Tag Archives: Mummy

Fine

As the week progresses, the saga of the Big Boy Bed continues…

And, as always with a 2 year old, it is a learning experience. Not just about them, but about oneself as well.

Tuesday night, after I got home I headed right to spin class. M stayed home with Little Man, made him dinner and did the whole bedtime routine. I got home at 7:22. I remember the exact time because I was shocked that the house was so quiet.

“How did it go?” I asked curiously.

“Piece of cake,” he said.

“Really? No drama?”

“Nope. Not really,” he said abstractedly as he googled or binged or whatever it was he was doing on the laptop.

Huh.

Well. Um. I didn’t really know what to say to that. Maybe he just had a lucky night.

And tonight? Dinner went fine, bath-time went fine, story-time went fine. Everything went fine fine fine fine fine. It was all fine. Really just plain fine. And then we closed the door. M headed downstairs while I hovered nervously outside V’s bedroom door, listening to him cry. I bit my lip repeatedly. I nibbled on my thumbnail.

And while I did this, I listened to the saddest sounds you have ever heard in your whole life. “Mummy! Mummy mummy mummy mummy mummy mummy. MUMMY. Mummy~~~~~~!” I was so sad I started to cry. And then I heard him get off his bed and head for the door and try to open it. That little knob twitched back and forth but he couldn’t quite turn it enough. That was followed by some extremely sad little noises.

I gave in. I opened the door.

“Mummy!”, he cried happily. “Mummy. Yes. Mummy. Yes. Mummy? Yes.” he said as he ran over and sat on his bed. This I took (correctly) to mean that I was supposed to lie down on his bed with him.

I am a sucker. My child is manipulative.

And my son knows this. And after he was settled, I went down and told my husband this. Before I even got halfway through what I was trying to say, he was nodding in agreement. “You are a total sucker,” he agreed. Geee. Thanks Hun!

Mummy is a not as strict as she thought she was. Mummy is, in fact, rather easy to manipulate (kid-wise). Daddy can get V to hold his hand while out for a walk. Mummy?? Less successful.

And tonight? Mummy cooked dinner for V, with V on her hip. If Mummy attempted to put V down, he did a total leg-clench, shrieked “No down. NO DOWN!” at the top of his lungs. If I succeeded in putting him down, he cried, clung to my leg and kept trying to climb up it by using the same technique he employed when escaping from his crib last weekend. And so I cooked dinner with one hand and burned my finger with boiling macaroni water.

High-five Mummy!

It’s kind of embarrassing to realize that your child has, in fact, completely wrapped you around their very small finger. I am, in fact, in full-on worship mode right now. I haven’t quite hit punishment mode, or time-out mode. I find them rather intimidating. I wonder if I am using 2 as an excuse. Is 2 too much for me? Why is M better at handling these things than I am? When did I wimp out and melt all over the place over sloppy kisses? And when did those sloppy kisses turn into some sort of hypnotic control that makes me do his bidding.

Is there too much love? Is that possible? Should I really actually read that book I bought a month ago about punishment for toddlers?

Mummy needs to toughen up. Just a little though. I don’t want to be a total pushover, just an easy cave-in.

xoxo a.m.

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Flex

I skipped my run tonight because of V. Not that anything awful happened. Just because I wanted to pick up that fat little body and kiss that chubby face. And scrub that plump tush in the tub and read him some stories about cats and farm animals. And just love all over him.

Sometimes skipping out is the best thing ever.

And sometimes it’s not. Here’s a good example of why.

‘They’ say it always wise to rotate the side you carry your child on, to balance yourself. I guess I got in the habit of carrying V on my right side, carrying him on my left side just felt awkward. Like that side was my dead side. I am right-handed, not a sinister person. So while carrying V on my left-side freed up my right hand to do, I never felt properly balanced.

So I am a right-sided carrier.

So I’ve been doing a lot of running and spin class lately, which have been toning me up. I’ve been noticing it in my arms, especially my biceps. Damn position 2 and 3 and modified 3!!

I was checking myself out the other day and noticed some nice definition in my upper arms. I must admit I did a bit of flexing in the mirror. Some turns and flexes. A little bit of California posing.

And then a bit of pausing and scrutinizing. And then a puzzled face. And then a face of dawning comprehension.

My biceps are uneven.

Wanna know why?

Because I favour.

