Second-Guessing Your Own Decisions

Second-guessing your decisions

Today was the day we were finally adding a girl to our family of all little boys. She weighed 9 pounds and had curly red hair, just like I have. Her coloring matched the spots on my son, and he was excited to finally meet her after only seeing pictures. All my boys were excited. Her name was going to be Molly.

Molly is a mini goldendoodle, and this should have been a light-hearted post announcing her arrival in our family.

After filling out 29 applications and queries for goldendoodle rescues where I was never quite fast enough, or didn’t have the right fence or companion dog, we chose this puppy sight-unseen and arranged for her to be held for several weeks until we could pick her up.

A week before pickup, things didn’t seem to add up. The lady we were led to believe was the owner seemed to be more of a puppy agent. Records or any sort of paper trail were nonexistent, contact information for the family’s vet was unavailable, and the agent conveniently went into labor followed by multiple surgeries in the exact time frame that she promised to send all paperwork and vet records.

As much as we wanted this puppy, the red flags were not only waving, but they were shouting in our faces.

We had promised our boys a puppy today. We had arranged for someone to watch our boys while my husband and I made the 8-hour drive, and we had begun picking out a girl name.

Suddenly, the option of no was thrown out on the table.

The agent was as accommodating at first, then she become hostile and passive, and then polite again. During our drive home from the beach, we began googling the piecemeal information she did send after I asked her repeatedly for it: phone numbers, names, and addresses. Veterinarian phone lines were conveniently broken and were after-hours at this point, anyway. The name of the vet turned into an Animal Emergency Trauma Clinic, not a vet that would have an established relationship with a family. Glaring spelling errors on websites screamed “unprofessional.” It was the textbook example of a situation to avoid and I felt like a fool.

Desperate to believe I had not been misled, I kept the option of following through with the purchase open. After all, we had already sent a deposit to hold her while we were on vacation. I continued what limited research I could from the fledgling information I had been given. At this point in my research, the red flags were not only expected, they were almost comical. In fact, every single bit of information ended as a red flag.

My husband and I shared our hearts with each other. We avoided any “I told you so’s” and hurt feelings by talking honestly and straight-forwardly. Completing the final leg of our 10-hour drive home from the beach (side note: what a way to spend my birthday!), we decided to cut our losses and say no to this puppy. I apologized to him for wasting our money.

Yes, we had invested in all the puppy supplies and a nonrefundable deposit on a listing with just enough verbiage to make a PayPal dispute unlikely. But we had avoided the toll of another full day of driving the morning after the exhaustion of vacation travel. And more importantly, we avoided what could have amounted to costly vet bills, potential hereditary diseases, bad temperament, and emotional heartbreak on our part. We’ve been through the loss of a puppy before, which was the driving force behind all my second-guessing about this particular purchase.

It’s hard to accept that we’ll never actually know if this puppy was, in fact, a “lemon” guaranteed under the state’s Lemon Law or if she would have become a beloved member of the family. But even without meeting her, we feel right about accepting that we’ll just never know.

We will regroup, we will return the unopened puppy supplies to the store, and we’ll revisit the idea of adding a dog to our family when we feel ready, if ever. What I do know, with confidence, is that we made the best decision for our family. We’ll use this opportunity where we had to say “no” as a way to savor a slow, easy recovery day after our glorious beach vacation, instead of another frantic, worrisome day of travel to meet a puppy purchased sight-unseen, forking over even more money to complete the purchase.

The boys have been completely distracted today with their new-to-them bikes, we are up to our elbows in unpacking, and there has been no mention of the puppy this morning.

A few years ago, I would have been too proud to admit my mistake, even to myself. I’m certain that I would have piled my entire family into our SUV and followed through with the purchase, even despite my gut telling me no. And I never would have written a post like this, vulnerable to judgment and harsh feedback about buying a puppy or reassurance that we’ll find another when the time is right.

Thankfully, I read “Goldendoodle” by Kathryn Lee free on Hoopla at exactly the right time on vacation, as she gave me all the questions to ask and the pitfalls to avoid. She helped me do my research and see past what my heart wanted to see and what my brain had been trying to justify.

Even though we lost our deposit (I’ll still follow through with a PayPal dispute), it was a valuable learning experience for me. It’s okay to second-guess myself, to back out of a commitment that does not feel right for me and my family, and even to renege on a promise to my boys that could have done more damage in the long run than good. It gives me perspective on other larger, more important commitments in my life.

It all seems like a silly matter to pray over, when there are far bigger things to pray about, but I also know that God cares about every detail in our lives, big and even very small –He wants us to come to Him continually.

“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.” Romans 8:28

I will see this lesson learned for the gift that it is and move forward. I’ll turn these lemons into lemonade. The puppy will find another home.

