The Days They Almost Died (Part 1)

I remember that moment like it was yesterday. I had returned to work after a month of maternity leave. My mom was in town helping out while I transitioned from being a mother of one child to a mother of two children under two years of age. I was exhausted after working with children with behavioral health problems all afternoon. All I wanted to do was rest and enjoy my evening.

I had gone upstairs to check on my baby boy and found him asleep, so I made my way back downstairs. As I made my way to our bedroom, I noticed my older son exiting with a phone charger in hand. Concerned over how he’d found it, I took it out of his hands, tried to explain that it was dangerous, and returned it to our room, out of sight.

I then closed the door and made my way to the kitchen. My mom was in the loft resting after a day with two little boys, so I let her be. As I made myself a plate and cleaned up the counters, I felt this little nagging tug to go to the living room. I ignored it and continued cleaning. A few minutes later, I headed to the dining area with my plate.

As I put my plate on the table, I realized my son was unusually quiet. I looked to my left and noticed he was standing on the couch with the phone charger around his neck and frantically trying to take it off but only tightening it the more. I screamed for my mom and ran over to him. I was freaking out, to say the least. How he had wrapped the cord so tightly, with the other end stuck to the back of the couch, was a mystery to me. As I fumbled to loosen the cord from his neck, my mom ran down and took over, as I was making a mess of it all.

I just sat there, watching her, looking as my son lay there in her arms. I was scared. I was confused. I was amazed at how a few minutes, less than ten, could potentially have resulted in a tragedy. What did I do wrong? I kicked myself over and over, wondering what could have happened if I’d walked in a few minutes later.

About two weeks later, my sister told me about how her day was really sad, as her co-worker had to leave work early to attend a funeral. According to my sister, her co-worker’s friend had lost her son. Apparently, as she had so many times before, the mother allowed her toddler to go to the backyard to play while she finished cooking dinner. She could see him through the window and looked out for him often. She noticed she couldn’t see him for a few seconds but was not too worried until it had been a few minutes too long. She made her way outside, where her son had played so often, and she found that he’d gotten stuck under something very heavy. She noticed he wasn’t moving and tried her best to get him out and revive him, but it was too late.

That could have been me. 

On the Real Though...

Nowadays, I’m not sure if I’ve become more of a prude or if growing up Nigerian and Christian, we just weren’t exposed to much in our family. There were just certain things we didn’t talk about with our parents, or anyone else for that matter. Even when we were curious, we kept them to ourselves. However, with each passing day, I realize that my husband and I are way too open, our children feel too comfortable around us, or we just let them feel too free to speak and share.

My children say things that would typically gross me out when adults say them or make me uncomfortable. However, never have I responded, “Ummm…TMI” or rolled my eyes. They have made comments that are too mature for their ages or those that are just plain from left field. One of my sons is the king of awkward conversation. He says random things, often out-of-the-blue that often make me scratch my head or blush on the inside.

The other day, I requested that he quit touching himself. He then decided to school me. He said that a boy “HAS to touch it when it gets bigger”. He continued on to share that “it gets bigger at night, so I have to touch it”. Needless to say, I remained speechless and casually changed the subject.

They make random comments. They seemingly have no filter and share way too much information with us and others, such as “(so-and-so) doesn’t workout, that’s why she’s fat” to “I thought (so-and-so) was a woman; she doesn’t even have any hair” to “so-and-so doesn’t even talk right; I thought he was a grown-up”.

They stop in the middle of a great conversation at dinner and say things like, “Mommy, hold on, okay? I’ve gotta go poop.” Then return and say things like, “Wow, that was a lot a lot of poop in my booty.”

As if that’s not enough, my daughter has her own random, often inappropriate topics of interest. She wonders out loud when her nipples will be big enough, so she can wear a “brauck”. Every few days, she checks the mirror to see how much she is maturing. With her birthday money this year, she insisted on purchasing two “braucks”, being that her “nipples will soon be big and big and big”.

She constantly has a comment to share or educate us on about the vagina, penis, or breast. What do we do? We decided to be modern rather than traditional, so we went with the actual body parts rather than “garage/lips”, “limousine/pipe”, “headlights/balloons/bean bags”, etc. Unfortunately, around others, my family in particular, they get interesting looks, and we get that questioning look, as if they are using vulgar words. Sigh…I wonder if we’re perpetuating attitudes that make our children a little too comfortable speaking about their sexuality or expressing their thoughts with little or no inhibition.