And because my son weights 31 pounds. So a constant 31 pounds on one side is guaranteed to mean some sweet muscle-building action.

I publicly flexed at work yesterday and demonstrated my left-sided lack of definition. There was laughter. I don’t blame them!

I either need to go and buy a 30 lb weight and repeatedly exercise with it, day and night. Or (less expensively) just carry V on my other side. Doing that might literally make me walk into walls, I’ll be so off-balanced. Or circles. Or just stand in one spot, looking lost.

Suggestions?

xoxo a.m.

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Toddle

Did you know that two is a terrible number?

I thought, for about 20 months, that it wasn’t that bad. Actually, I thought that maybe other people were making it out to be worse that I had heard. And then literally 2 days after V hit the 21 month zone, it all went straight down the toilet.

And by toilet, I mean an actual toilet. As in things went in the toilet (wash clothes, hands and almost a face) and then were quickly removed (by Mummy). And then other things entered the toilet. And this second time it was actually something that should be in there.

And it wasn’t poo. Or a duck. OR a turtle.

It was a toilet brush. Who is stupid enough to keep a toilet brush behind the toilet? Clearly me. Did you know that almost two-year-olds like to do things that their Mummies do? Apparently I clean the toilet enough that he knows how to.

I was out of the room for 15 seconds and when I came back? Drenched. Whatever. I was so over it by then. Or at least I thought I was.

And then he climbed into his tub, put the plug in, turned the water on and proceeded to play in his clothes in the water.

It was a deep sigh moment for me.

And then he didn’t want to eat dinner.

And then he didn’t want his nose wiped.

And then he didn’t want to drink his milk bottle.

And then he didn’t want me to carry him.

And then he didn’t want me to not carry him.

And then he hated everything that I was doing and not doing for eternity and beyond.

And then he went to bed. And then I poured myself a big glass of wine. And then I realized that two was closer than I thought. And then I connected the dots.

Oh. Shit.

2 days of this naughtiness was awful. I actually contemplated spanking. For real!! And then I thought I was pretty sure I couldn’t. *Thought* But then he made me use his middle name more times in 2 days then in his whole entire life. And granted, that has been 21 months at this point, but I used it A LOT.

Is this ‘boys’? Is this ‘terrible twos”? Is this Italian plus Irish plus Canadian? (The Canadian part is clearly the non-argumentative part, although Mike might disagree with that… although, since he never reads this, it doesn’t matter!! hahahahaha

Dude. For real. I know there are books and things out there about this, but surely those people who wrote those books never experienced it! Otherwise those books would be totally different.

Anyways, I am exhausted.

xoxo a.m.

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Touch

Some may say that it is an easy moment to remember, that moment when they became a mother. And for most, I would think it is fairly obvious.

“I gave birth to a child, hence motherhood”.

Thanks, Captain Obvious, for that. I don’t think I could have figured it out.

Or maybe, it’s that firm attachment to your pet. We started off with a dog, before progressing on to human motherhood. I am that little dog’s mother. Whether he likes it or not. Especially when he is peeing in places he shouldn’t. Which is all the time. Then I am one of those ‘Mummy-Monsters’.

Or maybe it is that first time your little person gets really sick. It’s like those mothering feelings just erupt out of you, you know exactly what to do.

Motherhood changes you, even if you don’t notice. It makes you less tolerant of your sick husband (partner). Sorry honey!! Must cook baby dinner/do baby laundry/wash baby/read to baby/etc etc etc. That little man has reached a much higher level of awesomeness than you. And will stay at that level. FOREVER. So no more asking for egg on toast.

I digress…

Motherhood is this total mystical, spiritual, wellspring of eternal knowledge, ‘I am all knowing’, freakin’ crazy amazing thing.

Right now, my own mother is visiting me. And she is sick.

As a new mother, here are the things I can’t help but do:

1) an ever present glass of water

2) ‘The best question ever… “Is there anything you need??”

3) Speak in a soothing voice

4) Sway back and forth. By myself. On a separate surface than she…

5) Look worried and impose that worry on everyone else.

6) “Would you like some tea???”

It is really amazing how much stereotypical ‘mom’ came out of my mouth during my conversation with  my sick mother in her darkened bedroom.

I stood up from the bed, bent over and kissed her on the forehead, while my free hand soothingly stroked her brow and automatically tucked her hair back. Apparently this is something I have been doing for my whole life, that is how casual it felt.