 

 

4 Lessons Learned When My Baby Swallowed a Screw

If only I had just let my 11-month-old continue to gum whatever was in his mouth, he never would have swallowed it. It was my own failed attempt at retrieval that caused him to ingest it in the first place, as he lifted his chin and choked it straight down.

When the mystery object couldn’t be retrieved, I administered the infant Heimlich unproductively and urged Siri to call my husband to come home.

LESSON 1: GRACE

There is relief in the exhale.

My husband and I (and our three small children) waited in suspense at the ER until the x-ray came back revealing the foreign object our sweet baby had just swallowed. When I first saw the x-ray and the bold, white, unmistakable outline of a screw, I had two options.

Laugh, or cry.

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Without pause, I did the latter. I cried, right there in front of the gastroenterologist. What mother allows her child to swallow a screw? All my chances for the title of mom-of-the-year went right down the hatch with that screw. Even though my baby was babbling happily in the exam chair, I was a nervous wreck, texting my closest friends and family, begging for prayer. Because that’s what we do in our tribe. That’s all we can do.

In hindsight, I wish I could go back and hug that poor mama. Give yourself grace, I’d tell her. Freak accidents happen so quickly. My husband and I thought we had gotten all the screws off the wall sconce when we were changing our guest room into a playroom for our boys. The baby was right in front of me when he put it in his mouth – and I noticed him gumming it because I was watching him. When I put my finger in his mouth to swab for the object, it was already so far back on his tongue that he gagged it straight down.

Clinging to grace, I was eventually able to turn a terrifying experience into a captivating party story. Mamas, sometimes we have to choose laughter and grace for ourselves just so that we don’t go crazy. Some of the things that happen in this parenting gig just can’t be made up.

We good-naturedly told the story at his first birthday party the very next weekend, as I’m sure we will for years to come. I covered his smashcake in homemade edible blue candy screws, the final touches on his giant cupcake. His aunt and uncle made him a birthday shirt with a photo of his own x-ray. We could exhale finally knowing that he was okay. There is relief in the exhale.

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LESSON 2: OPTIMISM

On the bright side, there are far worse things you can swallow than a screw. The jar of retrieved objects on our GI’s desk held toothbrushes, spoons, and sewing needles. Passing a 2.8 cm screw encased in a bright blue plastic wall anchor sounds far less painful than passing a sewing needle, IMO. And it wasn’t a battery or a magnet, PTL.

Helpless in this situation, I refused to let myself worry about potential places the GI warned us where the screw could get stuck (the stomach, the intestines, the colon) or cause damage on the way out, even as the doctor made plans to x-ray every week for a month to check on the progress of the screw. Instead, I cast my fears into my prayers, turning to God in my time of unknown and fear. My faith assured me that God remained in control. 

Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? Since you cannot do this very little thing, why do you worry about the rest? (Luke 12:25-26, NIV)

LESSON 3: PATIENCE

It was a long 24 hours of prayer before the baby passed the first object, the blue plastic wall anchor. Part of me was elated that things were finally moving, marveling at how efficiently and predictably the human body works, and another part of me was terrified that the sharp tip of the screw was now exposed and potentially lodged somewhere within my helpless baby. And there was nothing we could do to speed up the process (although we toyed with the idea of pureed prunes). It had to make its way down his throat, into his stomach, through his intestines, through his colon, and eventually out the other end. In all, it was a stiff 48 hours before the screw would emerge in torpedo-form during a routine afternoon nursing session. Ok, it wasn’t that dramatic of an exit, but we can pretend.

LESSON 4: HUMILITY

For each diaper change following the ingestion, I strapped on bright orange latex gloves and peeled back those cloth diapers as if there were a Wonka golden ticket hidden within. There are few things in life more humbling than digging through a baby’s poopy diaper. And I did it willingly. Never have I wanted to find something so badly, not even the year when our church youth group leader hid the most-prized golden Easter eggs in a pile of cow manure. I even wrote sub plans and took off work so that I could look through his diapers myself. I wanted to be the one who found it, since I took full responsibility for the ingestion.

Thankfully, the screw was unmistakable. The baby’s body had broken down the black paint off the screw and then coated it in such a way that there was no chance of the sharp tip being exposed to scrape him. I’ll leave it at that except to say that every prayer uttered for my sweet baby in that 48 hour period must have added a layer of protection around that screw like a caterpillar forming its own chrysalis before emerging as a butterfly.

For the record, let it be known that I’m the one who learned all the lessons here. My baby is still oblivious to the fact that he completely swallowed a screw and then passed it exactly 48 hours later. He still puts everything in his mouth, bits of preschool and kindergarten projects that swirl in tumbleweed form behind the older brothers. No matter how hard we clean, there always seem to be new trails left behind by our three boys, and I don’t know how to change that.

Instead, I’ll cling to prayer and grace. I’m contemplating a dog to deal with the tumbleweed trails.

Anyone have thoughts on goldendoodles?