Day 10, Story 10: Tiny

Dedicated to moms everywhere and all those who work so hard to make holidays bright for everyone else. (Kid version below.)

Image source: Fatherly

Mom was up late as usual. Her focused face and under-eye bags had a blue cast in the festive glow of her laptop, by then the only source of light in the house. She was Christmas shopping online, wine in hand, sleep nowhere in sight when she heard a strange sound coming from the kitchen. Kind of a twinkling. 

Everyone else was blissfully asleep and unaware, as usual. Figuring the cat was up to something, she reluctantly got up to investigate.

In the open silverware drawer lay Tiny, their shelf-hopping elf. “How the hell did you get in here?” she wondered. Mom had planned to move him before bed but had yet to come up with another brilliant idea for his god damned charming antics.

As she reached to grab him and close the drawer, he hopped up and said, “Why hello!”

“What the fuck!” screamed Mom. Her heart did a backflip and she nearly did too, stumbling and scrambling in fluffy slippers with no traction at all. Then she stepped on her robe and fell on her ass.

She looked up and saw Tiny’s spry hat and alarmingly alert eyes–the top half of his permanently smiling face–peering down at her from behind the drawer front. “Mom?” he said timidly. “It’s just me, Tiny.”

Mom looked at the wine bottle on the counter, then back at Tiny.

“This is not happening,” she said, standing up and straightening her robe. “And I’m not your Mom.”

“Okay, Mom” said Tiny. “I understand. It’s not easy making the holidays so magical for everyone.” He rolled his eyes dramatically, waving his skinny felt arm as if casting a spell.

Mom tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes. The way she does when considering a consequence for someone’s actions.

“I mean, he’s right,” she thought to herself. Then shook her head.

“That’s why I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” said Tiny as he hopped out of the drawer, using a spoon as a ramp, and onto the counter. 

At this point, Mom was too stunned to say anything. She was having a dream. That was the only explanation.

“You’ve been doing too much, Mom” said Tiny. “I’m concerned about you.”

“Ha!” A loud, sharp laugh cut through the midnight air. Mom couldn’t help it. This was just too ridiculous.

“I’m serious, Mom,” he continued. “Take it from me. I’m supposed to ‘report’ on your kids like some creepy spy. News flash: No one gives a sugarplum!”

“Are you my subconscious?” Mom asked, half serious.

“Nah, I just get it,” said Tiny. “Here’s the thing. My gig? Not so hard. Let me take it on. I’m not going to be taking Skittles baths or parachuting from chandeliers, but I’ll move around and make it fun for the kids. Don’t worry about me–you’ve got enough going on.”

More guffaws. “My main source of support comes from… a doll!” snorted Mom, now laughing hysterically. Once she started, it was hard to stop.

Over her punchy giggling, Tiny exclaimed, “There you go! You deserve some fun, too, you know.”

Catching her breath, Mom said with feigned enthusiasm, “Oh yeah, great, let’s do it.”

She paused, suddenly serious. “Just don’t forget or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Okay, deal! Now go get some shut-eye, Mom. Being exhausted isn’t very merry.”

“You know what? I will. Clearly, I need the sleep,” she said. “But first, I have a question: Why do you keep calling me Mom?”

“Isn’t that your name?” Tiny asked.

Mom sighed.

She headed over to the couch to shut down her computer, then shuffled back to the kitchen to dump the rest of her wine in the sink. As she turned off lights before finally going upstairs to bed, Mom realized Tiny had disappeared. “Good, the hallucination is over,” she thought.

A few hours later, Mom hit snooze on a screeching alarm. The kids rushed in and jumped onto the bed. “Mom! Dad! We can’t find Tiny!”

Mom and Dad exchanged looks. Her wide eyes communicated, “Oh shit, I forgot again.” She felt a pang of guilt. 

“Well, keep looking,” said Dad. “You know how sneaky elves can be!” And the kids ran off.

“That ought to buy us another snooze,” he said. “They’ll get over it.”

Despite another thirty whole seconds of searching, the kids could not find Tiny. Which was peculiar, since Mom had not moved him. But the cat could always be blamed, probably accurately, if needed.

After breakfast and as if preparing for a sojourn in the Arctic, the kids began putting on their boots, puffy coats, mittens, and over-sized backpacks full of snacks and half-assed homework, before heading out to the bus stop. There had been a couple inches of snow and the world looked more wonderful, less brown.

Then they saw him. “Tiny!” The kids rushed over to Mom’s purse by the door, where Tiny’s pointy red hat could be seen peeking out.

