Payback Hurts (Oh, Does It Hurt)

That Mother of the Year Award that I blew...?  Yeah, I may just be in the running for it now.

Hand-Foot-and-Mouth has been an unwelcome house guest here for more than a week now and Drew, his mouth completely ravaged by dozens of sores and blisters, still screams at the very sight of food.  We’re talking about the child who will eat lint if you serve it in a bowl.  But now even ICE CREAM sends him running for the hills.  Which is just so sad… that I have to console myself by eating his ice cream.

What?  It’s not like he’s eating it.

When you have a 13-month-old who is existing on occasional swigs of water and milk, you will do just about anything to get that child to eat.  Mr. Candy has performed song-and-dance routines.  I have offered him a Ferrari in exchange for a bite of yogurt.  Nothing has worked.  Except…

…nursing.

Thank goodness Drew was not completely weaned yet because it is pretty much the only way he’s willing to consume any nutrients (besides the bits of severely chapped lips he’s unwittingly swallowing…YUM).  The good news is, breastfeeding doesn’t seem to be uncomfortable for him, as the sippy cup and bottle are.  The bad news is, to make it more comfortable for him, HE USES HIS TEETH.

Oh my god, people.  The pain.  The mind-searing, toe-curling pain.  After last night’s 3AM feeding, which immediately comforted him, I thought to myself, “I would rather give childbirth than have to nurse him again.”  Which reminds me:  does anyone out there give epidurals for nursing a kid with a mouthful of blisters?  Besides the guy offering to administer them out of his van on craigslist?

Although we’re not above taking Van Man up on his generous offer.  –My Weeping Nipples

But, hey, such is being a mom.  Better to have mutilated nipples than a dehydrated and malnourished child.  (Now there’s a parenting mantra that deserves to be splashed across a mug!)  Keeping our kids healthy, even if it’s at the expense of our own health, is just part of our job.  And, I figure, my nipple that is so deformed that it looks like it’s sprouting another nipple thanks to Drew’s chompers, is the universe’s way of getting back at me for laughing off his symptoms at first.

Just to make sure Mr. Candy didn’t feel left out of all this fun, I sent him out on a VISM (very important shopping mission):  BUY NIPPLE CREAM.

“Uh, so I’m at the pharmacy at Target,” he called, clearly uncomfortable. “Is this nipple stuff with the Vaseline?”

“No, it’s with the other nipple stuff — in the breastfeeding aisle,” I laughed.

He called back two minutes later.

“FOUND IT!” he declared, sounding surprisingly triumphant.

Bleeding-yet-nourishing boobs and successful nipple cream shopping adventures:   all part of the small (and glamorous) triumphs of parenthood.

Seriously.  We have a Mother’s Day bestseller right here!