My sweet four-year-old has spent the week reminding me of what it’s like to have a newborn. He’s been waking me up with screams for the last three nights writhing with leg pain. Last night had to be the worst, as we were awake at 2:30, 3:45 and then 5 a.m. I’d rush to his bed where I’d find him curled in a ball gripping his feet and knees alternately saying, “They huuurrrt, Mommy. They hurrrrrrt.”
This is where Jeremy’s hearing impairment comes in handy. He was oblivious to it all.
So I’d stretch out his legs and massage them until he stopped crying, and last night I gave him a little pain reliever to help. (He detests medicine and wrestles with me to ingest it, so that warranted even more crying.) Today I researched homeopathic options, which I’ll look into further tonight, because I can’t imagine endless doses of Tylenol or Ibuprofen night after night.
Speaking of research, I was struck by all the articles from physicians about growing pains being a falsehood, a fake diagnosis for general muscle fatigue in children. This bothered me because I remember having growing pains in my early teen years, being unable to rest at night because my legs ached, and no matter how much my mother would rub them, it wasn’t enough to penetrate my bones where the pain seemed to generate. I don’t have memories of leg pain as a child, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t have them.
Whether or not growing pains are real are irrelevant to me. I believe they are, and this means I need to help my little man when he’s in pain. If any of you have advice, the comment box (and my email inbox) is open.
This is what I woke up to yesterday morning when I peeked down the alleyway. And it’s not Photoshopped.
Tonight is Jeremy’s last flag football practice (hurray!), with this Saturday being the last game day (double hurray!). It’s been a fun ride and he’s benefitted from the guy time, the physical exertion and the overall merriment of being on a team, but this Mama is pooped. I’ll just be honest – it’ll be nice to have one less thing to do for a while. Besides, it’s Jackson’s turn to have a go at sports, so perhaps come springtime we’ll find some trouble for him to get into.
The addition of Salem into the family was seamless, especially when you consider the timing of losing Hank and going through a major family transition this summer. I’ve wanted a cat for years and Salem came along just in time.
But now another one has come along and he’s not interested in leaving.
“Little Buddy” is what I call him, refusing to give him a real name to eliminate the hope of him coming indoors. Trust me, I’m fighting it. I shoo him away when he tries to run in and I’ve even flipped off the patio light and walked away while he sat staring at me with those affectionate eyes.
It’s cruel, especially since he and Salem get along famously. They touch noses, chase each other around the yard and sit together on the patio every night. I frankly don’t know what to do. I just know Salem’s giving him the low-down about life inside the Big House – two helpings of food per day, sleeping under the comforter at night and hot tubbing whenever you choose.
Like dressing up for holiday festivities. This could be you, Little Buddy. This could be you.