Sometimes the words that so naturally and seriously come out of my mouth as a mother make me laugh....and cringe. The conversations I have nowadays leave little sacred.
*Waves hi to 20-year-old Little Bug someday.*
Showing posts with label gross. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gross. Show all posts
Monday, February 21, 2011
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
After 2+ Years as Parent....
...a red, painful bottom still sends me into panic.
The attractive, young pediatrician who took my weekend call had a hard time hiding his incredulity as I panicked through my list of symptoms, which included the abnormal and plentiful #2 and a tooshy that was bright red and painful to touch. We've had so much sick time lately that I think I was really asking him to just stop the madness and return my home into a healthy body haven.
Me: Should I take him somewhere?
Him: Where would you take him for diaper rash?
Me: Umm....I don't know. I was just wondering if there was anything I could do torestore my sanity relieve the symptoms.
Him: He's 3? Haven't you dealt with diaper rash before?
Me: Yes. I was just hoping....
Little Bug is still giving us a run (HAhaHa) for our money after a couple days, but things look to be on the mend, and he is finally back to school and Appa and I are finally able to work a full day again.
Just in time for the snow closures.
After 2+ years as a parent, I have learned the two things I will never have control of are my son's bodily fluids and the weather.
The attractive, young pediatrician who took my weekend call had a hard time hiding his incredulity as I panicked through my list of symptoms, which included the abnormal and plentiful #2 and a tooshy that was bright red and painful to touch. We've had so much sick time lately that I think I was really asking him to just stop the madness and return my home into a healthy body haven.
Me: Should I take him somewhere?
Him: Where would you take him for diaper rash?
Me: Umm....I don't know. I was just wondering if there was anything I could do to
Him: He's 3? Haven't you dealt with diaper rash before?
Me: Yes. I was just hoping....
Little Bug is still giving us a run (HAhaHa) for our money after a couple days, but things look to be on the mend, and he is finally back to school and Appa and I are finally able to work a full day again.
Just in time for the snow closures.
After 2+ years as a parent, I have learned the two things I will never have control of are my son's bodily fluids and the weather.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Let's Talk About Bodily Fluids: The Saddest Story of Them All
This morning I woke up in my husband's arms.
That's happened only a handful of time in the last year. Those nice mornings are usually a result of Little Bug being put down by a babysitter, because on those nights, inexplicably, he does not get up and come to our room during the night. We think it might be because he doesn't know that we are in our bedroom, which is kind of sad (but still, I like having my bed to share with just the hubby sometimes).
After a couple moments of cuddle time, I got the urge to check on Little Bug and bring him into our room for the morning snuggles.
When I opened his bedroom door I was happily surprised to see him sitting in the middle of his floor next to a book. He still needs to work on independent play, so the idea that he woke up and chose to enjoy a book rather than my bed warmed my heart.
What did not warm my heart was the shell-shocked, scared expression on my baby's face as he weakly pointed towards his step stool and whimpered. I followed his finger and saw a huge pile of vomit all over his stool. Suddenly I realized it was everywhere....all over his bed, his stool, his floor. He had been throwing up--a lot--and clearly trying to get out of bed to get to us. For whatever reason (I think fear and shock), he just stopped near his door and waited for us.
The worst part of this (and it takes a lot to be the worst part of the amount of vomit that was all over that room) was the fact that a lot of the vomit piles were dry.
He'd been sitting like that, paralyzed, for a while. Probably at least an hour, and in my heart, I fear more.
We went into disaster mode, me whisking him away for a bubble bath while Appa took care of his bedroom (which would cause him to shake and whimper every time we walked past it). It was heartbreaking to see how long it took for him to get comfortable and feel safe again. He's running a fever, but otherwise has been able to hold things down and doesn't seem emotionally scarred by his bedroom now that it is cleaned.
But his little face when I opened the door after he had been waiting so long for me is something I won't forget for a long time.
That's happened only a handful of time in the last year. Those nice mornings are usually a result of Little Bug being put down by a babysitter, because on those nights, inexplicably, he does not get up and come to our room during the night. We think it might be because he doesn't know that we are in our bedroom, which is kind of sad (but still, I like having my bed to share with just the hubby sometimes).
After a couple moments of cuddle time, I got the urge to check on Little Bug and bring him into our room for the morning snuggles.
When I opened his bedroom door I was happily surprised to see him sitting in the middle of his floor next to a book. He still needs to work on independent play, so the idea that he woke up and chose to enjoy a book rather than my bed warmed my heart.
What did not warm my heart was the shell-shocked, scared expression on my baby's face as he weakly pointed towards his step stool and whimpered. I followed his finger and saw a huge pile of vomit all over his stool. Suddenly I realized it was everywhere....all over his bed, his stool, his floor. He had been throwing up--a lot--and clearly trying to get out of bed to get to us. For whatever reason (I think fear and shock), he just stopped near his door and waited for us.
The worst part of this (and it takes a lot to be the worst part of the amount of vomit that was all over that room) was the fact that a lot of the vomit piles were dry.
He'd been sitting like that, paralyzed, for a while. Probably at least an hour, and in my heart, I fear more.
We went into disaster mode, me whisking him away for a bubble bath while Appa took care of his bedroom (which would cause him to shake and whimper every time we walked past it). It was heartbreaking to see how long it took for him to get comfortable and feel safe again. He's running a fever, but otherwise has been able to hold things down and doesn't seem emotionally scarred by his bedroom now that it is cleaned.
But his little face when I opened the door after he had been waiting so long for me is something I won't forget for a long time.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Poop: The Interlude
Scene: Very fancy and expensive restaurant at Downtown Disney.
