Mobile

That baby sheep in the middle, who looks like he's about to make a dash for it? That's mine...

 

The continued adventures of a mobile child…and his mother.

I might as well be his entourage, as I am always behind him. Currently he moves like rapid fire throughout, well, everything.

This afternoon we (I) decided to take a walk with the M.C. and the dog. Now, in hindsight, I shouldn’t have taken the dog, but the poor thing is just so desperate for any attention that he practically attached his own leash and walked himself in his eagerness to spend time with me.

So dog in hand, V and I went a’walkin’.

I had thought just to go around the block.

1/25th of the there… Oh look! Garbage! Mumma! Shall I pick it u…. oh. you got it for me… Thanks mumma.

1/24th of the way there. Oh look! The dog peed right there! Right there, Mumma… I think I’ll go over and walkright on top of it. Oh wait….. WHEEEEEE! I love it when you pick me up and swing me around!

1/23rd of the way. Mumma, there’s something out there in the street, I think I’ll go and get it.

1/22nd of the way. Mumma, there’s something out there in the street, I think I’ll go and get it.

1/21st of the way. Mumma, there’s something out there in the street, I think I’ll go and get it.

1/20th of the way. Mumma, there’s something out there in the street, I think I’ll go and get it.

1/19th of the way. Mumma, there’s something out there in the street, I think I’ll go and get it.

So this short walk that I wanted to take took FOR EVER.

I ended up with so many random pieces of garbage in my pocket. Rather in my pocket than in V’s mouth. And the poor dog. Mid-poop, V did a dash out into the road. I tried a ‘grab, bag and run’. And had no option but to stuff that filled poop-bag into my pocket. V was, at this point, in the middle of the street and giggling madly. Chewie was still in mid-squat but no-longer on the grass (poor dog). I had poo in my pocket. And some random Halloween garbage.

Half way back we encountered an awful combination of other dogs, other people and the road in front of our house. just the sight of this road is enough for Little man to do a fast dash for the middle of it. Collapse when I try and pick him up. Cry. Thrash. Cry some more. And then, at this perfect time, everyone in the neighbourhood walks their dog or turns onto our road and tries to park their car.

But can they?

Nope.

No, they cannot.

And why you ask?

As my child is having a tantrum in the middle of the street, effectively blocking any passage down it.

Hi neighbours! Please watch me parent my child in public! Please don’t judge me too much…

www.clusterflock.org

www.dadcentric.com

And if you are, go to the above sites and judge them too….

 

 

 

17

17 months, that is…

And it is a most interesting number. And a most interesting, um, adventure for Mummies and Daddies. You know who you are (or were).

It recently started with the word ‘No”. And then was followed by “Mummy, no. I don’t want to hold your hand”. This was communicated by, well, mostly grunts and, um, annoyed looks.

Someone is in the middle of asserting his independence and is not enjoying the doubts that Mumma is having regarding his decisions. Such as decisions regarding crossing a street without holding onto Mumma’s hand. I am pretty sure that all of you reading (ie my Mum and possibly my mother-in-law) realize that I am right.

Could you please tell V? Since he is currently a non-verbal Italian, he just stops in his tracks and squats down, trying to pull his hand out of mine. Since I am an emotional Canadian, I can read his body language.

I think all he wants to do is careen madly down the sidewalk, looking slightly tipsy as he bounced back and forth on our various neighbour’s lawns. I think he hears the name ‘V……’ and the word ‘No’ and reacts accordingly.

A few major temper tantrums have been introduced. Mostly involving him having a ‘fit’ (and very loose terminology is used here),  throwing himself on the floor and mostly smacking his head while doing so. Which induces crying. And so then I pick him up. And then he struggles with me holding him. And then I put him down. Repeat. Repeat etc etc.

And so life is interesting.

And my Mum is laughing. I know she is, as she was laughing earlier while I was complaining about this. I figure its divine retribution. I know I was  a pain in the ass. And I know M is a pain in the ass. And so the equation.

M+J=V(pain)2

Our respective mothers are peeing their pants laughing right now. Busting a gut (in a refined manners… as I know they are lovely ladies and all). Still. So tired.

xoxo a.m.

Suck it up, Mummy

How did November suck so fast?

I had high hopes for it. REALLY high ones, especially considering that October was the month of the plague in our little family. I was really over it all. Sick husband. Sick little boy. Projectile vomiting. High fevers. Lethargy. Do I need to go on? Are you getting the picture? Just skip back a few posts and you will be able to read all about it.

So as I got home today, my father-in-law was outside with V playing. I parked, scooped up that little Man and got the down low on how V had behaved for Pop-Pop and if anything was going on in daycare that I needed to know about.

Last week there was a confirmed case of Hand Foot and Mouth disease. They sent home a handy little info sheet, all about the disease and some ways of combating it. There is no cure. It is just a virus that runs its course and is also fairly common in care facilities with small children. Everything goes into the mouth and everything comes out of the mouth and goes onto everything else.

I was pleased that they had let us know, but thought nothing further about it. My son couldn’t possibly get something like that. Only dirty people do (that thought might have been lurking somewhere in the back of my mind…. it didn’t surface…just saying it was there…).

