Laxidaisy!

Silent Sunday

Why it takes two

We were asked once in a letter, by a well-meaning relative, why it takes 'two perfectly healthy adults to put one toddler to bed'. After his face changed expression five times, Laxidude read that out loud to me and we both were clutching each other, laughing, while the baby just stared at his parents as they lost their minds. The baby who was currently using peas as hair product.

I used to think people who said, "He's SUCH a boy" about their children needed to be smacked. It bothered me, as a somewhat tomboyish girl growing up, that people put their children into these containers. Kids just are kids, right? It's the parents labeling their behavior.

I get it now. Sorry. Enough said.

He's an active child. An exhausting child. He's already made it up the stairs when the gate wasn't shut. ("I thought YOU shut the gate!" "But I thought YOU shut the gate!"), and most of his morning before heading to daycare's tender care is spent stomping around his room, playing. Loudly. It makes me very thankful we thought to strap any furniture taller than 3 feet to the wall. With long, long, thick screws. Everything is "OOOOH!" and "TRUCK!" and this... odd sound he makes while doing a red-faced jazz-hands. No, he's not pooping at the time. Usually.

The three most common phrases heard in our house are, in no particular order:

Sit on your BOTTOM!
Bennett! Stop hitting the dog!
No climbing on the table!

Our night-time routine as two working parents has gone through a few changes as he's gotten older, but currently we're both usually in the house by 5:30. One of us wrangles him while the other does a quick bout of dishes and food prep for him the next day, as well as prepping a 6pm dinner. The other continues the kitchen work while he's fed, and then there's playing, bathtime, Yo Gabba Gabba time (help me) and bed. Our dinner comes afterwards.

Our bedtime ritual hasn't changed much in the past year. There's the giggling, the chasing, the whining, the crying. The bath every other night. Then there's the pj-ing, the sleep sacking (most useful baby thing ever), and then the best time of night of all - story time. He lays on my lap on the boppy as he drinks his bottle and dad reads him a story. Then it's toothbrushing, the giggling, the face washing, the screaming, and then bed.

It's our ritual, and we're glad of it. It's our time to stop checking the email, turn off the TV, shut out the outside world and just be a family. It certainly takes two to put him to bed when all three of us enjoy it so much.

However.

During this story period, Laxidude occasionally forgets he's not on Broadway, and his reading of ""Marvin K. Mooney, Will You Please Go Now" gets a bit... dramatic. It's so traumatic, in fact, it summons, "The Lip."

The Lip is our barometer of how he's feeling. If he's unhappy, or insecure, or frightened, out comes The Lip. The worse it is, the bigger The Lip is, until it's of comical proportions. The Lip has made many apperances before, but most notably during an evening rendition of "Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus".

A few nights ago, in his booming voice, Laxidude had gotten to a critical plot point:

"I don't care.
You can go by bike.
You can go on a Zike-Bike if you like.
If you like you can go in an old blue shoe.
Just go, go, GO!
Please do, do, DO!"

And out came The Lip. It was slight at first, as he pulled the bottle away from his mouth, looking from me to Laxidude in confusion and fear. I tried to smile reassuringly, but I'm sure my expression wasn't the most helpful, as I was trying desperately not to laugh. Laxidude was no better, lips pressed together.

"This isn't Shakespeare!" I said, laughing helplessly as Ben wailed. "You don't have to be so dramatic! Shhh. Ben. It's okay! Daddy was just being silly!" He eventually settled down to the rest of his bottle, toothbrushing and bed, as Laxidude and I giggled our way down the stairs.

This is why it takes two perfectly healthy adults to put a baby to bed, my dear helpful relative.

So suck it.

Temper Tantrums

We  KNEW he was advanced. We just knew it!

Evidently the terrible twos have come to our household. In force.

Everything is a struggle. every arm in a sleeve, foot in a sock, hair brush, and tooth brushing is an all-out fight. Things are thrown, hitting is attempted, sobs rend the air, teeth are gnashed.  He wants to do it all. Climb things taller than he is, play with inappropriate items, feed himself entirely, brush his own teeth, brush his own hair, brush MY hair.

I suppose I should be thankful for such an independent child - but does he have to be this way at 16 months old? I'm not ready for it, even if he is. It seems that every picture I take of him these days, he's turning and running away from me to do some new thing. I should be proud. It should make me happy that I'm doing my job with him. But it's... hard.

We've reached the stage of the dreaded Online Research in answer to our questions. HOW do I deal with this tiny terrorist? Someone who isn't at all against wailing, dropping to his knees, dropping face first to the carpet, and kicking his feet isn't going to answer to just anything.

We need to Research!

Things I've found during Research:

• Put him in timeout.
• Do NOT put him in time out, whatever you do.
• Leave the room during his tantrum.
• OMG NEVER EVER EVER leave the room during a trantrum. He'll feel abandoned.
• React calmly.
• Don't react at all. Are you crazy? Fuel for the file.
• When he hits, swat him on the butt.
• When he hits, ignore it and NEVER EVER hit him on the behind or he'll become a serial killer (like Mr. Noodle).
• Redirect him.
• Talk to him. Reason with him.
• (I can't stop giggling at that last one.)
• Give him what he wants, if it's in reason.
• NEVER give him what he wants, because you'll spoil him.

