Whew … is it hot in here to you? No? The thermostat is set on 64 degrees, you say?
Oh.
I must be having yet another hot flash.
I saw my doctor last week and instead of her telling me that I needed a Lupron shot to suppress my endometriosis, she suggested that I give Clomid a shot instead. (I’m still a little leery of Lupron, so this was a relief.)
So far, my only real side effect is the one that leads to my wishing we could afford to cool our house to something around 50 degrees.
We were at least busy enough over the weekend that I was distracted from my own internal kind of heat.
On Friday night, we had dinner and played in the pool with friends who have a girl about six months older than Mojo and a boy who’s a couple of years younger. After we ate and splashed we headed to a park across the parking lot from the pool – and there was the slightest trepidation on my part.
My husband doesn’t do well on playgrounds.
He genuinely likes kids, but there are several he doesn’t want to be around Mojo.
I’ve been surprised by just how protective he is of our kiddo – I guess I always thought I would play the role of hover-around and that he would be more rough-and-tumble, let-him-stand-on-his-own-two feet about things.
There have been a couple of times that I have felt the need to intervene when some tyke looks to be bullying my babe, but for the most part I try to wait for him and his playmates to sort things out without me.
There have been a couple of times that I’ve had to suppress a giggle, like the time the little girl in the Chick-Fil-A playroom waggled her finger and called Mojo over to her under the guise of a game of hide and seek only to plant a big smacker on his right cheek. Mojo didn’t know what that was all about and his eyes were as big as chicken sandwiches as he made his way back to me.
And there was that one time with the gang of girls who, at the top of a slide, joined arms and demanded to know if Mojo was wearing a diaper or a Pull-Up. (Seriously!!) I didn’t know what to make of that one, but I just watched from the ground below and Mojo handled it just fine (by laughing in their faces … perfect response, I must say).
There have also been kids whose seemingly absent – or just absent-minded? – parents didn’t notice that they were pulling my child by his elbow down a flight of stairs or who have been throwing rocks perilously close to my child’s head, and I will stand up and say proudly that I stepped in and told them to knock it off.
My husband, on the other hand, tends to intervene first and ask questions later, to the point of hovering around Mojo and his would-be playmate while the rest of the adults are in another room drinking wine and making chitchat.
I have tried and tried to tell him that he’s going to have to let Mojo handle himself because we’re not always going to be around to help him out, and I think he knows that. But he can’t seem to convince himself to step back and let things go.
Is that a normal daddy thing?
Luckily, the kids of the friends’ we hung out with over the weekend were near-perfect matches for Mojo and everyone had a great time. No intervening and no hovering.
I can’t help but wonder if my husband would be as protective with a second child as he is with Mojo. Would he mellow with experience? Would he spend his days and nights trying to protect our kids from each other? Would it matter if the second baby was a girl or a boy?
Come on, Clomid. I can take all the hot flashes you can dish out if you’ll just give me a chance to find out.