I clearly must have pissed someone off with that deeply hidden thought as not only is it Monday, but V has a blister inside his bottom lip. And a bit of a rash on his bum. That rash could be anything though. But Day-Care seems pretty sure that is what it is. You know, with all of their medical licenses and stuff.

I’ll be making my weekly call to the pediatrician tomorrow morning.

Read all about what we are going through HERE

I will be trying to suck it up while you are doing that…. (I am a big girl. I can handle this…again…still….forever…)

xoxo a.m.

Slap it hard

Boys can be very exhausting.

Riding on the end of an influenza, ear infection, projectile vomiting, high fever, nebulizer, late night crying and screaming, wheezy, asthmatic, some-one-bit-my-child-at-school month of October, I have had enough.

Enough October!! Give it a rest! Bring on November in all of it’s sweet turkey finery. Mummy needs a break.

I will not get one though, such is the life of Mummy.

Little Man is going through a ‘Mummy’ phase. Everything is ‘Mumma’ and ‘No’. Mostly ‘no’ to people who aren’t Mumma. And also ‘no’ when it is Mumma as well. He is alternately extremely delighted by everything that involves me and clingy as well. He just can’t get enough of me.

Secretly I am delighted. And secretly I am a little scared of my reaction. And then publicly terrified that I will be one of ‘those’ mum’s. Since I have called his Doctor every week for about a month now (and am really restraining myself from calling this week), I feel like I am edging there. They might know who I am. Hopefully they think I am nice (nervous laughter) and not a total psychopath-slash-first time mother.

This is a hard line to tread for me. Especially for a person such as myself, who tends to be rather concerned with what people think of her.

On one hand, I don’t care at all. I will happily babble nonsense at V down the aisle of any store and say the most ridiculous things to him. Random stories about the fruits and vegetables we are passing by…promises to make him yummy dinners, more delicious than he has ever eaten. Descriptions of things we are going to do on the weekend.

Confronted with people actually paying attention to me, it’s another thing altogether. Suddenly I do care very much about what I am saying and how I am coming across to them.

Basically I will kiss Little Man’s chubby cheeks to the point of rawness, and then afterwords wonder if anyone thinks I am too doting of a mother. But at the same time, I don’t give a shit. Because he is the cutest, sweetest Little Man in the world, way cuter than yours, by the way… Just in case you wanted to hear that. WAY cuter. And most handsome. And best personality. See? See what I mean? (My personality makes this rather conflicting…)

And I will call the pediatrician non-stop and use that overly friendly voice that annoys me so much at the office that I work at. You know, that voice you use when you want a favor? Except, I am not a bitch, like so many of the mothers I speak to (except for that one time…. but it was perfectly excusable…)

So this whole ‘biting’ thing at daycare really, well, bites. And super sucks. And bites even more…

I am unsure how to proceed with this. I called the director of the school, informed her and the teacher and now (apart from tossing the mother of the biter out into the parking lot and having a proper slap-down) I am not too sure what the next step is…

No slapping, right? And I must be sure to teach V about the no slapping rule as well….

*sigh*

xoxo a.m.

Nebulizers suck

Oh please... who's child sits like this for treatment! Come on!

Can I just say I am frustrated?

Damn. It.

Several months ago when V was sick, it turned out that he was mildly asthmatic. So darling Dr E recommended a nebulizer and to start ‘treatments’ when he had attacks.

Attacks? Almost never, unless he has a cold, which is where he is right now.

So last night he woke up crying and coughing and I rushed upstairs to comfort him. He was coughing and then crying. Nose running all over the place, cough and crying in spurts. And just with the most miserable look on his face while this was all going on.

So out came the nebulizer as he sounded pretty wheezy. And that’s where my evening got awful.

Wail, scream, wail, scream, shriek shriek shriek. I think that is baby talk for “Mummy, I hate this thing, the way it sounds, looks and smells…. basically everything about it. I hate it.”

Yup. He hates it. I think it made him cry more.

Eventually I got him calmed down and off to bed.

He slept all night. Woke up early despite the late night, coughed on and off all day. Ate BBQ with Mummy, Pop-Pop and Gramma.

Went to bed like an angel and woke up about and hour later with exactly the same symptoms as last night.

And so 30 minutes ago we went through the same routine. Except I thought I was being clever by being prepared.

I got a juice bottle. I prepared a dish of snackies. I brought the nebulizer downstairs. I put on Sesame Street.

I. Was. Ready. And I felt awesome about it…

V did not. Total repeat from last night. Except worse and with a snottier nose. And more crying. And just worse all around.

The neb and him are not a fantastic team.

8 months ago there was no problem with it. He would happily eat snackies while the nebulizer was pumping away in front of his face.

Now, not so much.

Any tips on making it tolerable?

(besides lollipops and doing the treatment while he sleeps– who are we kidding, neither of those work)

But any tips are greatly appreciated…

xoxo a.m.

