Definitely grosser than the Roly Poly

The phlebotomist wrapped a Blue's Clues bandaid snugly around Wesley's index finger and said to me "It's going to be hard, but try to keep this on for at least five minutes." Wesley had just had blood drawn for a routine test after his nine-month checkup. I laughed and said I'd be careful and then started getting him dressed, a process that currently resembles the greased pig scramble at the county fair.

I crammed his head through the neck hole of the onezie I bought at Target on the way to the appointment when I looked at him on the way and realized the shirt he was wearing was far to dirty to be seen by Pediatrician Man. He shrieked with anger as I pried his bandaid-clad finger from his mouth and threaded his hand through the sleeve.

"Almost done, Wes!" I was sweating in the stuffy room, hungry and undercaffeinated and trying to remain upbeat. Another hand, another sleeve. More angry back-arching and shrieking. I laid him down on the exam table to button the snaps and pulled the bandaid finger out of his mouth again.

One snap, find the bandaid, two snaps, find the bandaid, three snaps, find the bandaid, pick up purse, find the bandaid, pick up Wesley find the bandaid, open door, find the bandaid, leave the room, find the bandaid. Wipe blood droplets off my arms and shirt. Stare daggers in direction of the lab. Resist urge to shout "Why the %#@$ did you not do this on his foot again?"

When we got to the car I realized that the bandaid was too soaked in blood and spit to do any good anymore. The receptionist gave me a new one, which I wrapped tightly around his little finger, making sure the entire sticky part was in contact with his skin. I gave it a couple of tugs to test its integrity and then pulled out of the parking lot.

I was debating whether I should get the Old Fashioned or Glazed Chocolate Cake donut when Wesley interrupted me.

"HOOOOORRRRRRRK"

Startled, I started looking for a place to pull over.

"HOOOOORRRRRRRK!!"

"HOOOOORRRRRRRK!!"

I felt around his face wildly with my free hand, while using the other hand to drive. Nothing.

"Ah ba ba ba ba ma ma ma"

I figured that normal talking must mean he had cleared whatever was bothering him, so I waited until we got to a safe place to pull over and check on him. I leaned over the seat and saw that he was breathing normally then checked his mouth, which was clear.

It was hours later when I realized he wasn't wearing the bandaid. And I never found it in the car.

Epilogue

About an hour after I wrote that last post I thought "What's a good way to get out of the house? Hmmm, let's go see Pediatrician Man!" I said to the doctor "He's had this awful congestion for five days and he's kind of...out of sorts...not himself." I didn't know that wild behavior was an actual symptom, but the doctor took one look at Charlie's nose and recoiled. "OH!"

She couldn't believe he didn't have an ear infection. As it turns out, Charlie was grouch because he had a sinus infection. An hour after he took his first dose of antibiotic he told me his "ears were talking." And after his nap the disgusting nose running had abated and he was back to his sweet, wonderful self. He watched some of the creepy fireman video from the library (think crusty old FDNY fire fighters talking dryly about using the Jaws of Life to "cut open cars like a tin can to get the people trapped inside" and talking about how the "outriggers on the truck lower hydraulically and lift the whole apparatus off the ground to stabilize it so they can extend the bucket to the fire." Charlie adores it and will not be dissuaded. I figure he'll learn something.). He helped me make dinner. He even shoved the lemon in the cavity of the chicken (It was one stick of butter delicious!).

He was a good host to our guests, sitting patiently at the table with his napkin in his lap while Ryan carved the chicken. He was cute and funny and, well, he was Charlie. And I feel like a huge j-e-r-k for not attributing his mean-spirited, tantrummy behavior to him feeling crummy.

Now we are going to go play in the back yard because he just hopped up when Curious George was over and asked to go out. And then he didn't try to kick me when I was putting his shoes on. It's going to be a GOOD day!

OH but it gets BETTER!

So far today Charlie has had four hysterical tantrums over NOTHING and I've gotten two rejection letters. One of those I was asking to work FOR FREE! I can't even get people to hire me for free!

It's 7:20. This is definitely worse than yesterday.

UPDATE: God bless the creepy firefighter video we picked up at the library on Tuesday. Firefighter Bob and Firefighter Thor are my BFFs, is all I have to say.

And also, uh, well played.

My morning

Charlie is asleep wearing his fourth outfit for the day. Wesley is in the exersaucer clad only in a diaper. Two potty accidents and then both of them "fell" totally by accident into the baby pool fully clothed (shoes too!). A grand total of FIVE OUTFITS BEFORE NOON. That's got to be some kind of record. Not that I mind the extra laundry or dirty kids, because that's not a big deal. It's the giant fight they both put up when I am changing their clothes that really makes me want to eat a whole tube of cookie dough. And the way Wesley makes a break for the dog food the second I put him down on the floor to change Charlie, who by all accounts would seem to have toddler PMS today. And THEN while Wesley was still wet, he crawled through the vegetable garden and turned himself into The Mud Man. And THEN Charlie took the three tomatoes I picked and asked him to put on the porch and threw them into the pool. After banging two of them together like cymbals first. Then Charlie, wearing his fourth outfit, decided to give himself a yogurt conditioning rinse. He managed not to destroy anything during the two minutes it took me to put Wesley in his crib for a nap but then dissolved into a puddle on the kitchen floor when it was his turn. Then tried to kick me as I carried him up the stairs.

