Mothers typically joke about needing a dozen more hands. In my case I think I need a hundred to handle the ever growing Noah. He just turned eighteen months old last Wednesday and is still not meeting any recognizable milestones. Still cannot sit, crawl, get his hands to his mouth, hold a bottle, walk or even talk. Yet we celebrate each day because he's alive.
My other set of wonderful daddy hands have been out of commission, leaving me pulling double duty. Chris injured his back which in turn has lead to medication, physical therapy and not lifting any more than fifteen pounds. Which leaves lifting and holding Noah off limits. I miss my extra set of hands dearly. There are days when I think my arms are simply going to fall off and my own back is going to give way. Noah is not an easy little one to carry all day long. I can't just put him down to sit, or crawl or walk. He's completely dependent. Sometimes I have the luxury of the assistance of a stroller, sometimes I don't. Sometimes Noah will play happily while laying on the ground, while other times his only sense of bliss is in your arms.
I can tell that we're nearing the point of communication frustration. I'm not really sure how to bridge that hurdle as Noah's hands and arms remain quite stiff and I can't seem to teach him simple sign language like "done" or "more." I've thought of trying pictures to get him to decide what he wants. Although primarily I know that he wants whatever I'm eating and not his baby food. We're pleased with his interest with visualizing things he wants, but Noah still isn't ready to start eating solid food. Sometimes I can appease him with a sip of my drink, other times I have to fake him out and bring out ice cream, sherbet or something he can eat that he thinks belongs to us.
Bed wetting is also a nightly occurring task; I've tried pampers, huggies, night-time diapers, everything - and the little guy continually finds a way to pee out of his diaper. I only have one flannel pad and two sets of bed sheets and mattress pads so I'm doing laundry for him quite frequently. Noah is also very particular on what he'll sleep on. It has to be soft and without pills so I have to find good thread counts. I assume that is also part of his sensory issues.
In addition to my increased laundry load, I've also taken over things Chris always just took care of, the birdfeeders, the lawn care, etc. And I admit I wish I had a genie in a bottle to rub, or a little elf I could call upon for relief. His doctor tells us that his weight restrictions and therapy will take a minimum of eight weeks. By fall I expect to have some super human arms.
"You don't get paid for the hour. You get paid for the value you bring to the hour."
Noah's Miracle by Stacy Warden is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.