Fever times 2

16 months in and my first experience with a really, really sick little boy started yesterday…

All in all, not too shabby. All we’ve had to deal with prior has been food allergies, allergic reactions, mild asthma and lots of poop. Ok, looking at that list, let me revise that  ‘all we’ve had to deal with’ comment, that kind of made it sound like parenthood has been a cake-walk over here.

Really what I mean is that this is my first experience with scary high temperatures, scary lethargy and projectile vomit (Exorcist-style).

V woke up yesterday a wee bit warm. Babies are warm in the morning, so I didn’t think too much of it. He ate all of his breakfast, drank his bottle and just was a little quiet. I took his temp, it was 99 degrees…a little ‘ping’ of concern hit me, but again, he’s been warm like this before so I figured that it would go away once he was more active…

I WAS going to make Canadian Thanksgiving dinner Sunday for all my peeps in Orlando. We were also supposed to be going to see Elmo at UCF Arena in the afternoon. So we had things to do and so off we went to do them. Whole Foods (that I might leave M for and marry in a legal, binding ceremony) and Ikea. Done and done.

On our way there and back, he dozed the whole time. That ‘ping’ of concern started to ping a little louder. As I unbuckled him from his car seat and picked him up, he was really really warm. So warm, in fact, that when I handed him to M once entering the house, he immediately said to me “Wow, hes really hot, you aren’t going to Elmo, are you?”, to which I replied “No. Not at all” (although secretly I really wanted to).

I gave him some infants Tylenol and took his temperature.

103.2

What. The. Fuck. (Pardon my dirty mouth, but seriously, what the fuck!)

That is one high mothering-fucking temperature! So high that I remember using temperatures like that as bragging tools when I was in Elementary School to illustrate how sick I had been. “Ya? Well, my temperature was 103.4 and my Mummy said I might die. DIE!!” (I tend towards the dramatic). I tried not to remember that as I calmly said to M “We are going to the walk-in clinic”.

He calmly replied “OK, I think that’s a good idea”.

In reality both of us had cartoon steam-whistles on our head and steam was shooting from our ears. And my body might have become an ambulance. At least that’s what I told myself as I did 75- 1.000.000  (miles per hour, folks) down the expressway to the Pediatric clinic.

An hour later, I emerged with V and my awesome in-laws. Who are awesome and met me there, at the clinic (M called them) and stayed with me the whole time. Again. Awesome.

Influenza type A. And an ear infection. Antibiotics and Tamaflu (which makes me think of Tama-chan, that seal that swam into the Tokyo Harbour and became a national icon [I have a Tama-chan doll somewhere]).

The rest of my evening was not awesome. I went and got the meds filled, drove home, medicated V up. He remained hot. In-laws returned with food (M was at work). The rest of the evening was a blur of trying to force food and fluids on Little Man. Mostly fluids.

He cried non-stop and was so hot I swear I could have cooked something on his forehead. At about 9 pm he projectile vomited all over the place and as I went to pick him up, he threw up down the front of my tank-top. Wonderful. Hot and shivering at the same time, I stripped him down and washed him down in the tub… the rest of the evening was a blur.

We finally got him settled down with some fluids in him and he went right to sleep. Poor baby was so exhausted.

I went to bed too. Poor me, so exhausted….

Actually, I went to bed on the floor of V’s room. He made so many little noises and I woke up and trekked into his room with every one that finally I made a make-shift bed from a duvet and the pad on an Ikea chair and slept with my hand on the edge of his mattress.

Fever all night long. It finally seemed to break around 2 am… and we both slept.

And did I mention that M came home from work with the stomach flu?

Our home is a bubonic plague zone right now. DO NOT COME OVER.

Thanks

by Paige Pooler

Good lord, too many things are going on over here right now…

First things first, it is Canadian Thanksgiving this coming weekend and I am throwing dinner for 10 at my house a mere 2 weeks after we’ve moved in. The house is still in slight disarray. I hung up one picture last weekend (a very small one) and practically high-fived myself with excitement.

Americans are always baffled at the thought of Thanksgiving not being in November and are constantly asking me at  random moments what exactly we are celebrating.

“We are giving thanks” is generally my response.

Sounds goofy to say “I am celebrating the Harvest with my family”, which kind of sounds like, well, I am a giant hippie. Which is certainly possible, since I am West Coast to the bone.

Leading up to our fantastical Thanksgiving event, there have been some interesting things going on.

First week at proper day-care for Little Man. Which equals crying-jags times 5. Every morning. For me, I mean. Oh, and him. As in, he cries when I try to leave… and then while I am leaving (and he’s crying) I cry too. As I am driving to work, I mean. I am a highly emotional mess this week.

And every morning seems to start out the same way with me turning my back on Little Man for ONE MINUTE, when I turning back he was actually drinking from the dog’s water bowl. Before he drinks though, he first spills it all over his school uniform. After 3/4 of it is on the floor, then he lifts it to his mouth to drink.

Emotional mess.

Dog water.

Crying tears of sadness as Little Man is a big boy.

Crying tears of disgust as he and the dog slurp water together.

Apparently, mostly crying down here in the South.

Happy Thanksgiving?!