Tag Archives: help

disgusting facts of motherhood, part 1

10 Oct

Remember a few weeks ago how naturally high I was from all the love and gratitude I felt pouring out of me? Remember how I bragged about being more calm and peaceful now with my three little bundles of joy(?) than I have ever been? That it can be done. Nothing seemed impossible.

That was before N. left for a 2-day business trip abroad.

I usually take refugee at my sister’s when he needs to travel or have my mom stay over or my mother in law help out with pick ups and drop offs at school.

However, this time, the universe decided to teach me a lesson and slapped me in my face challenged me by ‘sending’ my tribe to all kinds of strange locations as far as possible from this I-can-do-it-all-by-myself-mama.

This was day one:

I woke up at 06:15 feeling completely and utterly nauseated. If you know me, you know I don’t do nausea. If you ask me what the worst thing that my kids can bring from school is I will rank the stomach flu on top of my list. It is even worse than lice. That is how much I detest it.  I mumbled something of the sorts to the husband who was packing his carry on luggage and in an attempt to find a solution to the problem (nauseated mama + 3 kids + 35 minutes drive to school) he suggested the only logical thing a man would suggest: ‘If you are feeling too sick to drive stay home and let the kids skip school today’.

I gave him the look. You know, THE LOOK. The you-didn’t-just-suggest-I-help-Yiannis-cut-class look. It always amazes me how much power wrong wording can have on someone’s facial expressions.

Once N. left, I had twenty minutes to pack their lunches, fill up their water bottles, feed Benny, close the house and remember to take all three kids with me. Oh and the bucket, plastic bag(s) and kitchen roll which I threw on the passenger seat as my attempt to at least keep it clean.

36 minutes later we arrived safe and sound at school. I had hoped that after dropping off the kids at school that the nausea would start to subside as the first stressful task of the day was behind me. In an attempt to convince myself that I was feeling better I left the school and went to the nearest super market to do my weekly shopping. As I entered the mall and passed by the fast food restaurant on my right I felt the intoxicating smells of deep fried dishes attacking my oppressed nausea and the whole what-if-I-need-to-throw-up-right-here-right-now kind of panic took over.

In a desperate attempt to ignore the signs of my body I put the little-guy-outside in the stroller and headed towards the deodorant section of the super market.

Note to self no 1: when nauseated, avoid all kinds of smells. Even the AXE anarchy for men. Especially THAT.

Along with my very disgusted almost to0 sick to keep it together kind of look I went looking for diapers.

Note to self no 2: when nauseated, any kind of disgusting visual (even little precious baby’s pooh) might trigger the unthinkable.

As I was now speed shopping through the super market and desperately trying to shush my inner alarm voice, I was also having to deal with the screaming underfed baby in the stroller.

Note to self no 3: when nauseated, successful problem solving skills are non existent. Out the window. Gone.

I quickly decided to find a quiet place in the upper floor of the super market to nurse him as my shopping cart was full and there was no way he (or I) would last through the check out lines without attracting everyone’s attention. So as I was walking towards the men clothing section I spotted a well hidden (or so I thought) kind of bench. I parked the stroller, took the baby out, started nursing him only to realize that my time had come. That instant when you realize that you must unlatch the baby, throw him the safest you can back on the stroller, grab the plastic bag and picture yourself as Kristen Wiig in the Bridesmaids, is one of a kind my friends. One of the I-never-ever-ever-would-want-to-relive-again kind of moments.

Note to self no 4: when nauseated, by all means DO NOT NURSE

Until next time

love

t

and this was day 2

and this was day 2

wan sepona time

1 Feb

Ever since the incident, I have been calling my gynecologist every couple of days to give him a full report on my progress. If you know me, you know I hate calling doctors on their cell phones. Why??? Because they are pretty much overdosed on the whole receiving freaked out-totally-unjustified-24/7-patient phone calls.

But he insisted and truth be told my situation needed to be monitored. So…I waited for the perfect timing (sometime around noon) and dialed the dreaded number every couple of days. As time passed and things started to look a bit more hopeful, I limited the calls to once a week.

Last Friday I called and begged asked him if I were allowed to drive.

‘What?? from the sound of his voice I knew I had just irritated him.

‘Well….I am off my meds, last time you saw me you were happy with how everything was going, so…I didn’t even get to finish my argument.

‘That is why I don’t want to give you ANY freedom at all. I know you. The minute I give you the OK to drive, you ll start doing things around the house, driving around the neighborhood, running all sorts of errands. So, NO. No driving, no walking up and down the stairs, no NOTHING. LAY IN BED. Or on THE COUCH. Do we understand each other???

BAM!

Feeling like I have just been told off by my primary school teacher, Mrs Katy (bless her very strict soul wherever she is), I sobbed silently and agreed to continue laying it low.

The thing is, N. needed to leave on a business trip for a few days which meant that the remaining members of the family needed to find another place to crash. Since, I, once a proud mother and caretaker of all, was somehow incapable of taking care of the family from THE SOFA, we opted for the next best thing: 5 1/2 kids, 2 dogs, 3 adults: My sister’s house.

To cut the story short, come Sunday, the kids and I were picked up by my father who then drove us off to Alex.  Johnny (the canarian) and Benny (the dog) had already been transferred safely to my mom’s house the day before. An hour later we were greeted by my 3 nieces and sister with excitement and joy which helped me recover from the stressful ride as a co-driver to my dad. You see, my dad, drives a car like he drives his motorcycle. YES. At the tender age of 73, he STILL rides his motorcycle. EVERY DAY. Unless it is pouring which in Greece is rarely the case.

Five, very full days passed filled with lots of children’s giggles, sleepless nights (Iliana got sick and Yiannis was so excited to be with his cousins that he wanted to start his day at 05:00 am), homework with the girls (I will get back to that), cuddles with the dogs, movie nights with the sis and the non stop-chatting-while-trying-to-watch-the-movie-dad.

The highlight of all was definitely the moment my middle niece asked me to correct the fairy tale she had just typed up for her English class.

‘Wan sepona time…

Until next time

love

tatu

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5 children ranging from 4 to almost 13

 
 
 
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