The Dr. is In

9 Oct

I bet after Saturdays post you are all waiting anxiously for me to tell you what was wrong with me. Maybe you have a rash of your own and you want me to tell you what I had so you can compare. Before I tell you what the diagnostic was, I feel I have a little “I love Doctors” explaining to do.

I´m a Hypochondriac. A BIG one. The worst kind (In that not only do I think I have every disease possible, I have had my share of weird illnesses, which just adds fuel to the crazy). I can’t remember the amount of times I have said to myself: This is it. Say goodbye. I have it. Google says I do, he (she?) must be right. On the bright side I am fully aware of my craziness, and of the fact that there are faceless victims (Phillip), who have to deal with the array of illnesses I think I might have on any given day. Since I’m aware of how insane it can actually get, when I got pregnant with Peter I made a vow that I wouldn’t pass this side of me on to him.  So I have done my best to stay away from Google when it comes to Peter. I only read what I can from the Baby Pages I subscribed to while pregnant. And anytime I feel something is wrong all I can do is call his Doctor. I refuse to speculate with Peter like I do with me. I can’t even imagine the anguish I would feel while searching and reading the possibilities (which who are we kidding, are almost always cancer). So I refrain.

You might remember in one of my previous posts I said that I liked going to Peter´s pediatrician almost as much as I liked my Birth Day. And I meant it will all my heart. Since I don’t allow myself to Google Peter’s symptoms, going to his Dr. for me, means unloading a month’s worth of worries. Every time he asks me if I have any questions, I take out my monthly list. My face turns red as I begin to read a list composed of: 2 smart/relevant questions, some 20 are you really asking him that? questions, and some 5 or 10 I had written down, but realized just then how crazy that would made me sound which I ultimately skip. I can feel the pressure as the Doctor waits for the questions, and he can clearly see I’m scanning to find the most reasonable ones, toning the crazy down. Still he answers each and everyone of them. And when a crazy one escapes me (and we both know it), he smiles, the warmest smile, and says, no (or yes, but mostly no). 

The last time we went there, I told him of two “medical” solutions to some of Peter´s symptoms that I had though of by myself. He told me to call him the next time. Really? You’re opening that door? I don’t bother you enough? (I have him on Iphone Messenger, and I write to him (constantly)). Call me. What beautiful words.   

Anyway, my love for Doctor’s doesn’t end with Peter’s pediatrician. I’m also in love with all of my mother’s doctors (Phillip: father/daughter love). My dream is for my mother to marry one of her Doctors (any specialty will do), then we (my brother and I, since he is also a Hypochondriac) could call him all the time, and since it would be in his best interest for us to like him he would have to hop on the family crazy train.    Ok. I just read that last paragraph and that’s a lot of crazy (even for me). But hey, can’t a girl dream?


In other news…

You didn’t think I would leave you wondering what I have after all did you? Here’s what I got: Herpes Zoster. a.k.a The Shingles, Chicken Pox 2, The itchiest/don’t scratch it rash, The OMG what is that rash.

In some other serious news. While searching online for my rash, I came up with (you guessed it) cancer. This type of cancer called Inflammatory Breast Cancer doesn’t present with the lump we are all searching for on a monthly base. The basic symptoms are as follows: Swollen Breast (like mastitis) or Red rash with itchiness or Inverted nipple, or are Bruise that won’t go away. This symptoms come all of a sudden. I had no idea this existed. If you develop something strange that’s out of the norm for you, please contact your Dr. quickly. And pass this knowledge on to other women.


Baby E Update….

Little E is doing (thankfully) great. She is a strong baby. Keep the good thoughts coming! 


A rough week, a Princess is born

6 Oct

Ok. First of all sorry for going Awol* on you all. I had a rough week and wasn’t able to blog. It was hard for me not to blog, I’ll admit it. I’m hooked to this blogging universe and even though I so wanted to write I wasn’t able to. I´ll will now give you a detailed account of what this week has entailed for me.