Shortly after we ordered at our one super fancy meal of our trip, I noticed that Little Bug was smelling a bit off. A casual look revealed that HOLY CRAP, he was the the midst of a blow out.
Never fear; I am a prepared and capable mother. I calmly asked Appa to hand me a diaper and some wipes, figuring I could salvage things enough to finish dinner, but as the words left my mouth, I realized a horrible truth.
I had left the diaper bag back at the hotel.
Sh*t. In every sense of the word.
After staring at each other for about 30 seconds of serious horror, I got up andran walked briskly out of the restaurant and toward the first place that I saw that sold kid's clothing.
The upside is at Downtown Disney, those places are every few feet. The downside is that the selection of boy's toddler wear is pretty limited and overpriced.
But my son was currently sitting in a fancy restaurant erupting unspeakable things from his pants, so I grabbed a pair of gray sweat pants with a red racing stripe on the side and Mickey Mouse embroidered, paid about seven times what I would ever pay for sweat pants (more than that if you factor in my hatred for sweat pants), and then turned to the more pressing matter.
A diaper.
I took out all the cash I had ($3) and spotted the first kindly looking family with kids and begged them for a diaper. Offered them my $3 for a diaper. In the middle of a giant Disney store in front of a life-sized version of Sleeping Beauty. They gave me the diaper, let me keep my $3, and wished me luck as I sprinted out of the store and back to the restaurant.
You'd think the story would get boring from here.
When I got back to our table Appa told me that things had gotten worse, almost to the point of having to leave (I don't know where we would go though). Without a word I whisked Little Bug up and into the women's restroom...probably the only one in a 50 mile radius without a kid's changing area.
In a tiny stall, with my son's salvaged shirt over his head and his hands being held like handcuffs, I used my free hand to strip him, methodically clean him off using paper towels and my antibacterial wipes, and then clean up the mess we made. His naked body was on the bathroom floor, not to mention me sitting cross legged facing the toilet.
It was so gross; I seriously felt a bit traumatized.
So the story should end here....
As we were working, I could hear people commenting on the smell. I understood; something was seriously foul in my son's diaper. As I figured the restaurant would not want me to carry a super pungent diaper next to all the diners, I wrapped it up and shoved it in the bottom of a garbage can in the bathroom.
However, we were seating directly next to the bathroom and for the next 2 minutes I could see people coming out with their noses still pinched. Talking about the smell. Looking ill.
Oh my God; we were ruining people's meals.
So I had to find the manager and tell him what had happened and suggest they use some room spray and remove the garbage. He was very gracious, but I saw two people complain to him right after that, so I assume he wasn't super stoked.
Nor were the two female employees who we had to watch go in and out as they were "taking care of it."
We finished our fancy meal; me a bit quiet due to disgust and mortification, and left to find me a caramel apple to make up for the night. I'm trying to stay unplugged for this trip, but I had to get this one out, in the hopes it will seem funnier and less horrible.
The biggest irony: Little Bug is having a hard time falling asleep tonight, and I needed to do some research in preparation for tomorrow, so I had to bring the computer into another room. So this entry is being typed from our hotel room bathroom, as I sit cross legged on the floor with the computer propped up on the toilet.
It's how we roll.
Shortly after we ordered at our one super fancy meal of our trip, I noticed that Little Bug was smelling a bit off. A casual look revealed that HOLY CRAP, he was the the midst of a blow out.
Never fear; I am a prepared and capable mother. I calmly asked Appa to hand me a diaper and some wipes, figuring I could salvage things enough to finish dinner, but as the words left my mouth, I realized a horrible truth.
I had left the diaper bag back at the hotel.
Sh*t. In every sense of the word.
After staring at each other for about 30 seconds of serious horror, I got up and
The upside is at Downtown Disney, those places are every few feet. The downside is that the selection of boy's toddler wear is pretty limited and overpriced.
But my son was currently sitting in a fancy restaurant erupting unspeakable things from his pants, so I grabbed a pair of gray sweat pants with a red racing stripe on the side and Mickey Mouse embroidered, paid about seven times what I would ever pay for sweat pants (more than that if you factor in my hatred for sweat pants), and then turned to the more pressing matter.
A diaper.
I took out all the cash I had ($3) and spotted the first kindly looking family with kids and begged them for a diaper. Offered them my $3 for a diaper. In the middle of a giant Disney store in front of a life-sized version of Sleeping Beauty. They gave me the diaper, let me keep my $3, and wished me luck as I sprinted out of the store and back to the restaurant.
You'd think the story would get boring from here.
When I got back to our table Appa told me that things had gotten worse, almost to the point of having to leave (I don't know where we would go though). Without a word I whisked Little Bug up and into the women's restroom...probably the only one in a 50 mile radius without a kid's changing area.
In a tiny stall, with my son's salvaged shirt over his head and his hands being held like handcuffs, I used my free hand to strip him, methodically clean him off using paper towels and my antibacterial wipes, and then clean up the mess we made. His naked body was on the bathroom floor, not to mention me sitting cross legged facing the toilet.
It was so gross; I seriously felt a bit traumatized.
So the story should end here....
As we were working, I could hear people commenting on the smell. I understood; something was seriously foul in my son's diaper. As I figured the restaurant would not want me to carry a super pungent diaper next to all the diners, I wrapped it up and shoved it in the bottom of a garbage can in the bathroom.
However, we were seating directly next to the bathroom and for the next 2 minutes I could see people coming out with their noses still pinched. Talking about the smell. Looking ill.
Oh my God; we were ruining people's meals.