They pulled Tiny out and discovered a sticky note on his hand. In almost microscopic handwriting, it read, “Help Mom, or you’re on the naughty list PERMANENTLY!” It was signed with a smiley face followed by “Tiny.”

“Whoa,” said the kids, and Dad in unison. 

After they blew out the door like a human tornado, Dad turned to Mom in the oddly sudden quiet. He said, “I get the message. And you’re right. I’m going to do more to help out, especially for Christmas.”

Mom tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “Right,” she said, knowing full well she had not written the threatening, miniature note.

“I’ll order some gifts to start. I mean it,” he said, then went to make coffee.

Mom turned to Tiny, who’d been left laying haphazardly on the bench in the entry. 

She could swear she saw him wink.

Another elf on the shelf gone homicidal. (Source: Pinterest)

The end

Kid version: My nephew’s birthday falls very close to Christmas, a holiday he loves. And he was very excited about this story, as it centers on his own household’s “elf on the shelf” named Tiny. So I customized my original kid-friendly version of this story just for him, and he loved it! He’s a wonderful boy, an admirable big brother, and a remarkable handball player (in addition to other sports). Here it is, in case it could be of fun or use to anyone else. By the way, based on this success, demand is soaring. I’ve promised custom stories to my other nephews and my daughter Stella!

(Note: Remaining holiday stories can be found here as they are released each day through 12/24, and available ever after.)

Yes, that’s a toothbrush next to the can opener.

This is not staged. It’s an actual mess that accumulated on our counter one evening last week.

How did this happen?

How did this happen?

Here is a list of all the things that do not belong here:

  1. Three wine bottles
  2. Half of an avocado
  3. Dirty bib
  4. Grater
  5. Onion, avocado and mushroom scraps
  6. Notebook
  7. Can opener
  8. Electric toothbrush
  9. Toothbrush charger
  10. Measuring spoon
  11. Bag of Simply Thick packets
  12. Empty tupperware
  13. Steak knife
  14. Drinking glass
  15. Baby washcloth
  16. Chocolate bar wrapper
  17. Rolling pin
  18. Wine bottle stopper
  19. Dirty paper towel
  20. Cheese rind

The impressively diverse clutter gives the impression that we were bathing and feeding Stella, cooking a Mexican feast, drinking heavily, baking brownies, brushing our teeth and taking notes at the same time. But no. This is not the result of intense multi-tasking. It’s the product of a Facebook addiction, tiredness from staying up very late to do some freelance writing, and chasing Stella around the house as she crawls from one room, cupboard or table to the next. I rest my case.

Wrong again. Then right.

There have been so many times during our seven months with Stella when we thought we had everything figured out, only to discover that we were completely wrong.

Back when she was refusing to eat and not gaining much weight, before her two months with the tube, we were, at one point, convinced that the issue was her poor latch. Then it was my low milk supply. We were way off, and it would take us a while to realize that Stella’s latch was indeed okay–she just didn’t want to take in milk and acted accordingly, which led to my low milk supply and not the other way around. Then we were certain that THRUSH explained why she didn’t want to eat. Nope–the doctor took one look and shot that down. Then it was lactose intolerance that was the cause of all our trials and tribulations. Wrong again! Her lab tests pointed in another direction (cow’s milk protein intolerance–whatever that means).

One night last week, Stella woke up AT LEAST a dozen times and screamed her head off upon opening her eyes. She shook her head from side to side. She was furious and clearly in pain.  Holding her, bringing her to our bed–all the usual no-fail tactics–did little to nothing to soothe her. She was incredibly fussy with the bottle (our nightmare revisited). But we thought she’d just fought off a bug of some kind, so after some quick online research, the answer seemed obvious: Stella had an ear infection.

Nope.

The next day, a pediatrician told us with 100% certainty, after peering into Stella’s adorable ears, that there was nothing resembling an ear infection. She also felt around Stella’s tummy, applying pressure in an attempt to find intestinal discomfort. There was none. There was no source of pain that could be identified, except for her second tooth coming in, just to the left of the one, in the front on the bottom, that came in a couple weeks ago. The last time a tooth erupted, sure, there was fussiness around eating but not endless bouts of screaming and almost completely sleepless nights. We were baffled. Again.