1. The mysterious rash.

I’ve been ill  since last Saturday. It started like some sort of rash, and since has evolved into a very weird looking… Rash; with flu like symptoms (So yes I have a rash).  Since this began on Saturday and I wasn’t able to go to the Doctor until Monday I spent the whole weekend consulting my dear trusted doctor, Mr. Google M.D. I ended up with some very scary options, and almost drove Phillip crazy (Is it bigger? Does this look like the photo to you? Look at it! You’re not looking close enough!) When Monday finally arrived I went to the Dr. He told me what he thinks I have and gave me medicine. I will not tell you what I have until it’s confirmed on Monday, I don´t want to jinx it, and yes I am that crazy.

2. Peter had his first head bump.

On Tuesday Peter experienced his first accident (The first of many according to his pediatrician, the first and last according to me if we finally decide to turn him into a bubble boy). The events went as follows: While I was trying to rest in bed, my mother was helping me out and playing with Peter. He recently learned how to sit and still hasn’t mastered the whole thing completely. So as she was showing him some toy, his eye caught another one and he threw himself on top of it like a moth to a flame. That’s when I heard a VERY loud thump. And seconds later, the highest, loudest cries someone so little has ever emitted.   I ran to my crying baby, only to see a whole side of his face with the shape of said toy/flame tattooed to his face. Even today you can still see the bruises in his face and guess which toy it was. Thankfully we went to the Dr. to have Peter checked and he said he was fine. He laughed it off. I wasn’t so amused. But I was glad Peter was Ok. We spent the rest of the day looking out for the “warning signs”, but little Peter didn’t even complain once.

3. A little Princess is born.

This is actually the reason for today’s entry. Today a little girl was born. She was only 24 weeks into her life when she decided she had had enough of her mother’s tummy and wanted to see the exciting world for herself. And so beautiful Baby E was born today. Her mother is one of my best friends, a sister to me. She had gone to Miami with her husband to do the required baby shopping (just as I did), suddenly they had a medical emergency and had to go to the Clinic. And unlike Peter, little Baby E couldn’t wait anymore and was born. She was (thankfully) born ok. She is small and fragile. And her mother is such a strong woman. I am so proud of her. Baby E came before her time, but the unconditional love was already waiting for her. We love her so much (her and her mother). They will have to wait a long time before they can come home. We will all  be waiting for them, and our love will only grow strong each day we are apart.

If you read this please think about Baby E and her family. Send them good thoughts. They can certainly use as many good vibes as they can get.

We love you Baby E Happy Birth Day.


*I just Googled Awol: Away without official leave.

Off Topic Friday : The Misleading Mommy?

28 Sep

Phillip very kindly pointed out yesterday that the name I so carefully, dutifully and thoughtfully chose for my blog is a little misleading for the people that may be interested in reading about a third world mother. He kindly (see how I threw kindly in there again?) told me that when I write that we had Bordeaux wine and cognac on my birthday it may not be what the readers are expecting at all. At first I didn’t agree with him, Oh Sweet Phillip you don’t know what you’re talking about, then it became; Are YOU writing this blog? At this point I’m thinking he may be right (Don’t tell him).

I guess when someone pops in to read my blog they are probably not only expecting to read about the struggles of motherhood alone, but also about the struggles of a mother with what the “worlds” perception of third world countries should be like. So I guess instead of drinking wine a third world mother, would  for example, have had to walk 10 miles to the nearest drinking well, for water. So I’m sorry if at any point you were waiting for me to tell you how we make our own clothes, milk the goats, build the huts. The truth is I’m a regular person, who lives in a beautiful yet regular country (a country that thanks to it’s development is referred to as a Third World Country). A regular mother who discovered it doesn’t matter where we’re from, we share the same battles (children wise). Every country on the other hand has different issues to solve. But behind our own closed doors, we the mothers, we are alike.

But hey, I get it. You come in here looking for the struggles, the dirt (literally), and there I am, all wined up in a fancy restaurant on my birthday.