What was this!?!? This automatic gesture? Where did this come from? Was it in the manual?

No, my sweet mothers, it is just motherhood. We all have it, whether we use it on our dogs, cats or delicious babies. But how funny to use it on your own dearest mother.

Dearest Mother, please get better….

xoxo a.m.

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Shave

Man, if I keep it up, just imagine what I could become!

It’s Wednesday and I can feel the sickness creeping up on me. As you know, our household is currently on a 4 month long course on illness. We are all trading off. There is always at least one of us not feeling our best. It was The Daddy’s turn a few weeks ago (tonsilitis), V’s turn last week (fever, vomiting and full-on body rash).  And now Mumma… 100 degree fever, cough, sore throat, all in its infancy.

That combined with the stress of my Mother’s upcoming visit (11 days and counting, must paint more rooms), the increasing busyness of my job, my determination  to fit either Spin class or weight-lifting in 3 times a week. Plus, full-time mother and wife-hood… ahh!

So today, on my way home from work I confided in M on the phone…

“Honey, I think I am getting sick… I’m not going to the gym tonight”.

“Well, I think you need to relax tonight. I’ll make dinner and I WANT you to take a bath…”

“Well, I don’t know… I’ll think about it”.

And I did. 40 minutes in the tub is a huge chunk of my evening. Can I justify it? Well, the more I thought about it, the more I did. I put V to bed, filled the tub and indulged myself.

It was extremely peaceful.

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, it did.

I shaved my legs.

Now this is a monumental event. Especially since I haven’t in so long that M has started to make daily jokes about the razor blade slashes on his legs every morning.

Heres my thinking:

My shower is not conducive to shaving. It’s Winter (ish). I wear a lot of pants. I’m too busy. I hit the alarm too many times in the morning. And thats how 3 months pass.

20 minutes later, they were mostly shaven. You really know it’s been too long when you have to use 2 blades. And that 2nd blade was the last one left. And so I couldn’t really finish. If you don’t look too closely (M, don’t look!), doesn’t look that bad!!

Next week? A reshave and possibly even painting my toes too.

I hope you all enjoyed the awesome highlight of my week…

xoxo a.m.

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Beebee

Day by day, Little Man’s vocab is on the rise and it is truly an interesting thing to hear and help grow.

We are a big book family. I have these memories of going to the Library with my Mum when I was little  and taking out heaps and heaps of books. And then losing them around the house. And then swearing that I returned them. And then (when I was little) finding them at the bottom of the pile of papers for the fireplace (whew! Close call!).

And more embarrassing memories of being older, having Mum raid my room and taking actual laundry baskets full of books back to our local branch.

Oh god. How embarrassing that was. I might have cried all the way there in the car, ignoring the baskets in the back seat.

M used to read voraciously in bed. Whenever he didn’t know a word, he would shout it down the hall to his parents like so…

“Mom!!!!!”

(faintly) “What?”

“What’s a jockstrap??”

Loud laughter, some snorting and possible tears and no answer.

“Mom?! What’s so funny!! I don’t get it!!”

See? We are big nerds.

Anyways, I repeat words as often as possible, hoping that they will take.  Maybe 40 % of the time he repeats what I say and those little words are the sweetest things I have ever heard.

2 nights ago I coaxed him into saying ‘Night Night!” Although it sounded more like “Naa Naat!”

Dogs say either “Ffffffffft” or “Whoooooooo”.

Cats have just started saying “Meemeemmeeeee”

A baby bird says “Beebeebee”.

Lions say “AHHHHHHHHHRR!!”

And Chewie the chihuahua is now called “Zheeeeeweeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!”. He responds. That’s all that matters.

Books are his favorite things to play with right now and I think that is amazing. Awesome. Wonderful.

Each of these little words took a lot of careful and gentle repeating from Mummy.

Our big breakthrough was Saturday. While shopping at Target and walking throught the TV department, V was totally smitten with a cat he saw in a commercial. He pointed and asked, repeatedly, “Issat?! Issat!!!”.

“It’s a cat, honey. A cat says “MeowMeow”. And so we walked and I meowed and we did this all through the store. Mostly absent-mindedly on my part. Although these days, I absent-mindedly make a lot of very random noises while I am shopping with the Little Man.