So I had to find the manager and tell him what had happened and suggest they use some room spray and remove the garbage. He was very gracious, but I saw two people complain to him right after that, so I assume he wasn't super stoked.
Nor were the two female employees who we had to watch go in and out as they were "taking care of it."
We finished our fancy meal; me a bit quiet due to disgust and mortification, and left to find me a caramel apple to make up for the night. I'm trying to stay unplugged for this trip, but I had to get this one out, in the hopes it will seem funnier and less horrible.
The biggest irony: Little Bug is having a hard time falling asleep tonight, and I needed to do some research in preparation for tomorrow, so I had to bring the computer into another room. So this entry is being typed from our hotel room bathroom, as I sit cross legged on the floor with the computer propped up on the toilet.
It's how we roll.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Write and Ye Shall Recieve
Blah blah writer's block blah blah BODILY FLUIDS.
Dear Me,
When you treat bodily fluids in a flip manner, they will come back to show you who is boss. Just ask the pair of cream dress pants you put on this morning that are now covered in blood from Little Bug's seemingly random "good morning" nose bleed...or the other pair of dress pants you put on to replace the bloody dress pants that are also now also covered in blood from the encore.
Lame.
Sincerely Yours,
Me
Dear Me,
When you treat bodily fluids in a flip manner, they will come back to show you who is boss. Just ask the pair of cream dress pants you put on this morning that are now covered in blood from Little Bug's seemingly random "good morning" nose bleed...or the other pair of dress pants you put on to replace the bloody dress pants that are also now also covered in blood from the encore.
Lame.
Sincerely Yours,
Me
Monday, August 9, 2010
Let's Talk About Bodily Fluids on Monday Morning
I'm starting to take personal offense to bloody noses.
After an epic battle to trim Little Bug's nails last night, I believe he still managed to scrap up the inside of his nose this morning enough to cause gushing blood.....at least, that is what I am guessing. I didn't see it start.
I just woke up to a drip, drip, drip on my face. Little Bug was sitting above me in bed with a radiant good morning smile on his cute face....that was completely covered in blood.
Just like his jammies.
Just like my jammies.
Just like our pillows and sheets.
Just like my wall (?!).
I didn't have a bath for him or laundry for us budgeted in my morning routine, so needless to say the morning started off on the wrong foot.
I'm hoping this means I have gotten my "bodily fluids horror" of the week out of the way nice and early. It's all dry sailing from here!
After an epic battle to trim Little Bug's nails last night, I believe he still managed to scrap up the inside of his nose this morning enough to cause gushing blood.....at least, that is what I am guessing. I didn't see it start.
I just woke up to a drip, drip, drip on my face. Little Bug was sitting above me in bed with a radiant good morning smile on his cute face....that was completely covered in blood.
Just like his jammies.
Just like my jammies.
Just like our pillows and sheets.
Just like my wall (?!).
I didn't have a bath for him or laundry for us budgeted in my morning routine, so needless to say the morning started off on the wrong foot.
I'm hoping this means I have gotten my "bodily fluids horror" of the week out of the way nice and early. It's all dry sailing from here!
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
WTH Just Happened
I resigned myself a while ago that Little Bug would be in diapers for a while. An early or even "normal" potty training seemed ridiculous to us. So, although he sits on the potty after each diaper change at school, I've never so much as looked twice at a potty for our home.
Scene: Little Bug and I enjoying an ice cream on our back porch. Little Bug suddenly starts squatting and grunting. Very gentleman-like.
Mama (absently, still mentally celebrating the fact he handed me his ice cream instead of tossing it on the ground): "Little Bug, are you pooping? Do you need to go to the potty?"
Note, the fact that I used the word potty was not because I expected him to actually need to use the potty (he was clearly already doing his business); it was just some absent thing I think I have always said to him.
Little Bug: "PbA?"
Little Bug straightened up, brushed away the ice cream and went to the door expectantly. Mama opens the door and Little Bug goes directly to the baby gate and waits to be let upstairs. He goes directly to the bathroom and stands expectantly, pointing at the toilet.
Little Bug: "PbA?"
Mama: "Uhhh, ok?"
Mama takes off the poopy diaper and sits Little Bug's tiny tushy on the way too big toilet seat. Both Little Bug and Mama are afraid he is going to drop through.
Little Bug (clapping once he is removed from the toilet): "All done."
End scene.
So today I am reviewing toddler potties and will have one in our bathroom by the end of the week. Do I think this means Little Bug is anywhere near ready to even begin potty training? Nope. The running water I heard this morning while getting ready for work that was actually my son loudly peeing in his diaper, totally oblivious, tells me as much.
But I'm going to have the potty and rewards on hand, just in case.
Scene: Little Bug and I enjoying an ice cream on our back porch. Little Bug suddenly starts squatting and grunting. Very gentleman-like.
Mama (absently, still mentally celebrating the fact he handed me his ice cream instead of tossing it on the ground): "Little Bug, are you pooping? Do you need to go to the potty?"
Note, the fact that I used the word potty was not because I expected him to actually need to use the potty (he was clearly already doing his business); it was just some absent thing I think I have always said to him.
Little Bug: "PbA?"
Little Bug straightened up, brushed away the ice cream and went to the door expectantly. Mama opens the door and Little Bug goes directly to the baby gate and waits to be let upstairs. He goes directly to the bathroom and stands expectantly, pointing at the toilet.
Little Bug: "PbA?"
Mama: "Uhhh, ok?"
Mama takes off the poopy diaper and sits Little Bug's tiny tushy on the way too big toilet seat. Both Little Bug and Mama are afraid he is going to drop through.