I’m sorry if the blog’s name doesn’t fit the writing.  I’ll do my best to illustrate the Third Worldliness of it all in my Off Topic Fridays. But as far as motherhood goes, this is all I have, my own battles. Ok, who am I kidding? I’m a sucker for readers. If you stick around I promise to wash Peter in a lake and feed him slugs. Not enough? When he learns to walk or better yet, when he learns to signal I’ll make sure he joins a gang. Still not scrolling down? I’ll put him in a raft and together we’ll make sure he becomes more famous than Elian, the little Cuban boy. Deal? There. Now please sit back, relax, and enjoy the rest of this entry. What do you mean it’s over?. Yep see you tomorrow.

Since I have the suspicion Phillip doesn’t really read my blog, more like the tittle and the final phrase. We’ll leave him with the following (We don’t want him to get a big head):

So I guess the conclusion to all this rambling is that Phillip was wrong. Thank God he’s Pretty.


In other news: Here are some other blog names I considered before I chose the Oh so wrong, Third World Mommy.

1. The Hypochondriac Mother (Which sounds like at some point Peter’s gonna get hurt).

2.The Hyper Mommy ( Which sounds like I’m doing a lot of moving around, and we all know I’m not).

3. The Colombian Mommy (Which would have also forced me to write this entry apologizing for the lack of drug reference).

4. The Honest Parent (Which, Zzzzzz Right?)

I won’t ask for your suggestions since the ship for the Name of the Blog has already sailed (And frankly I don’t like to be outsmarted, who does?).

The Day Peter Changed

25 Sep

This you are not going to believe, but I swear it happened.

When Peter was about 2 months old he had a day where he looked, different. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, so I took my camera and took some pictures. After seeing the results I called a friend and told her if by any chance I left Peter that day at the store I wouldn’t be able to recognize him and take him back. She laughed.

You be the judge…

1. Photo taken at 2 months – Monday (Normal Peter)


2. Photo taken at 2 months: Thursday (The other baby)


3. Photo taken at 2 months: Friday (Peter is back)








Who’s laughing now?

The New Fifties?

24 Sep

It was my 30th birthday last week (Since it was on Thursday It’s still considered polite to congratulate me so go ahead I’ll wait;  Thank you! That’s so nice of you to remember! Yes I’m still accepting gifts!). Anyway I digress. I had a great birthday, and a great time, but by 8.30 p.m all I wanted to do was send everyone home and go to bed. I finally went to bed at 9:30 p.m. That night I woke up at 3:00 a.m with a new life realization:  I’m old. Or at least I feel old, and the worst (or best?) part I actually like it. It was hard to come to grips with this new reality. I tossed and turned a lot that night. Has my life really changed so much? Have I said goodbye to the old me? Is this good? Is this bad? I just don’t know. Let me tell you how the day went so you can help me decide  why and how all this life realization came about.

I woke up at 6:10 a.m as someone was waiting patiently to be fed, he ate. Then we got in bed where we had breakfast (compliments of my husband) and then Phillip gave me my presents (a part of my birth day which I obviously hate). Then it was up for the day. Peter took his 40 minute nap and I hurried to get ready as we had his 6 month doctors appointment. I had made the appointment one month in advance. I like going to the pediatrician almost as much as I like my birthday (I’m not kidding). Peter did his best to behave at the doctors office. He barely cried when given his 6 month shots, he didn’t pee on the bed (such a great present for mommy) AND he rolled (The doctor was impressed at how fast he did it, I did my best: Oh that? yes, all the time, look).

When we came home I left Peter with his grandma, and I went to get my hair done. The hairdresser thought it would be alright to tell me that something had to be done about my eyebrows. So I gave him a ‘don’t push your luck’ look (while making use of my horrid eyebrows). He took the hint and kept his ideas to himself for the rest of the appointment. With this newly found silence I began thinking about eyebrow etiquette and I realized I hadn’t had my hair done in a year (The brows have been done regularly, I promise).  A whole year had passed since my hair had seen a curling iron, a hair dryer, the little tub where it gets washed. It was nice to be doing this for myself. It was the first time in 6 months (or even longer) that I had done some self pampering, and I was all alone, no Peter. It felt strange, but nice, I was relaxed. No shushing, holding, strolling. Just me and my eyebrows.