This parenting thing is a trip. It’s definitely no walk in the park. It’s a great responsibility. For me, it’s been seven years, but I’m still learning and growing. I’m yet to meet a true expert on parenthood. Our experiences are often so different, and our children are truly unique. How we raise them reflects on we as individuals, and that’s errr…a pretty big deal. 

So, on the real though...who finds parenthood a breeze? Certainly not I!

Not Rett Now

Wednesday morning, while a friend and I took our children to their neighborhood splashpad, a little girl, about five, caught my eye. She had gorgeous shiny blond hair and beautiful eyes, but there was something different about her that I just couldn’t put my finger on. She stared for long periods of time and seemed to lean her head over to the right, as if trying to figure something out. Her lingering gaze worried me. Something just didn’t seem right.

As we watched our children, I stalker-ishly observed her through my peripheral. My behavioral health background revived itself. My brain was whirling, and I began to assess her as autistic. She never uttered a word, and I noticed that the older lady who was with her, possibly her grandmother, was communicating rather strangely with her. I also couldn’t help but notice the pacifier sticking out of the backpack she had brought with her.

Several minutes later, a younger woman arrived with a little boy and some food. From the look of things, she had to be the girl’s mother.  We began conversing, and she identified herself as the girl’s mother. Due to my child-like curiosity, I couldn’t help but inquire further about her daughter, who the older lady (her nanny), stated was nonverbal. This mother shared how her daughter was born healthy and normal (started to speak, was walking fine, etc.), and I saw a glimmer in her eyes. But as she continued to speak, the light dimmed. She shared that her daughter had Rett Syndrome. I had never heard of it, so I inquired further. She explained that just before her daughter was eighteen months, she began to regress. She said her daughter stopped speaking, her hand control slowly ceased, and other issues developed.

As a mother, I felt for her. I could see how hard it was for her. She did her best to mask her pain with a smile, in an attempt, it seemed, to assure both of us that she has become at peace with it all. She told of how she had come with her camera, in order to make flashcards for her daughter, so she could use them as communication tools. She explained that being that her daughter is nonverbal, she becomes very frustrated when unable to communicate what she wants, so the flashcards are helpful to know what she wants. The more she described her interactions with her daughter and the tools she was developing to be able to communicate with her, I wondered about this amazing woman.

I have seen and heard of families who have disabled family members, and due to their busy lives, have them in homes or pay for others to engage them. This mother was doing all she could, including securing therapy services for her daughter, who some others may have given up on. As if that was not enough, she also shared that she had noticed her younger child’s speech wasn’t up to par at two years old. Because of her experience with her daughter, she caught on to this quickly and ensures he receives speech therapy, in order to develop his verbal skills.

As she prepared to leave, I had to pause and commend her. She thanked me as she began cleaning up the remnants of their lunch. At this time, her daughter began stomping her feet, did not want anything they offered her. She seemed to be biting her own arm in frustration, so her nanny quickly attempted to calm her as her mother scurried to pack up their belongings, each assuring her that they were going home.

As I watched her leave, my heart broke. I was in awe of this woman, a mother like myself. As she walked away, all I saw was love. While I saw what some may consider a potential burden, this woman saw her daughter: a child she held in her womb for the better part of a year, birthed, and simply loved whole-heartedly. If she did feel the load, the weight of it all, or questioned the future, it wasn’t evident, at least not at that time. Love alone radiated from her. 

Toilet Baby

Each day is a new adventure as a parent. Children are such a wonderful gift and full of life. There is no day that passes by that I don’t experience something new with my children. As a mom who missed out quite a bit on her sons’ first few years and her daughter’s first year of life while working outside the home, for several years after being laid off, I’ve longed to have another child. I’ve just wanted to experience each milestone I missed during the first year or so of my children’s lives now that I’m at home full-time and can dedicate my time and attention to enjoying every moment.

Needless to say, my husband doesn’t share the same sentiment. He’s happy with the three beautiful children we have and is excited about our future as a family. He simply wants me to make new memories with our children and appreciate the time I have with them now. In my mind, he just doesn’t get it.

Some months, I have this random feeling I could magically be pregnant. I don’t take a pregnancy test, as I don’t want to freak my husband out. Instead, I go on YouTube and watch episodes of “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant”. I watch how women who carried on with their daily activities for months, then, out of nowhere, they would feel excruciating pain and end up at the ER or in a restroom hunched over a toilet and deliver a baby. Somehow, I get some satisfaction thinking that could be me, but it never is, so I’ve become quite content knowing that unless a miracle occurs, I will not be bearing anymore children. 