Little Bug (clapping once he is removed from the toilet): "All done."
End scene.
So today I am reviewing toddler potties and will have one in our bathroom by the end of the week. Do I think this means Little Bug is anywhere near ready to even begin potty training? Nope. The running water I heard this morning while getting ready for work that was actually my son loudly peeing in his diaper, totally oblivious, tells me as much.
But I'm going to have the potty and rewards on hand, just in case.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Let's Talk About Bodily Fluids on Mother's Day
Because really, isn't that what being a mother really boils down to?
Someone who loves you enough to clean your puke off your car seat (do you know how hard cleaning a car seat and the buckles is?), use their jacket as a buffer so you don't have to sit in your own vomit for the speed ride home, sacrifice three changes of clothes just to keep you comfortable in between bought of puke, and just generally (somehow) hold it together while your delicious lunch of chili is defying all logic and pouring out your nose for three disgusting hours.
Yes, that's definitely part of being a mother. Right there with her heart breaking as you moan "all done" each time you feel yourself start to get sick again.
And right there with her a grateful heart when you woke up the next morning with no trace of your food poisoning. Who melted into a puddle of goo as you gave her more unprompted kisses than ever before.
Puke+lot and lots of kisses and genuine smiles = wonderful mother's day.
Someone who loves you enough to clean your puke off your car seat (do you know how hard cleaning a car seat and the buckles is?), use their jacket as a buffer so you don't have to sit in your own vomit for the speed ride home, sacrifice three changes of clothes just to keep you comfortable in between bought of puke, and just generally (somehow) hold it together while your delicious lunch of chili is defying all logic and pouring out your nose for three disgusting hours.
Yes, that's definitely part of being a mother. Right there with her heart breaking as you moan "all done" each time you feel yourself start to get sick again.
And right there with her a grateful heart when you woke up the next morning with no trace of your food poisoning. Who melted into a puddle of goo as you gave her more unprompted kisses than ever before.
Puke+lot and lots of kisses and genuine smiles = wonderful mother's day.
Friday, March 12, 2010
"Hi, Doctor."
This morning Little Bug was having a serious meltdown. Serious. Real tears, thrashing, trying to gag himself to throw up (I don't know where he learned that trick, and thankfully has hasn't been able to pull the trigger, but COME ON!), etc.
The reason? I was trying to put on his clothes. You know, the type of injustice tantrums were made for.
So at one particularly violent part of this tantrum, I took his face firmly in my hands and turned it so we could make eye contact and I could let him know that I was kind of over this.
The blood gushing out his nose stopped that train of thought. Lots of bright red blood coming out of one nostril. Oh, God.
I'm really lucky that for as clumsy and uncoordinated as my sweet boy is, he rarely bleeds. Unfortunately, that means when I do see blood, this first-time mama sort of internally freaks out. It took me about 3 minutes to get the blood to stop and get him settled with some Thomas the Train (which he has never been interested in before, in part because I try to shield him from it because I find it incredibly creepy). It took me another 5 minutes before he would let me get near his face to wash the dried blood off. I figured his school would appreciate that one. PS: totally late for work at this point.
The whole time I'm thinking through the possible reasons for this nosebleed. Cancer? Brain hemorrhage? Blunt Trauma? Dry air? Picking his nose? Cancer? Brain hemorrhage? His cold? Random luck? Cancer? Brain hemorrhage?
Seth is a head banger when he tantrums, so I'm a little oversensitive about his head, which I think is why I kept worrying that this was somehow a manifestation of one-too-many whacks on the hardwood floor. Appa, who was not available this morning, is usually so calm and logical, but when it comes to Little Bug, he is as over vigilant as I am. So of course he was concerned when I called him and strongly suggested I take Little Bug to the doctor.
"Hi, Doctor. My son had a nose bleed this morning. It stopped. It's just a single instance. He has a cold, and I forgot to turn on his humidifier last night. Clearly he has cancer or a brain hemorrhage, don't you agree?"
I'll bet the doctor actually hears that a couple times a week. I'm going to call the doctor when the office opens, and I will bet you his nurse will tell me in the kindest terms possible to chill the heck out and remember to turn on the humidifier tonight.
The reason? I was trying to put on his clothes. You know, the type of injustice tantrums were made for.
So at one particularly violent part of this tantrum, I took his face firmly in my hands and turned it so we could make eye contact and I could let him know that I was kind of over this.
The blood gushing out his nose stopped that train of thought. Lots of bright red blood coming out of one nostril. Oh, God.
I'm really lucky that for as clumsy and uncoordinated as my sweet boy is, he rarely bleeds. Unfortunately, that means when I do see blood, this first-time mama sort of internally freaks out. It took me about 3 minutes to get the blood to stop and get him settled with some Thomas the Train (which he has never been interested in before, in part because I try to shield him from it because I find it incredibly creepy). It took me another 5 minutes before he would let me get near his face to wash the dried blood off. I figured his school would appreciate that one. PS: totally late for work at this point.
The whole time I'm thinking through the possible reasons for this nosebleed. Cancer? Brain hemorrhage? Blunt Trauma? Dry air? Picking his nose? Cancer? Brain hemorrhage? His cold? Random luck? Cancer? Brain hemorrhage?
Seth is a head banger when he tantrums, so I'm a little oversensitive about his head, which I think is why I kept worrying that this was somehow a manifestation of one-too-many whacks on the hardwood floor. Appa, who was not available this morning, is usually so calm and logical, but when it comes to Little Bug, he is as over vigilant as I am. So of course he was concerned when I called him and strongly suggested I take Little Bug to the doctor.