Phillip came by with Peter to pick me up, we went to have lunch with my father, his girlfriend (whom my brother and I secretly call ‘new mom’ because my mother one day told us (while mad) to go have fun with our new mother, and it just stuck around), and my brother. When we arrived Phillip asked the waiter if we could open our own bottles of wine, and then he took out two bottles that we had brought over from our trip to Bordeaux 3years ago (Scoring mayor points with his father in law). And so the drinking of the wine began, just as it has happened on every birthday, graduation, Christmas, or any event that involves good food and my father. Except this time there was a little boy who needed his mother to be able to walk.  After the first two bottles were gone, my father ordered another one, and then another one. When I said I had to go, my father ordered Cognac to toast my 30 years and Peter’s six months. We drank the Cognac and then they ordered more (at this point I stopped, I became aware that someone had to be there for Peter). The lunch  lasted 4.5 hours, it only ended because friends and family were waiting for me at home, and I ran out. I had the best time. But deep deep down something was bothering me: Peter.

Let me explain: Before Peter was born, every birthday celebration with my father went exactly like this one, at the end of it, it was hard to remember everyone’s name. So I never used to schedule anything for the rest of the day. I knew I would be having a long lunch with my father and about 9:00 p.m I would meet up with my mother for a late dinner. But this year, when Phillip asked me what I wanted to do, I said I would love to have friends and family come over and have some tea and snacks (yes, that’s how much I thought I had changed). He told me I was crazy, he reminded me we were having lunch with my father and that was always a long affair. This is what I told him (I might have raised my voice a little, it’s a little blurry): I have a baby now! Remember? The little chubby one over there? We are not getting drunk with Peter! So when we actually got (me) Tipsy and (Phillip) a little more than Tipsy, it kind of threw me of base. It was as if my old self was fighting with the new me. I had mixed feelings. This motherhood thing didn’t go so well with drinking all afternoon, who knew?

I then looked at Peter, my little love, and it hit me: I love the new me.  That day I had a glimpse of what my life Pre-Peter used to be like. And although fun (Oh so fun). At the end of the day, it made me realize I am as happy as I have ever been. You see when we got home from lunch at 6:00 p.m, there were many people at my house. People I love and enjoy spending time with. And although I had fun, I kept looking up stairs, wishing I could go take a nap. I went to bed at 9:30 like we do every night since Peter started sleeping through, and it felt great. Because apparently motherhood has turned me into a full-eyebrowed 50 year old, 40 minute napping gal; And I wouldn’t change it for the world.

Yes, motherhood is hard.  Sometimes I feel Bill Murray is going to appear out of nowhere telling me the roads will be closed. Sometimes I can barely keep my eyes open. Sometimes I wish I had more than 40 minutes to myself. But never ever have I doubted that coming into a room and seeing this makes it all more than worth it…


In other news: Peter’s door is creaking. The door I close when he falls asleep is making noise. Really house? Really?

Off Topic Friday : The Big 3-0

21 Sep

Yesterday was Peter’s half B-day and my 30th B-day. I’m one of those people who love their B-day’s.

If you’re one of us please feel free to relate.Image

* I had a blast but by 8:30 all I wanted was to get in bed. I’m officially on the third level!

It’s a Boy!!

19 Sep

Peter will turn 6 months tomorrow.

