This is why people have nine months to prepare for children. Maeve and I were acting as foster parents this past week, and I contemplated going to bed at 8pm tonight. Baby Ralph (who’s real name is Markensson) is a 6-10 month old Maeve has been dealing with since I went home in May. He was brought into the clinic with a chest infection and was treated in the hospital. He ended up staying there for about a week because of social issues. He is not being raised by his parents, and there are many different stories circulating about where his parents are/if they are still alive. The hospital wanted to put him in an orphanage. Maeve was trying to avoid that, but eventually did find one the hospital worked with that she felt was acceptable.
Baby Ralph was finally discharged into the care of his “aunt” (who always works during the day, so it’s really an 11-year-old girl that takes care of him) on the condition that they bring him back to the clinic each day so Maeve could give him his antibiotics. Last Tuesday I got a phone call from her asking if we could take him in for a few days. Somehow he got an infection in his arm, and he had two draining wounds. We think they were in a sinus or something, because they were also draining into the area outside his lungs and giving him a horrible cough. But the hospital wouldn’t take him back because of the social issues. So I was sitting at the kitchen table when she walked in holding the little bugger, shrugged her shoulders, and gave me a look that said, “I didn’t know what to do.”
Night One: We put the baby to bed around 8:30 (in our bed…did I mention that Ralph also had scabies?), and Maeve went to bed shortly after. I, of course, stayed up for awhile longer. I think I finally went to bed a little before 11. I’d been asleep for about half an hour when he started crying. The whole night is running together in my memory now, but I know that he was up again at 12:30, 1:45, and at 2:30, Maeve and I just stayed up talking until about 4. We’re pretty sure he got spoiled at the hospital being held all the time, and they had said that he slept all day and stayed up all night (thanks for that, daytime nurses), and he was teething on top of that. We wanted to just let him cry, but unfortunately, the landlord’s wife is in during the month of July, and she had actually wanted to kick us out. But for some reason, she graciously allowed us to stay in the bottom floor while she’s here. So we didn’t want our crying baby to wake her up.
Ralph woke us up yet again at 5, and Maeve asked if I would take him for a little bit since she had to get up soon to go to the clinic. Now, Ralph isn’t content to just have you awake. He doesn’t want you to get in a comfortable position. So even though I was holding him, it wasn’t enough for me to sit up in my bed. I had to be standing. So we went outside and walked around the house for an hour and a half. I tried sitting down in some of our broken bag chairs from the old house, but again, comfort does not equal happiness for the Ralphster.
He started doing this little thing where he’d yawn and then sigh. Like he was just exhausted from working really hard or something. It was irritating because it was so stinking cute. Keep me up all night and then sigh about it.
A little before 7 we went back in to wake up Maeve, and then we were going to feed him. Maybe it’s because he usually just has flour and water, but for some reason he was just not into beef and vegetable baby food. I was holding him, and Maeve had spooned over half a jar of food into him. Then he decided that was enough. Hot orange puke. All over both of us and the bed. Mornings are not my favorite. Maeve almost fell over from laughing so hard, but then she did also clean the puke off my arm and legs because I just continued to sit there.
We got Ralph a pacifier that day, and that helped a bit. Looking back, he really did sleep a little better, but we also got exponentially more tired throughout the week, so every time we woke up it was just 12 times worse (I know, all you actual parents are laughing at us). At one point, maybe during night four, I woke up to hear Maeve telling Ralph that she was going to put him outside the window. (I think that was also the night he peed on her.) We also considered putting him in the tent with Uncle Mark, but thought that might turn out worse for us in the end. (That may have also been the morning when we tried to murder the chickens with a lacrosse stick, but the loudest one got up into a tree. When the baby is actually sleeping, I don’t want to be awake due to some bothered rooster.)
At the end of the week, we had to return Ralph to the “aunt” (but really the 11-year-old), so that Maeve wasn’t accused of kidnapping him. He is not able to go to the orphanage now because we don’t know that at least one of his parents is dead. Different stories continue to circulate regarding their existence/whereabouts. But the little girl brings him back to the clinic each day, and we may end up getting him back again.
I think it’s amazing how quickly you can feel parental. The third night he was here, Ralph was in our room with the door shut. I was sitting at the kitchen table talking with people from another group who were taking their meals here. The Haitian staff had the TV blaring at a ridiculous volume (as usual), plus the radios on, plus the generator was running. And then I jumped up and went to my room because I knew he was crying.
And now the section where I brag about my foster baby. While he was here, Ralph learned to hold his own bottle. He still doesn’t hold it up in the air, but he can hang onto it. The way he sits is absolutely hilarious. I’m not sure what’s not quite right about it, but he looks a little bit like a little frog (he also reminds me a little bit of my cousins Eric and Lindsay’s dog). And he’ll sit there and then just suddenly do a face plant. But it’s kind of like he intends to do that, because then he’ll just stay here and cuddle up to whoever he just fell on. Something he loves that actually makes him sleepy is when someone rubs his nose. So basically, he’s just like Bud. (Because Baby Ralph is also beautiful.) And he has the cutest little smile. Which he whips out at inappropriate times, because usually you’re trying to be mad at him. And I can’t wait to have his little ‘fro cuddled up under my chin and kiss his little face again.
