Baby: December 2007 Archives

The scans confirmed that number 2 going to be a boy. Faith and I are a little overwhelmed at the thought - we’ve only ever had sisters and a daughter. I’ve always been a little harder on guys. I notice that while taking care of the kids in church.

Although girls engage in frivolous stuff like painting their nails and brushing their hair, boys do genuinely stupid things that result in people (mostly themselves) getting hurt. They’ll be climbing, kicking, punching, making a lot of noise, high from the nail-polish fumes coming from the girls’ corner.

The only experience I have bringing up a boy is my own childhood, and it’s the furthest thing I’d recommend to any parent of a boy. I fought my way through primary school, never did any homework and even wrote hate notes to my mother. They weren’t exactly “I hate you”, but snippets of 80s song lyrics that expressed my melodramatic oh-so-hurt inner child.

I wouldn’t know how to deal with me, and that scares me silly.

We just got home from the Children’s hospital. Anne started shivering badly (not epileptic fits) at about 2 in the morning. Upon arrival at the hospital she registered a 40.1 degree fever. We spent the next hour and a half putting cold compresses on her forehead and neck, much to her disagreement, which she made known to all in the waiting area.

The temperature subsided and she was back to her normal self. This little girl was jumping, skipping and chatting non-stop. Oddly enough, a few other children were too. The hospital, often a last resort for parents, doesn’t always tell the full story: the agonising few hours before the parents decide to go to the hospital. Oftentimes the children get well on the way there, and many get the shuteye they needed while waiting to see the doctor.

Our ordeal tonight looks to be over for the most part. Thank God she’s fine.

One of the most difficult things to explain about the Christian faith has to do with Jesus being the Son of God, while at the same time God Himself. To be quite honest, I don’t get the whole mechanics of it. Had a small revelation tonight as I was washing poop out of Anne’s PJs.

Anne has had a problem with constipation, and it’s gotten worse since our return from New Zealand. The last time she pooped she cried, and we found a bit of blood. She had probably gone too long without pooping.

Tonight she kept telling us that she was scared. We initially thought it was the television show she was referring to, though both of us weren’t sure American Inventor fell under horror, unless Anne meant the terrible “suspense” music. We then realised she was terrified that she had to poop.

It totally wracks your heart to see the little two year old girl walk around listlessly, rubbing her tummy, constantly coming to you for a hug and telling you she’s scared. She didn’t want to sit on the potty, so we let her stay in our bedroom. She told us to wait outside. When we turned American Inventor down we could hear her whimpering in the bedroom, but everytime we popped our head in, she told us to wait a while more.

“I love you,” I told her.

She tilted her head to the side, holding back tears, and said “I love you” back.

My baby. My daughter. My love.

She’s now sleeping. The poop did eventually make it way out, down her left pant leg and unto the floor, but we’re thankful that there was no blood. She returned to her normal self soon after. Faith read her her bedtime story while I did the necessary laundry.

The revelation? I never understood why Jesus had to be “God’s Son”, but I’ve always known that Jesus came to earth to show us the extremes God would go to bring us back to Him. It would have been one thing for God to suffer on the cross; it would have been infinitely more painful for Him to helplessly watch His Son suffer and die.

Just so we’d know how much.