"Hi, Doctor. My son had a nose bleed this morning. It stopped. It's just a single instance. He has a cold, and I forgot to turn on his humidifier last night. Clearly he has cancer or a brain hemorrhage, don't you agree?"
I'll bet the doctor actually hears that a couple times a week. I'm going to call the doctor when the office opens, and I will bet you his nurse will tell me in the kindest terms possible to chill the heck out and remember to turn on the humidifier tonight.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Learning Something New Every Day
Yesterday I happened to look in my rear view mirror at the exact moment Little Bug burped.
He got this curious, delighted look on his face and continued to try to burp some more.
Once
Twice
Three time.
He actually got some good fake burps out. The he laughed and went back to sucking his thumb and looking out the window for choo choos.
Isn't it fascinating to watch someone learn something that will bring them such joy for years of elementary and junior high school?
He got this curious, delighted look on his face and continued to try to burp some more.
Once
Twice
Three time.
He actually got some good fake burps out. The he laughed and went back to sucking his thumb and looking out the window for choo choos.
Isn't it fascinating to watch someone learn something that will bring them such joy for years of elementary and junior high school?
Saturday, February 20, 2010
98% Whine, 2% Confession
I had high hopes of posting a special blournal entry about the fun mommy/son date Little Bug and I had on Wednesday (I took time off work and Little Bug out of daycare and canceled his therapy), but almost immediately after I got home, my week went in a couple directions I had not expected.
From Wednesday afternoon to Friday afternoon, Appa and I found ourselves faced with a pretty heavy and unexpected decision. Not a bad decision, by any means, but not one we had been prepared in advance to make. Ultimately, we made the choice that was best for everyone involved. It wasn't easy (especially in my condition, as you will see below), and it was a stressful couple of days.
The first night I had a horrible night filled with hot flashes and chills and hallucinations. I thought that it was stress from the situation. A pretty extreme reaction, to be sure, but as I do have some anxiety issues and this was a highly stressful situation, it made sense to me that I would react in such a way.
But once I was at work on Thursday, it became apparent it was not stress, but an actual illness causing my significant discomfort and making me plot out my escape route to the bathroom during a department breakfast filled with greasy eggs and meats.
I made it through about half the day before I went home and slept for the next 9 hours. I figured the stress was compounding whatever 24-hour bug my "carrier monkey" had shared with me. I didn't consider going to the doctor because I assumed it would all just go away.
We all know why you should never assume....
Blessed Friday morning came and my a$$y self found a lack of pretty much any sort of coherence. Appa had to stay home from work to take me to the doctor and make sure I could function.
ARE.YOU.KIDDING.ME. I've been sick more times that I can count recently. This is uncool.
Oh, but it can get more uncool, apparently.
I'm waiting to have it confirmed for sure on Monday morning (due to a miscommunication with my doctor, it was not confirmed on Friday like I thought it was), but it looks pretty much like I have a serious virus that takes 6-8 weeks to recover from. You know, because I totally have 6-8 weeks to lay around feeling like death.
What job? What 2 year old?
It's frustrating. My husband has basically taken on the role of single dad for the past few days. My interaction with my son has been limited to the times when he manages to race past Appa and burst into our bedroom chanting "Mama, Mama" as he pops up with his perfect grin to my side of the bed. Sometimes during my 5-10 hour "naps" I could hear him downstairs chanting my name and it broke.my.heart.
Which is why I am on the computer today.
Yes, I've been camped out in our recliner. Yes, I smell horrible (I try to shower and then lose my energy before I can shampoo and just sit down until the water turns cold). Yes, I'm trying to swallow down applesauce or pudding just to get some calories. Yes, I've been taking some cat naps.
But I am also trying really hard to work through this. It's not easy. I'm actually quite sick, and honestly, I am a big baby when it comes to being sick. I don't usually grin and bear it quietly. Appa gets up and does the dishes and martyrs around when he is sick. I moan and complain and pitifully sip my ice water while give Appa a play-by-play of my many ailments. He is a saint for putting up with me because I would drive myself nuts.
But I miss my boys. I miss talking to my husband, and I miss spending time with my son. The idea that this hellish feeling will go on for 6-8 more weeks is something I just cannot believe. There is this hope inside me that if I just take it easy for a few more days, things will go back to normal.
Maybe it will. I won't know for sure until Monday.
But today I have tried to be present for my family. I watched the Olympics with my husband and rocked my son to sleep for his nap. I'm feeling better today than I have the last two days, so that's a positive. As the day has gone on, I've gotten more and more lucid and functioning. I'm not myself, no, but I'm also not the moaning corpse I was for the last two days. Maybe tomorrow will be even a little bit better.
I'm not sure what I am going to do about work. Career-wise, this is pretty much the worst period of time for me to take an extended leave from work; I have a redesign for a newsletter I am just starting to manage that is going to need critical attention this week. I can't even think about the PTO that will be sucked dry; PTO that was being saved for my second honeymoon in April. A vacation already booked.
So, there are my whines and confessions. I am sick, smelly, tired, achy, feeling sorry for myself, and overall just a big baby about the whole business. I consider it a victory that I had enough energy to blog while the boys escaped the sick house this afternoon.
Is it bad that the only bright spot in all this is that I'll have a much better looking (if only temporary and unhealthily obtained) swim suit body in Jamaica?
Fingers crossed I can kick this soon.