Anyone want to join me for some pool water salsa? I might mix in the piece of mango I just stepped on in my last pair of clean socks. Yummy!

More for me!

I was sitting on the kitchen floor changing Wesley's diaper on Saturday afternoon when Charlie picked up my half full coffee cup from that morning. "Ooh, Buddy, don't drink that, it's Mama's" I said to him.

He poured some (cold, thankfully) coffee into his juice glass and started walking towards me. "Charlie, coffee is not for boys. Don't drink tha--" and with that he took a big gulp.

His eyes flew open in an expression of horrified concern and he began crying as coffee streamed down his chin and chest. He stood there panicking for several minutes--mouth open, afraid to swallow, whining--until I was able to pull myself together and get him a glass of water. I was still laughing so hard I had tears in my eyes when Ryan came downstairs to see what all the commotion was about.

After he recovered he put my coffee mug back on the table firmly and said to me scornfully "That GROSS, Mama!"

Diagnosis Boo Boo

Both of the hubbies were out of town so my sister and I decided to get the cousins together for some breakfast tacos and pool-time today. And what would Cousin Fun Day be without a trip to the emergency room?



At breakfast, I asked Charlie to sit down at the table and while he was climbing over the picnic table bench he got tangled up in his Crocs and flipped backwards off the bench. He hit the concrete floor head first.

Several minutes of loud, hysterical screaming later he calmed down and drank a little orange juice and seemed to be TOTALLY FINE.

I willed myself not to think about recent news stories involving seemingly unremarkable head bumps.

We finished breakfast and got in our cars. Before we left we debated whether we should go on the little train at the park or just head back to my house for some relaxed backyard fun. I got in my car and dialed Pediatrician Man, thinking the nurse would confirm my hunch that I should just keep an eye on Charlie and maybe make an office visit appointment later in the afternoon. Instead she told me to take him to the emergency room at the children's hospital. Now.

Okey dokey.

My sister took Wesley and my niece back to my house and Charlie and I headed for the ER. Having believed everything was fine before I called Pediatrician Man, I was now struggling to stay calm.

The triage nurse asked me to describe the fall, where on his head hit the floor first, had he lost consciousness (OH MY GOD do you really think I would have driven him here MYSELF?), had he thrown up? He hadn't done any of those things and I was feeling a little silly for being there. Then she felt the back of his head for a bump? a crack? protruding brain tissue? and he flinched and pulled away. Poor little guy--and also--thanks for making me look not crazy.

The doctor looked in his eyes, checked his pupils, his ears, and his nose, watched him walk, and asked him questions. He felt the bump and said that it wasn't big enough that he would think he would have any internal head trauma (gulp).

I was to take him home and let him rest and watch for any evidence of head trauma, one symptom of which was irritability. Will all my friends with two-year-olds laugh heartily with me? It was a terrifying afternoon really. Is he really flipping out because I'm not letting him push the stroller into the pool or is his brain swelling out the base of his skull? Is that a tantrum or a traumatic brain injury? Why are you falling asleep half an hour early? Because the emergency room was a scary and stressful experience? Or because your brain stem is being compressed?

Since the doctor said the symptoms would have shown up within an hour of the accident (the accident as in "Well his teeth were so nice and straight before the accident," or "We had high hopes for his future as a NASA engineer before the accident."), and he didn't exhibit any abnormal crankiness or sleepiness, I am confident in the doctor's diagnosis of "boo boo" and will continue to administer apple juice as directed.

Cousin Fun Day resumed after lunch and naps with a trip to the pool and then out for pizza.

Don't MAKE me call pediatrician man.

Dear Wesley,

What the hell? I was cool with waking up at 4:00 to feed you for five minutes then putting you, soft and asleep, back into your crib and tiptoeing out of your room to go back to my own bed. It wasn't ideal, but I now realize that it was a perfectly delightful arrangement.

Especially when compared with our new arrangement. In which you wake up at 1:30 all happy and ready to go. And then you happily nurse for twenty-five minutes or more ONE ONE SIDE but never relax or fall asleep.

It was cute how you were laughing maniacally in the dark the other night. It was amusing to watch you climb all over Ryan while I was trying to get you to settle down in our bed. It was not so cute when I spoke your name and, in your excitement to be reminded of my existence, you lunged for me and gave both of us a concussion.

Seriously kiddo, do you have any idea what nursing for almost an hour, twice a night, ON ONE SIDE does to a person? It is not good.

If you ever want to give that pacifier thing another go, just tell me. Even though you alternately throw it out of reach or shove the entire thing into your mouth like you're having dental x-rays, I feel like we can work through this together. A pacifier, it's like a boob, except portable, available at any time day or night, and NOT CONNECTED TO ANY OF MY NERVE ENDINGS.

In summary, may I just say how adorable you are? I mean, really. You crack me up. But baby, you've got to cool it with the nighttime stuff. Or I'm going to spend your college fund on coffee and pedicures. And therapy.

Love,
Mom