overwhelming from this distance because the Little Red was pretty quiet as it was going by. After it passed, she let out a squeaky little "too choo".

Then she stacked rocks on her legs and thought she was hilarious. 

Then she got silly in the grass on the walk back to the car. The five minute walk turned into a 25 minute walk. 

Then she practiced her gymnastics. This is normal right? 

She ended the afternoon with a quick sprint around the park. "I run" as she would say. "Burning off the crazies" is what I call it. 

Healthy. Happy.

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