“Meeemmeemeeemeemeee”, says the cat.

xoxo a.m.

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Pause

So my parents are arriving in T-minus 28 days or so. And so I have 4 weeks to turn our office into a cosy room . I have been up on a ladder drinking wine like a mother f’er for a week, while I paint that damn room and its damn closet.

Since last Tuesday that has been my evenings plan. And M was working all of those nights, so I embraced it as busy time for Mummy.

Ladders and wine every evening ended up with late nights, every night this past week.

And Thursday and Friday as well.

M, working at that Disney restaurant he moonlights at, and after coming home at 3 am 3 nights in a row, finally got a break Friday night and called me around 11 pm. He was on his way home. Holy crap!

Filet mignon with pepper crust and gorgonzola dressing is what awaited him. As well as me, up a ladder in the closet. With a glass of wine.

Shortly after he arrived and got settled with dinner and a well deserved beer, V woke.

And it was a scary awakening. Screaming and thumping rained down on our living room ceiling. So much so that I actually went up and cuddled  that little man. And then brought him downstairs. And then regretted it when he perked up as soon as my foot him that last step on the stairs.

Big smile for Daddy and an immediate “Issat!” with a big pointy finger at the TV where Top Chef Season 5 was playing.

That  Little Man was a midnight blur of activity. He ran around the living room, dragging his little chair up to the coffee table and plunking his tush down.

“Mumma! Baba!!”, he demanded.

Yes sir. Into the kitchen I went to get him a bottle of milk and a little midnight snack of Cheerios.

He sat so nicely in his chair when he snacked down. About 2 minutes into midnight snack, he picked up his bottle and snack dish and walked over to Daddy.

“Dadda!’, he shouted imperiously.

M obligingly lifted him up onto his lap where he sat for about 20 minutes, snacking and watching Top Chef.

Mama! Da!”, he shouted again, pointing at his book with the duck on the front cover. M transferred him over to me, and we read about the duck and how it was looking for its mother.

It was such a random late night. We were so amused by the Little Man. And then after his story, I carried him up to bed and he went right to sleep.

While this may (mostly may not) be exciting to you… and by ‘you’ I mean my Mum. Thank you Mum for reading this regularly… for us, it was just the sweetest late night treat.

For M and his week of really late nights, it was a lovely V-treat.

For me, it was a deep sigh of contentment. I watched the two of them together and felt my heart just melt with love.  It feels like these days are moving so quickly that any little moment like this is a little pause and sigh.

So my friends…. pause and sigh at those sweet moments.

And speaking of sweet moments, I must admit that I am fascinated by the fact that the White House has a beekeeper. And beehives. And harvests its own honey, which they use in the White House kitchen.

Totally so admirable and so wish I could have one too. But I have this feeling that my neighbours (in their much smaller townhouse) would totally be pissed at the constant buzzing noises and non-stop dog-barking that would result from the constant buzzing.

So for now, I’ll just admire those WH clever-clogs. And check out this link to check out those sweet honey makers…

xoxo a.m.

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Allergies, ahoy!

I love my Little V.

I accept his allergies with a smile and, in some small ways, enjoy the challenge of his lifestyle. In a way, it forces me to make his meals healthy as the challenge of peanuts and wheat really narrows down the kind of things that you can feed a child out in public. It really cuts out large amounts of crap.

Nice challenge, eh? I am a well-prepared mother when we are out and about, as Lord Only Knows what people put in food these days and either don’t mention it or mention it in a super low-key way.

Like Chik-Fil-A.

Did you know that they cook all of their food in peanut oil?

Really, Chik-Fil-A? In an allergen filled world, with peanut allergies becoming extremely prevalent in children, this is a good idea?

Are you even aware of peanut allergies? Or people? Or people with allergies? Or anything? Anything at all? Bastards.

And yes, I didn’t ask at the drive through. And yes, I am a terrible mother. And yes, I was surprised that I hadn’t heard anything about this before. And yes, I tried to steal his chicken nuggets. And yes, that’s how I found out. And yes, I was terribly mad. And yes, finally, I know it is all my fault for not asking. Totally my fault.

However, still annoyed with Chik-Fil-A. Annoyed with their cute kids meals that have Berenstein Bears books in them. It really was one of the few places that I felt ok about Chicken Nuggets. It is actual real chicken,  not that chicken goop that is formed into nuggets.