Oh, and as for how I might have gotten this lovely little virus. Turns out that the mysterious illness that took Little Bug down hardcore a few weeks ago was most likely not a weird strain of the flu. It's was what I now have (that he so graciously shared with me via shared spoons and open cup practice). In babies, it's much different and remains for a much shorter period of time and is rarely diagnosed until it is passed on to a parent. Nice, sign us up for that case study. Sigh, I guess if I had to choose between him being sick for 6 weeks or me being sick for 6 weeks, I'd definitely choose myself.
Kids and their germs, man, kids and their germs....
From Wednesday afternoon to Friday afternoon, Appa and I found ourselves faced with a pretty heavy and unexpected decision. Not a bad decision, by any means, but not one we had been prepared in advance to make. Ultimately, we made the choice that was best for everyone involved. It wasn't easy (especially in my condition, as you will see below), and it was a stressful couple of days.
The first night I had a horrible night filled with hot flashes and chills and hallucinations. I thought that it was stress from the situation. A pretty extreme reaction, to be sure, but as I do have some anxiety issues and this was a highly stressful situation, it made sense to me that I would react in such a way.
But once I was at work on Thursday, it became apparent it was not stress, but an actual illness causing my significant discomfort and making me plot out my escape route to the bathroom during a department breakfast filled with greasy eggs and meats.
I made it through about half the day before I went home and slept for the next 9 hours. I figured the stress was compounding whatever 24-hour bug my "carrier monkey" had shared with me. I didn't consider going to the doctor because I assumed it would all just go away.
We all know why you should never assume....
Blessed Friday morning came and my a$$y self found a lack of pretty much any sort of coherence. Appa had to stay home from work to take me to the doctor and make sure I could function.
ARE.YOU.KIDDING.ME. I've been sick more times that I can count recently. This is uncool.
Oh, but it can get more uncool, apparently.
I'm waiting to have it confirmed for sure on Monday morning (due to a miscommunication with my doctor, it was not confirmed on Friday like I thought it was), but it looks pretty much like I have a serious virus that takes 6-8 weeks to recover from. You know, because I totally have 6-8 weeks to lay around feeling like death.
What job? What 2 year old?
It's frustrating. My husband has basically taken on the role of single dad for the past few days. My interaction with my son has been limited to the times when he manages to race past Appa and burst into our bedroom chanting "Mama, Mama" as he pops up with his perfect grin to my side of the bed. Sometimes during my 5-10 hour "naps" I could hear him downstairs chanting my name and it broke.my.heart.
Which is why I am on the computer today.
Yes, I've been camped out in our recliner. Yes, I smell horrible (I try to shower and then lose my energy before I can shampoo and just sit down until the water turns cold). Yes, I'm trying to swallow down applesauce or pudding just to get some calories. Yes, I've been taking some cat naps.
But I am also trying really hard to work through this. It's not easy. I'm actually quite sick, and honestly, I am a big baby when it comes to being sick. I don't usually grin and bear it quietly. Appa gets up and does the dishes and martyrs around when he is sick. I moan and complain and pitifully sip my ice water while give Appa a play-by-play of my many ailments. He is a saint for putting up with me because I would drive myself nuts.
But I miss my boys. I miss talking to my husband, and I miss spending time with my son. The idea that this hellish feeling will go on for 6-8 more weeks is something I just cannot believe. There is this hope inside me that if I just take it easy for a few more days, things will go back to normal.
Maybe it will. I won't know for sure until Monday.
But today I have tried to be present for my family. I watched the Olympics with my husband and rocked my son to sleep for his nap. I'm feeling better today than I have the last two days, so that's a positive. As the day has gone on, I've gotten more and more lucid and functioning. I'm not myself, no, but I'm also not the moaning corpse I was for the last two days. Maybe tomorrow will be even a little bit better.
I'm not sure what I am going to do about work. Career-wise, this is pretty much the worst period of time for me to take an extended leave from work; I have a redesign for a newsletter I am just starting to manage that is going to need critical attention this week. I can't even think about the PTO that will be sucked dry; PTO that was being saved for my second honeymoon in April. A vacation already booked.
So, there are my whines and confessions. I am sick, smelly, tired, achy, feeling sorry for myself, and overall just a big baby about the whole business. I consider it a victory that I had enough energy to blog while the boys escaped the sick house this afternoon.
Is it bad that the only bright spot in all this is that I'll have a much better looking (if only temporary and unhealthily obtained) swim suit body in Jamaica?
Fingers crossed I can kick this soon.
Oh, and as for how I might have gotten this lovely little virus. Turns out that the mysterious illness that took Little Bug down hardcore a few weeks ago was most likely not a weird strain of the flu. It's was what I now have (that he so graciously shared with me via shared spoons and open cup practice). In babies, it's much different and remains for a much shorter period of time and is rarely diagnosed until it is passed on to a parent. Nice, sign us up for that case study. Sigh, I guess if I had to choose between him being sick for 6 weeks or me being sick for 6 weeks, I'd definitely choose myself.
Kids and their germs, man, kids and their germs....
Friday, January 22, 2010
Carrier Monkey (Otherwise titled "Vomiting With Love, Part II")
To steal a phrase from a friend of mine, my son is apparently a "carrier monkey."
When we put Little Bug in daycare, we braced ourselves for the inevitable constant illnesses that come with it. Surprisingly, he has only been sick once since he started (and once before that). In fact, in the 1.5+ years we have had him, he has only been really sick those two times. Lucky, I know.
However, Appa and I cannot say the same.
We would go years without getting the flu. Since Little Bug went to daycare, we have both been laid out praying to the porcelain god. Last night was round two for me.
I'll spare the details, with is probably a shocker, but let's just say the Pesto Cavatappi from Corner Bakery is possible on my "never to eat again" list, right there with powdered doughnuts washed down with vodka and orange juice and Tequila Sunrises. Why oh why couldn't I have had something less yummy for lunch yesterday?