I’m not sure how many working mothers feel like they’ve missed out or are missing out on their children’s development process. I know we try to make up for it during the weekend, on vacations, or during holidays, but thinking back, I don’t believe it was ever the same as being there almost 24/7. Those early years went by so fast, and being that each child was so different, I didn’t get them back.

I’m in no way saying that working mothers are doing something wrong or should live in a constant state of regret. We have to do what we have to do for our children and families, in order for them to have the things they need in life. If I was never laid off, I would never have thought we could afford for me to stay home without some kind of part-time work or new income source. In all honesty, I had never dreamed of being a stay-at-home mom, so even if the opportunity had arisen another way, I don’t believe I would have taken it.

Now, I’m at home, and some days are really good, while other days are pretty rough. I love my children whole-heartedly and have reached a place of true contentment with the three amazing blessings I have. They are full of interesting questions, whacky stories, and funny statements.

Tonight, after one of my children had spent several minutes on the toilet with no success, I asked the child to please hurry up, since it was shower time. If it wasn’t coming out, I suggested trying later. I didn’t expect the response I received: “But Mommy, I don’t want to push hard. I don’t want my poop to come out as a baby.”

You're Supposed to Have a Dad

For someone who grew up with a dad who was there for all my track meets, I’ve always felt for those who did not have the same support from a father figure growing up. My dad was a tad strict, but I believe that’s a major part of why I am the way I am today. He has always liked structure and a clean environment, and I may have taken it up a notch, but I appreciate him teaching me the importance of not leaving for tomorrow what can be done today.

Another thing my dad taught me was the importance of knowing my worth and not letting other people’s opinions deter me from what I know is right. Does that mean I have never been a people- pleaser or cared too much about others’ opinions? Absolutely not! Like almost anyone out there, I’ve wanted to fit in and not take a stand, for fear that I would be considered an outcast or judgy.

My dad is a man somewhat set in his ways, but as he’s grown older, his willingness to admit error has increased, which really baffles me. He has become easier to talk to and more fun to relate to, now that I’m an adult. With our growing relationship, my children are aware of their papa and inquire about him quite often. Of recent, they have become more and more interested in my upbringing, as well as my husband’s. Their questions have ranged from interesting to near intrusive.

Last night though, one of our sons, after asking when next we’d be seeing Papa and Nana, sat on my husband’s lap and began asking him questions about his life as a child, etc. Then came the question that in the past has been posed to me regarding my husband but was finally directed to him for once, which made my insides turn: “Why don’t you have a dad? You’re supposed to have a dad.”

For as long as my husband and I have been together, just over 11 years, I have done my best to avoid the topic altogether.  I know the topic is a bit sensitive for him, being that he never knew his dad and never really grew up with a father figure in his life. At times, I felt guilty when I’d share my experiences growing up with him. It was difficult for me to determine how much I could share with him without making him feel like he really missed out on certain things.  I knew one day, having his children realize they only have one grandpa but two grandmas would be awkward, and that’s something he had expressed. I know this is a slightly touchy subject for him, but I know he doesn’t shake his fist at God because he grew up without a father. This led to his expressing that I should never be afraid to communicate my experiences growing up in an effort to be mindful of his feelings.

It makes me wonder how so many people, young and old, male and female, function so well without a man to call dad. Some men step up and take on this role in a person’s life, but there are those that are not as fortunate, like my husband. The women who have to step up to fill in these big shoes, for whatever reason,  and still have children who turn out successful must be commended. Some women lost their husbands while their children were young. Others, due to various reasons, had to make the decision to walk away from their children’s fathers, and there are those who made decisions in life that led to their children’s entrances into the world. Each day, these women have had to step up to the plate emotionally, spiritually, and financially to ensure that their children are afforded every opportunity possible.

I’ve met men who have used the excuse of not having a father growing up as a cop-out for not being there for their children. However, many of the people I know, who grew up without fathers, are great functioning individuals with a desire to be the best parents they can be to and for their children. To them and all parents who give their all as the most important people in their children’s lives, kudos to you. Although “you’re supposed to have a dad”, if you’re a stand-up dad who has been there for your children without a father figure to model yourself after for your children’s sake, you are amazing. THANK YOU for being outstanding role models to our future presidents, pastors, teachers, business women and men, dentists, doctors, etc.

Dedicated to my dear dad, whose dad passed away when he was under ten years old, who stepped up to the plate and helped his mom raise his three little brothers. You’re a great role model and have done a remarkable job with all five of us!

To my amazing husband: you’re nothing but the best. Our children are truly blessed to have you as their father. I couldn’t have asked for a better dad for them.