And to make matters worse, at her appointment, she weighed in a full two ounces less than the previous day’s doctor’s visit (she’d been acting like a rag doll and was clearly sick, then we thought she fought it off, then she stayed up all night screaming, then we thought she was okay for a day, then she developed a horrendous cough). Which put her one month weight gain at a mere 4 ounces and just about sent me off the edge. With the doctor’s help, we came up with a game plan to get her some additional calories. I’ll be mixing in rice cereal with all her spoon fed meals–though I don’t think she’ll ever take as much rice cereal as they want her to because she simply doesn’t like it. We have all but removed the fruit in her bottles, as it may have a laxative effect (especially the prunes) and take up the space of the more nutritionally important formula. (Though in hindsight, that plan seems futile–a sweet sort of futility made up of good parental intentions. Stella will eat what she wants to eat, when she wants to eat. And there is so incredibly little I can do about it.)

Just when we thought everything was going so well.

But then, earlier this week, she ate 30% more than she is “supposed to.” And now, she’s back to not wanting to eat, because she appears to be teething (she chews on the nipple, doesn’t want to suck, yadda yadda.) I guess that’s just the way babies are. Last week, Cody was feeding Stella, and despite how much I love her (so much that it makes me crazy sometimes), I just wanted to leave. I didn’t want to hear the crying. I didn’t want to worry myself sick. I didn”t want to wrestle with the mystery of  “what is wrong now.” I just wanted her to be okay. To be healthy and happy. How can such a simple wish be so heavy?

Well, today I’m in a different place. Cody just fed her. She took about 100, far below her usual. But I don’t feel the need to avoid the situation. I am not as worried. Something has changed. Maybe because for the few days preceding this teething strike, she ate like a champ. She ate like you read about. She ate like eating was hip and she was a hipster. She ate like it was the only thing worth doing. So, if for a few days she doesn’t eat as much, how can I really worry? She is doing what she needs to do. I trust her. She is not the baby that used to scream her head off when she saw the bottle. Nowadays, if she doesn’t want to eat, she chews on the bottle. The bottle is her buddy, not her enemy. Her new tooth isn’t a buddy at the moment, but that’s okay. She is a baby, doing normal baby things. I am a new-ish mom. Experiencing normal new mom things. We are “normal.” (As normal as there is, anyway.) There is no tube. There is no feeding aversion. We are so blessed. And to worry this time in our lives away would be criminal.

Seriously. She is so cute I can’t stand it. I am so mindblowingly lucky. And gratitude now outweighs worry. By far. What a difference a few months make.

With that, I’m dragging Cody and Stella to Molly Moon’s. After all the emotional progress I’ve made, a sundae is in order. Make it snappy. And don’t you dare skimp on the whipped cream.

My other resume

I’ve jumped back into the freelance writing life in an effort to make a bit of money while I stay home with Stella Bella. This, of course, necessitated the updating of my resume.

It got me thinking. Some of my most impressive achievements and abilities will never grace the pages of this supposedly all-important document. And it seems like a shame. I am referring, of course, to motherhood–all that it requires. And with that, I present my other resume…

EXPERIENCE

Mother, 8/17/08–present (lifetime commitment)

  • Collaborate with Stella Eleanor’s father (my husband) to ensure that she grows and thrives; oversee everything from basic maintenance, such as diaper changes and feeding, to high-level development including babbling, drooling, sitting up, laughing, and rolling/tummy time, with plans to teach her how to be kind, walk, use the toilet and drive
  • Provide attention, protection, guidance and full range of entertainment services including peek-a-boo, tickling, general zaniness and impromptu songs, stories and farting noises
  • Willingly put my daughter’s needs before my own while still taking care of self and providing excellent example of how to live life to the fullest
  • Manage public relations; handle photography and mailing of seasonal cards and wellness updates; manage upkeep of Flickr account with near-daily shots of Stella to prevent extended family from suffering cuteness withdrawal
  • Love that girl with all my heart, 24 hours a day, seven days a week, 52 weeks a year–even when her yelling reaches peak annoy-ability levels

Giver of Life, 8/15/08–8/17/08

  • Gave birth to baby girl weighing 7 pounds and 7 ounces; filled with pure joy upon her arrival
  • Kicked ass throughout 32-hour un-medicated labor during which baby’s head was transverse (sideways)
  • Nearly broke husband’s hands with vice-like grip; will try harder next time

Grower of Human Being, 11/08–8/09

  • Provided egg for successful fertilization; worried endlessly about fetus from moment of conception
  • Attended prenatal yoga, birthing and parenting classes despite overwhelming exhaustion and overwhelmed bladder
  • Ate enough cheese to feed all of Wisconsin for three years; consumed record amounts of grapefruit juice
  • Tolerated the shooting of sharp pains up my rear-end for several months; withstood debilitating hip pain and baby’s roundhouse kicks
  • Enjoyed pregnancy despite all of the above