Maybe I am just a little naive in thinking that in these days of enlightened eating, where everyone is a gourmet chef and food critic, that I would have heard it mentioned before physically running into it. Head first.

Although, CFA is not exactly the most gourmet of eateries.

In reading over their website and allergen claims, it seems quite clear-cut from their point of view. Their oil is heat processed and refined, which apparently makes it safe for consumption by people with allergies.

However, I still feel a little overtly ‘mother concerned’ and am banning them. It weirds me out just a little.

Anyways, that is the end of my Chik-Fil-A rant.

Really, this was all about how V and his allergies. And what I do about them.

Well, I got allergy tested. First part was last Monday, RAST testing on my back. Very interesting. Apparently I have some kind of dermatological skin , which makes skin testing rather tricky because of the welts.

I had a lot of positives for different molds, a few pollens, MAPLE TREE (if you can believe that! AND I am Canadian… whats up with that!), Orange tree. It was very very interesting.

My lovely Nurse  friend drew some blood for food testing and tomorrow I am having intradermal skin testing done.  How allergic am I? Am I an allergic person? Does V get it all from me?

AND, on an interesting side note, it appears he might be allergic to penicillin as well. This is based on a weekend filled with vomit roughly the colour of the amoxicillian he is taking.

I am allergic to it, or was at least sensitive to it as a child, and stupidly haven’t ever mentioned it to V’s Dr.

Dumb-ass.

Just one call to her this weekend, and she happily reassured me re: Vomit-Fest 2009 hosted by the Melvins.

More to follow tomorrow, post testing…

xox a.m.

ps: Kids allergy testing info here

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Karma

So the other day my son  threw up everywhere. So awful. And even more so since the whole incidence was in public.

And then it suddenly was Christmas.

How are these 2 events linked together? This was information that I learned during Christmas morning with my sweet boys while I was unwrapping a prezzie from the Big M.

And so back to Tuesday we go, V and I wandering around the Mall on one side, while M went the other way. He likes to do his shopping last-minute. So as V and I were cruising, we strolled past the Aveda store. I am such a sucker for anything Aveda and was thinking about something for my sister-in-law and so in I strolled.

It’s basically like shopping at MAC, the shop staff is quite posh and slightly unapproachable. Completely dressed in black.  Impeccable hair.

Anyways, strolling in and around the closet that is Aveda, deeply inhaling the gorgeous aromas of their products. Of course, just staffed with one person who was deeply involved in a complicated discussion regarding conditioners.

I had a wee question to ask him, so V and I waited patiently near the till while he rang his customer up.

Suddenly, without any warnings at all, started projectile vomiting.

All I could say was “What the hell?!?!” as I tried to catch the vomit spewing out of him with one hand, while the other tipped him forward so he wouldn’t choke. And spew it did. Seemingly endless in manner…

While my hands were outstretched, both catching and supporting, the Aveda guy and customer made horrified faces at me and my child. Aveda guy offered me some towels and then went back to the counter to endlessly apologize to the blond woman who just stared at me with her lip curled in disgust. Childless bastards.

It felt endless, but maybe was approximately a minute or so. And then I cleaned up vomit for a few minutes. V just sat there in his stroller, looking shocked, I was shocked. Aveda guy was shocked. I was embarrassed. And apologetic. Aveda guy said “I’d help you, but I hope you understand that I am feeling a bit nauseaous” . And gave me a garbage bag when I asked.

I joked “Well, there could be worse places than Aveda! At least you can easily cover up the smell!!” I don’t think he thought it was as funny as I did.

I pretty much ran out of there with V, on the phone with M the whole time…

“Honey? Vomit-fest. V is covered. We are leaving. Meet you are Sears?”

“Sounds good. Why don’t you buy V something clean to wear at Sears?”

“Ok!” I said, slightly freaked out and panicked. But, of course, calm at the same time. Outwardly, anyways…

That stroller was practically on fire, it was going so fast. And a trail of vomit-odor followed us through the mall and into Sears. And into the elevator. And as the doors were starting to shut, someone shouted out for us to hold it. Really? Are you sure?

She was, and politely rode with us up to the second floor. In a vomit elevator.

I raced into the kids section going “2-t 2-t 2-t 2-t” in my head.  I only wanted that size, a shirt and pants or shorts. Quickly found some serviceable things and dashed off to the check-out.