After I was able to hold down some saltines again and reassured some people via e-mail that NO, I AM NOT PREGNANT, I realized there is a silver lining to this: my carrier monkey son must just have a kick-a@@ immune system.
So while he can apparently go roll around on the floor of a doctor's office and lick the handle of a Metra train, Appa and I need to step up our vitamins and flu shots. Otherwise our little carrier monkey is going to continue to share these germs with us.
I mean, we have been trying to teach him to share.
When we put Little Bug in daycare, we braced ourselves for the inevitable constant illnesses that come with it. Surprisingly, he has only been sick once since he started (and once before that). In fact, in the 1.5+ years we have had him, he has only been really sick those two times. Lucky, I know.
However, Appa and I cannot say the same.
We would go years without getting the flu. Since Little Bug went to daycare, we have both been laid out praying to the porcelain god. Last night was round two for me.
I'll spare the details, with is probably a shocker, but let's just say the Pesto Cavatappi from Corner Bakery is possible on my "never to eat again" list, right there with powdered doughnuts washed down with vodka and orange juice and Tequila Sunrises. Why oh why couldn't I have had something less yummy for lunch yesterday?
After I was able to hold down some saltines again and reassured some people via e-mail that NO, I AM NOT PREGNANT, I realized there is a silver lining to this: my carrier monkey son must just have a kick-a@@ immune system.
So while he can apparently go roll around on the floor of a doctor's office and lick the handle of a Metra train, Appa and I need to step up our vitamins and flu shots. Otherwise our little carrier monkey is going to continue to share these germs with us.
I mean, we have been trying to teach him to share.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Vomiting with love
Yesterday I woke up feeling gross. This feeling intensified throughout the morning, continued through a very thoughtful surprise lunch date with the hubby to our favorite Mexican joint, and culminated when I rushed to the bathroom at work and threw up twice in front of coworkers.
No, I'm not pregnant. Thanks for asking, small coworker audience, and yes, I did have nachos for lunch.
I honestly don't get truly sick very often. Headaches and upset stomach, sure, but incapacitatingly sick, not often. In fact, the only time this has happened in the 15 months I've been rocking the motherhood gig was after a scheduled surgery where Appa was able to plan for the extra responsibilities.
So, me coming home and continuing to puke my guts out and literally crawling back and forth from our bathroom to our bedroom (Ohh, and that joke about setting a bad example for our son by crawling and not walking was hilarious, Appa, just a riot; you should take that act on the road.) while Appa was in the midst of tiling the back splash in our kitchen and our son was in the mood to walk everywhere was not what we had planned for this week.
Who knew I was so needed by my boys on an everyday basis?
Luckily, my husband is pretty much the greatest man on the face of the planet. He took over parenting duties last night and then stayed up until the wee hours of the morning to finish the "must-be-done" parts of the tile job while I tried to sleep away the illness. He has been working nonstop for two days on this labor intensive tile job, taking care of me, and taking care of our son. Not once has he complained.
I love my husband.
No, I'm not pregnant. Thanks for asking, small coworker audience, and yes, I did have nachos for lunch.
I honestly don't get truly sick very often. Headaches and upset stomach, sure, but incapacitatingly sick, not often. In fact, the only time this has happened in the 15 months I've been rocking the motherhood gig was after a scheduled surgery where Appa was able to plan for the extra responsibilities.
So, me coming home and continuing to puke my guts out and literally crawling back and forth from our bathroom to our bedroom (Ohh, and that joke about setting a bad example for our son by crawling and not walking was hilarious, Appa, just a riot; you should take that act on the road.) while Appa was in the midst of tiling the back splash in our kitchen and our son was in the mood to walk everywhere was not what we had planned for this week.
Who knew I was so needed by my boys on an everyday basis?
Luckily, my husband is pretty much the greatest man on the face of the planet. He took over parenting duties last night and then stayed up until the wee hours of the morning to finish the "must-be-done" parts of the tile job while I tried to sleep away the illness. He has been working nonstop for two days on this labor intensive tile job, taking care of me, and taking care of our son. Not once has he complained.
I love my husband.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Let's Talk about Bodily Fluids, Part 3
There are two ways to handle diarrhea, like serious diarrhea.
It is much easier to throw a poop filled pair of fuzzy jammies in the washer than it is to clean a diaper pad, changing table, Appa's shirt, and the images seared into your brain that come with consequences of opening the diaper too soon. Poop will happen, my suggestion is not to let it happen without a diaper on.
Gross. I mean, seriously, seriously, gross.
- Wait wait it out; let the blow out happen in the diaper and clothes, even down into the toes of the footie pajamas.
- You grab the boy when you hear those first sounds coming from his tummy, you know, the ones that sound like a damn is breaking or a volcano is erupting, and run up to his nursery, strip his clothing off, and change the poop immediately.
It is much easier to throw a poop filled pair of fuzzy jammies in the washer than it is to clean a diaper pad, changing table, Appa's shirt, and the images seared into your brain that come with consequences of opening the diaper too soon. Poop will happen, my suggestion is not to let it happen without a diaper on.
Gross. I mean, seriously, seriously, gross.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Heart-exploding love
This morning my heart is filled with love for my husband and my son. Even more than usual.
Yes, my husband broke out into possibly some of the dorkiest dance moves I have ever seen this morning while I was trying to get ready for work, and yes, my son has spent the last 2 days doing some unspeakable things in his diaper that got him sent home from school and keep him up at night.
Yet, I love them both all the more for it.