Warrior, 10/08–02/09

  • Assembled and coordinated a top-tier team of Seattle doctors, as well as two lactation consultants, an occupational therapist, nutritionist, dietitian and cranial osteopath
  • Managed to maintain sanity when baby refused to eat; chugged olive oil and ate bacon in a valiant attempt to fatten starving, anxiety-ridden self and improve quality and caloric value of breast milk
  • Mastered use of Supplemental Nursing System while successfully limiting use of the “f-word” to 400 times per day; managed insertion and maintenance of god-forsaken nasogastric feeding tube and associated god-damned pump and evil face tape and crap-tastic peripherals; sacrificed small but previously perky boobs to hospital grade breast pump
  • Navigated labyrinth of hospital and health care challenges; slashed red tape and improved child’s outcome by 1000%; successfully argued case for the removal of nasogastric tube and executed successful tube weaning; produced a happier child and family as a result of round-the-clock efforts
  • Analyzed growth charts, lab results and intake levels; conducted in-depth, terrifying online research on daughter’s condition and treatment

EDUCATION

The Parental Institution of Barbara and Gregory Hescock

  • Coursework in everything, with an emphasis on love, the value hard work, and a good sense of humor

School of Hard Knocks

  • Classes included Terrible Mistakes, Bad Relationships 101, and The Awkwardness of Middle School

Sink or Swim Academy

  • Curriculum revolved around parenting without anything resembling adequate preparation

SKILLS SUMMARY

General: Expert-level nurturing, crisis and conflict management, hazardous waste handling and sanitation, budgeting, soothing, teaching life skills and morals, child safety, nursery decorating, baby-wearing, silly face and nonsensical sounds mastery

Technical: Milk production, human creation, swaddling, rocking, one-handed diapering (experience with both formula and breast milk poop platforms), bottle maintenance, reflux abatement

COMMUNITY SERVICE

  • Contributed a new member to the human race
  • Responsible raising of a kind, compassionate, contributing citizen
  • Adept removal of screeching baby from public places, ensuring a peaceful community
  • Addition to the world of a love that grows by leaps and bounds each and every day

A memory from our hospital stay

During our stay at Children’s, blood, stool and urine samples were taken and tested for literally dozens and dozens of things. Dr. Lindsay Fox was kind enough to review the findings with us, and she couldn’t help but wonder aloud about one of the results.

With a gentle but quizzical look on her face, Dr. Fox said, “I’m not sure why, and it’s really nothing to worry about at this point, but Stella’s triglycerides are pretty high.”

I was quite surprised and said something like, “Wow, that’s so strange! Why on earth would that be?”

Cody raised his eyebrows at me and asked, “Really? You don’t know why?”

I just stared at him with a perplexed and expectant expression, as he’d obviously figured it out and couldn’t wait to tell me why her triglycerides were high.

“It’s all the bacon you’ve been eating!”

Dr. Fox gave me a sympathetic look. “Well she has to be able to eat something!”

Cody was right. Because I’d been off dairy, I’d turned to bacon for solace. Cody had been frying it up for me in a desperate attempt to get me to eat. (He’d also fry eggs in the bacon fat and try to get me to eat those too.) As I explained previously, anxiety took my appetite away almost completely. Bacon and Kettle Chips were the only foods I could swallow without gagging.

Of course, Stella is now on formula and not breastmilk. I’m guessing her arteries are quite relieved.

Recipe for Sleep

Serves one almost-eight-weeks-old baby.

INGREDIENTS:

75-minute PediaSleep hairdryer mp3

iPod

Old-school stereo system

One small fan

Vicks warm mist humidifier

Memory foam sleep positioner

Pottery Barn Kids bassinet

Two swaddling blankets

Over-used exercise ball

One warm receiving blanket

Download the 75-minute PediaSleep hairdryer mp3, add it to your iPod, and set it to play on a continuous loop. Connect iPod to archaic stereo, and tinker with volume until it’s just short of “way too loud.” Turn on fan to provide some air circulation in the room. Turn on humidifier to combat drying effect of your home’s forced air heat–be sure to select the lower setting to prevent water from dripping from the ceiling (again).

Set up swaddling blankets, and double-swaddle baby so her arms don’t bust through during the night. This may take (more than) several attempts. Holding baby in a snuggly cradle position at a 42 degree angle, sit on exercise ball and bounce the baby gently until your back feels like it’s on fire. Up to an hour and a half later, once the baby is sound asleep, place her in the bassinet, nestled within the sleep positioner. Do this without waking her (somehow). Place warm receiving blanket over the swaddled baby, and say a prayer.

Sleeping time ranges from five minutes to six hours.