Time really does fly when you’re having fun (and changing diapers). I can’t believe it. It’s so cliche but it’s so true; they do grow up so fast. I look at Peter’s photos of this six months and I can barely recognize him. I don’t remember him being so tiny. I have begun to put his clothes away for the next one (yes I want another boy), and it warms my heart when I realize just how small he was. I remember in those first few weeks when things were rough for us, I was so terrified of how fragile he was, I used to go online to look at other babies photos just to see when he would loose his newborn frailty.  6 Months ago I didn’t realize just how much and how fast Peter would change. He is now this big  rolling (woohoo!!) baby. Today I  woke up thinking about how it was for me to be pregnant with Peter, and how much we really wanted a boy.

I know everyone says that they want a healthy baby and it doesn’t matter if it’s a boy or a girl. I said so myself, but deep down: I wanted a boy. You see I was sort of raised by my brother who is 3 years older than me. The story goes like this: When my mother got pregnant with me, they told him they had a present for him, only thing was, this present would grow and he would only be able to see it in 9 months. So for 9 months my brother patiently waited (Ok, not so patiently; he once took a knife and told my mother he couldn’t take it any more, that he was getting me out himself); when I was finally born they gave me to him and told him I was his. He took this to heart. He chose my  name. He protected me more than anything. He would climb into my crib to watch me sleep. If I ever cried he would carry me and console me. He made sure I was never sad or lonely (How lucky were my parents?). As we grew up  I used to follow him everywhere he went (as we got older he started to dislike me being stuck to him like glue, but there was nothing he could do, I was hooked) I used to copy his clothes, read what he read, watched the shows he liked, played with the toys he played, eat what he ate. I became a photocopy of him.  So as a result I didn’t have any girly time, or for that matter any female friends (I met my first girl friend when I was 8, she is to this day my best friend, but before her, even in school, I only had friends who were boys).

I was a textbook tomboy. Thanks to my best friend I managed to make more female friends, but still, the tomboy in me remained strong.  Even to this today I struggle with girly things. So the idea of having a girl terrified me. I had no clue what I would do with her. I mean, I can barely braid my own hair, so this little baby that was coming if she was a girl, she was going to have a rough time. I remember going to toy stores to have a look. I could see myself playing with the chemistry lab, the magicians kit, the dinosaur play-dough. But as soon as I reached the girls lane: The dolls? The mini purses? The make up? The dolls again?  The eyes on the dolls!!!

I had wanted a boy so much for so long I was sure I would have a girl. I was lucky enough that Phillip also wanted a boy, so no gender troubles there. As the ultrasound date came closer I was calmer (I felt it, I knew it was a boy). Phillip became, hmm, well he was kind of obsessed. He used to say: It’s a boy, I know it’s a boy,  It has to be a boy, tell him he’s a boy! So I used to tell him it was probably a boy, but um, you know it could be a girl right? *

Then came the date of the ultrasound. I was nervous for Phillip, he wanted a boy so much, I didn’t want him to be disappointed. We went into the room and I laid on the bed as always. The Doctor came in. He was the funniest guy. At every check up when he was finished he would turn on the lights and say: So it looks like you’re pregnant. Then he would look at Phillip and say: Marry her. This time it was no different. In the middle of the check up while he was measuring Peter, all of a sudden he said: here’s the head, the arms, the tummy, the three legs, the feet, the toes. And he just kept going on. Phillip and I looked at each other. The biggest smiles on our faces. He’s a Boy? The Doctor looked at me. Sorry what? Is he a boy? Nope, he just has three legs. He turned on the lights. Looked at Phillip and said: You’re having a boy, really man, marry her. We left high as can be. Our little boy was on his way.

Now almost a year has gone by. Peter will be 6 months tomorrow. I keep looking at him, and I can’t help the excitement I feel to see his whole life ahead of us. We’re gonna have a blast Peter, that I will make sure of.

* Phillip wanted a boy so bad because his grandma had always wanted him to have a boy. She was the sweetest, funniest, smartest person I have ever met. She had a slight case of Alzheimer. The day we told her I was pregnant, we were leaving the room and she said: Girl, congratulations on you pregnancy. I turned around and said: Thank you Oma (That’s what everyone called her), what’s the baby’s name? and she said: Peter (She had remembered). That was the last time we saw her.