Yes, my husband broke out into possibly some of the dorkiest dance moves I have ever seen this morning while I was trying to get ready for work, and yes, my son has spent the last 2 days doing some unspeakable things in his diaper that got him sent home from school and keep him up at night.
Yet, I love them both all the more for it.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Let's Talk About Bodily Fluids, Part 2
I don't know whether to feel relieved or cheated that the random vomit floating in the bathwater is not accompanied by an illness.
Gross.
Gross.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Let's Talk About Bodily Fluids
I've never been exceptionally good with bodily fluids…I find them pretty gross. However, it is amazing how something clicks when you have a child to take care of. Suddenly wiping away snot or drool (or even other things in the most desperate of situations) becomes a part of life. Sure, there is still that little voice in the back of your head that is quietly rocking away in the fetal position moaning in total disgust, but for the most part, it becomes automatic and barely something you think about.I wipe drool and snot with my hands at least once every 10 minutes…usually transferring that to my own clothing if I don't have a rag handy. I've been pooped on. I've been pee-ed on from multiple directions. I've even had my son vomit directly into my mouth. (Word of advice, don't play rough and high with your baby directly after meal time…and if you do, don't laugh with your mouth open.)
Somehow, none of it is a deal breaker. It's the oddest thing.
But seriously, do try to avoid having another human being vomit in your mouth. I do not recommend it.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
It's all fun and games until someone poops on you
This is my poop story. Not my first, and not even my most disgusting, but possibly my personal favorite.
Little Bug was wired last night. Appa was working late, I was dead tired, and Little Bug was ready to go, go go. I decided to turn on ourpersonal savior soothing tool, HBO's Classical Baby, and Little Bug and I cuddled into our comfy chair with a sippy cup and oversized custom made snuggie (go ahead, be jealous). As often happens in our house, I started to smell something foul from the general area under the blanket, but when I pulled Little Bug up for an inspection, I didn't see anything amiss. Smelled it, sure, but everything seemed under control. Because it was close to bedtime, I didn't want to waste a diaper by changing it twice within a 10 minute time period (side note: I have personally found that if the diaper is not changed immediately before bedtime it will wet through in the night; it's like a law in our house). So, I snuggled Little Bug back down under the blanket for the rest of the show.
That would prove to be a mistake.
When the show was over, Little Bug and I got up and went upstairs for his nighttime routine. It was at that point that I noticed a slight leakage of poop on his leg, but really, it looked harmless, so I set up to change his diaper. As I bent down to get his diaper, I happened to notice my black dress pants. They were streaked up and down my legs and cr*tch (don't want people Google searching that word to find this blog) with brown poop. Like a good amount of poop.
And it was almost dry, meaning it had been there for a while. GAG!
Unfortunately, being a mom means coming second, and Little Bug also was covered in poop…his being nice and fresh and stinky. So, I had to take care of him first, even though the whole time I was trying not to vomit at the idea that my pants were covered in poop and had been for a while.
The rest of the story is pretty uneventful. With Little Bug's immediate needs met, I changed out of the pants, gave him a kiss, and put him to bed. The pants went into the laundry and the story was recounted to Appa when he got home.
Of course, he laughed…and so did I....eventually.
Little Bug was wired last night. Appa was working late, I was dead tired, and Little Bug was ready to go, go go. I decided to turn on our
That would prove to be a mistake.
When the show was over, Little Bug and I got up and went upstairs for his nighttime routine. It was at that point that I noticed a slight leakage of poop on his leg, but really, it looked harmless, so I set up to change his diaper. As I bent down to get his diaper, I happened to notice my black dress pants. They were streaked up and down my legs and cr*tch (don't want people Google searching that word to find this blog) with brown poop. Like a good amount of poop.
And it was almost dry, meaning it had been there for a while. GAG!
Unfortunately, being a mom means coming second, and Little Bug also was covered in poop…his being nice and fresh and stinky. So, I had to take care of him first, even though the whole time I was trying not to vomit at the idea that my pants were covered in poop and had been for a while.
The rest of the story is pretty uneventful. With Little Bug's immediate needs met, I changed out of the pants, gave him a kiss, and put him to bed. The pants went into the laundry and the story was recounted to Appa when he got home.
Of course, he laughed…and so did I....eventually.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Diaper Dinner
Tonight we went our to dinner with some friends. Little Bug was his typical usual angel self....just with a little more flirting with our new friends. Little Bug loves his attention....yes, he does!Apparently Little Bug wanted my attention though and decided that since all his various forms of peek-a-boo weren't working, he would take the tried and tested route to get my undivided attention.
You know the one, the stinky one.
So, like any good mother and polite diner, I scooped my son up and headed to the bathroom, cooed encouraging words at him as I placed him on those too-small and cold changing stations, and pulled his pants down to change his diaper. Routine operation.
Until the mounds of poop spilling out of his diaper and down his legs and all over his pants became apparent.
Oh Gross.
It took me a minute to decide what to do. I've been blessed with very few Little Bug blow-outs, and all have been in the comfort of my own home, my own wardrobe, my own clean floors, etc. What was I to do in a public bathroom with no extra clothes (I had used the other pair earlier in the afternoon...I DO travel with a spare pair of clothes)? Without going into too many details, the poop was on multiple body parts and items of clothing for both Little Bug and Everyday Mama.
Little Bug ended up crawling around in only his shirt and diaper on the bathroom floor while I tried to clean us both up and clean his pants off enough to get us through the next few minutes.
Oh Gross.
On the way home, I casually asked Appa if most men's rooms have the changing tables. He said they did.
Then I told him the next 5 public diapers are all his.
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