Wednesday, May 7, 2008

The Mom Chronicles

As American Mother's Day is just around the corner, I thought I would write a poem about what it means to be a mother.

You know a mom loves you
Writes your name in the sand
She doesn't even mind
when you pee on her hand.

The Mom Chronicles Volume One

"The Urine Sample"

So, Katie needed to submit a urine sample for a follow-up infection screening. Try as I might, she wouldn't just pee in a cup. She had given of her life-water in a doctor's office in Miami before our move, so when the paediatrician (nope, not misspelled here) here asked for a sample to be delivered to his office, I thought "no problem". A specimen cup changed hands and I was sent to the local chemist for a urine collection bag or 'kinder urinauffangbeutel' (again, no misspelling). Yesterday morning, rise and shine. Katie gets a bath so as to be as sterile as possible and as I opened the package containing the bag I find much to my chagrin that there are no instructions enclosed. Okay, I can do this, I am a registered nurse after all. I peel back the adhesive strips and tape my poor baby's nu-nu to a ziplock and wait for magic. And wait. I have to put a diaper over this contraption because Katie thinks she should try and pull the bag off (ouch!). Next thing you know... I see 'the face': A look of concentration, pursed lips, her face a dark shade of red and... well, needless to say, specimen contamination. Take off the bag, clean up the mess and back to the chemist for not one, but lets go with 2 more collection bags (just in case). I'll try again in the morning.

So, up again this morning. Bag on, diaper on. Downstairs for breakfast. A little shudder from Katie tells me that the lemonade stand has opened for business. (dont tell me you never heard "milk, milk, lemonade, round the corner fudge is made!"?). Well, somehow the urine went up OVER the adhesive strips (rendering them wet and useless) and out onto the diaper. Mere drips of urine only in the bag. So, we sit on the floor, diaper off and my hand making a peace sign so as to hold the bag in place with my two fingers on her inner thighs while I plead with Katie to find it in herself to stop squirming, stop trying to crawl away with the palm of my hand cupping the -absolute cutest- buttocks and show me a little PG rated "golden shower". We sit there for a good 15 minutes. I try tickling her, pressing on her belly, I even was making waterfall sounds with my mouth.

Well, I guess pushing on the belly did something, because next thing you know...that's right... The FACE.

It was all I could do to move my hand and watch in horror as my sweet, innocent, beautiful baby girl POOPED ON THE KITCHEN FLOOR.

As I was cleaning the floor I thought to myself.... I am a mother. In ALL its glory.

In the end, the THIRD bag was applied and I sat holding her, pouring water and apple juice down her throat and finally got the goods.

So help me if we need another test.

And now for your daily dose. (worry not... no pictures we taken today)

"I love you, grandma!!"


Clodagh said...

:) :) :) :) The glamorous life of a mother!!!

Georgie said...

And I thought putting on a Texas catheter on a 85 year old man was tough... you win. It looks like you have plenty to keep u busy over there. You are even learning a second language... love u, miss u!

Debbie said...

lol...that's awesome.

Mom said...

Good going, Mali! Thanks for the grandma greeting and pictures.

Leslie said...

Just you wait sister- big girl poop in the tub ain't no picnic :)