Standing in line, anxiously shifting from one foot to the other with V in front of me caked in vomit. No-one gave us a second glance.

I reached the counter and had the following ridiculous converation:

“Did you find everything you were looking for?”

“Yes, thank you, I did.”

“Do you have any coupons you’d like to use today?”

“No, thank you.”

“Would you like to use your Sears card?”

“No, I don’t have one thanks.”

“Would you like to apply for one?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Everything would be almost free if you did~~~!”

“My child is covered in vomit, so I am not really interested at this time.”

The look on her face was priceless. And then she started apologizing. And frankly I didn’t care at all. I just paid, ripped the clothes off the hanger at the counter and refused her offer of a bag.

Back to the elevator, down to the second floor and out into the parking lot. M met me with the car on the sidewalk, which was where I stripped the Little Man down and changed his vomit-clothes. Most of them went right in the trash.

The day didn’t get any better from there. It basically sunk into vomit-hell.

Vomit, phone calls to the pediatrician, more vomit. Quick stop at home. Bath. Change. Vomit. Off to the Dr. More vomit. Vomit. Vomit. And some more vomit. Slight dehydration of the little man.

Christmas morning, as I opened a package from M, I learned more about karma than I ever knew. As I unwrapped several bottles of Aveda haircare products, M could barely contain his glee as he recounted his story. Apparently he had been in the Aveda store about 15 minutes before me. And Aveda guy was a total ass to him. So awful and condescending that M wondered why I liked their products.

So Aveda guy? Right back at ya…

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Fever, again

Mummy? Change me. NOW.

As I type this, my eyes are closed. There is a glass of Merlot in front of me. Julia and Julie is playing on the Blue Ray. V is sleeping. I just finished sauteing some scallops for my salad.

Key phase in above ramble? ‘V is sleeping’

3 days of super sick baby, Mummy has now reached an insane level of ‘over it’.

Except, Mummy can’t be. Not like Mummy is when Daddy gets sick. Nope, with Little Booboo, Mummy is always on.

Wednesday morning was a low fever, Wednesday evening it was 100 degrees. Thursday early morning it was 101. I stayed home that day with the sick Little Man. It was awful. Fevers scare the crap out of me.

Thursday was a ‘Motrin’ day. And a ‘Tylenol’ day. And a “Mummy, I need a cuddle’ day. And that is how I always know my V isn’t feeling well, when he searches out Mummy’s lap and snuggles down.

Thursday afternoon was 102 and Friday morning was 103.2.

POINT TWO! POINT FRIGGIN’ TWO!

Jesus Christ, how can anyone’s heart take this sort of thing?

And then I had to go to work.

And M took him to the Doctor. Bad sinus infection and a molar coming in. How Dr E even managed to get into his mouth to look, I have no idea. I can barely get a toothbrush in there. One time I had to remove something(s) (paper, pennies, dog kibble, pieces of wood, dirt from the floor etc) and I swear he almost severed my finger. Baby teeth are sharp things.

So apparently those 2 things are enough to raise ones body temperature.

Sooooo… amoxicillin, Motrin with alternating doses of Tylenol, decongestant cough/nasal drops, Singulair tablets AND Pulmacort nebulizer treatments.

Last night, while I was dosing the Little Man, I couldn’t believe how many things I was administering to him. Basically 5 (or 6 depending on how the day is going)  different things. Seems like an awful lot for one small body.

Something which was rather apparent to me this morning. Let me fill you in on last night.

Last night, post-bath, as I went to diaper and pj the Little Man I discovered there WERE NO DIAPERS upstairs in his bedroom. Which actually meant that there were no diapers in the upstairs. Which meant there were no diapers in the house. Carrying a naked baby downstairs, I rifled through the diaper bag and found 2.

Oh thank god. One for tonight and one for the morning. And then M would be up (from his double shift) and I could do a run to the drug store and it would all be ok.

So this morning, at 7:30, it was not. My morning started with some hard-core grunting. Oh say it ain’t so. Say it ain’t so!! But the smell said otherwise. Of course, being that the last diaper in the house had just been put on a small bum, it only made sense to use it. Apparently immediately.

Oh sick child of mine, we now have an endless supply of diapers and you can fill them to your hearts content. Which you will. I know you too well.

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