Who's kid is this again? Certainly not MY child acting this way. Thankfully he seems to keep these at home.

In public? Still an angel.

Silent Sunday

 

15 months - another ear infection

Ben had surgery to have ear tubes inserted about six weeks ago. We were on the fence about the whole procedure, but in the end we decided that after five ear infections in seven months, they would be a good idea. Add to that, his hearing was slightly reduced due to a lack of drainage, and it was a simple choice.

As soon as we made that choice, set up a dr's appt, began filling out forms, he of course stopped getting ear infections. As a matter of fact, until last week, his last ear infection was November 9th. Amazing how it can be burned into your brain like that. Last week he was due for his surgery followup procedure. We'd followed the instructions, used the drops, kept his ears dry (no swimming classes), and had some discharge, but nothing awful. We were cautiously hopeful.

In the week preceeding the appointment he had more discharge - a thick, waxy discharge that seemed almost crystaline in nature. It was nothing like what they had described as an ear infection (thick, foul-smelling pus), so we simply wiped it away and eyed the calendar.

I took him in for an 8:30 hearing test and a 9:30 dr's appointment, and while his hearing was slightly better than the last test we had, it still wasn't great. It was, "ok'. There was still some loss because...

... his ears were completely blocked by the discharge from an infection! The doctor put him in a straight-jacket type device attached to a board, and with the help of an assistant, used a microscope with suction to clean out his ears. This left him screaming in rage, and me weak and sniffling as they handed me tissues and patted my shoulder gently. We have a followup appointment in three months, another prescription for antibiotics (oral) and a kid with a raging ear infection.

I wish this would stop.

What is with you people?

Granted, I've writtena lot about poop in the past few months, but you people are... obsessed, I think is a good word. Fixated, perhaps.

Google tells on you, you know. It's like a six year old with a four year old sibling. You're that sibling. Evidently, 'ass leaking' is a big draw. As is 'leaking ass'.

Poop revisited also seems to be a popular post. Sigh.

Trapping stories somehow has inexplicably made its way into the search list, but at least it's not stories about trapping poop.

'Children playing in snow' has been a recent high-number term, and that makes me go awwww. There's hope for you sickos yet. What's next, coprophagia? Oh wait.. we already did that...

Dances, parties and other functions...

"I wonder why I'm not invited to dances, parties and other functions?"

"Maybe it's your hair...?

 

So what else?

It's funny. Even when you're warned that something will happen, and that this thing that is happening is PERFECTLY FINE AND EXPECTED, you're still not prepared. I guess this is part of being a mother. Or perhaps just a human.

When Ben got the tubes put in his ears, we were told there would be bleeding. I mean, they're cutting a part of him. It makes sense. It's a very small cut, but they have to do this in order to put the tube in. There's no way around it. But still, when you see that crusted blood in his ear, it's truly an awful and scary thing to see.

---

Kids are weird. Ben's latest trick is to stare you straight in the eye and just... march backwards, all while keeping direct and intentional eye contact. THIS IS AN IMPORTANT TRICK. YOU PAY ATTENTION MAMA!

---

So one of my four guys gave notice at work. One of my other guys is transitioning to a field position, so we're already covering for him on days when he's in the field

This is going to suck massively. Soon I'll be the only one working. I need to buy our recruiter flowers.

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Go see The King's Speech. Go! GO SEE IT NOW. What a wonderful movie.

A post about disease

So.. yeah. There's a lot of sickness in this house these days. A 14 month old in daycare can bring down your number of available sickdays in a hurry, and not just to care for them when daycare kicks them out.

The Sunday before he got his eartubes put in, he was sick. His first real throwing up sick. He woke up from a nap in the afternoon and he just didn't sound right. I had been napping in our room and was out of the bed like a shot. It was a harsh, awful sounding cry that got me moving. I picked him up, trying to soothe him as we walked towards his changing table, and he began crying again and then just... threw up. All over. All over ME. All over my shirt. All over my hair. All over the floor carpet tiles. Just allll over.

I hollered for Jeff (are you sending a pattern?) and we immediately just walked directly into the shower, him fully dressed in pajamas, me in my own around-the-house clothes. I turned it on and rinsed us off, then undressed us both. I finally got him calm, and got us relatively clean, though it's difficult to wash anything with soap when wrestling with a wet, crying seal. 

I grabbed a towl to keep him warm, and I'm inches from getting out of the shower when.... again. All over. All over ME. All over my hair. All over the floor of the bathroom and the side of the tub.

BACK in we go, this time just piling the clothing in the sink in disgust while trying to make soothing sounds. Another towel is brought into action, and this time I manage to get him dry and wrapped into more clothing before handing him off to Jeff who had been cleaning up what made it to the carpet tiles.

We still don't know what it was. He didn't do it again and he was fine the rest of the day. No fever, no diaper issues, nothing.

Kids. 

Ear Tubes

I'm shocked to say, but this experience was made so easy  by the amazing and wonderful staff at the Connecticut Children's Medical Center. They truly are the best.

We were called the day before the surgery with the time we had to be in the hospital. We had to be there at 8am to check in and go through all the pre-op stuff, and then his surgery was scheduled for 9:30. This meant he didn't have to starve all morning, which we were worried about considering his age and penchant for...well, eating.

We brought a bottle along with us for afterwards, but it turns out we didn't need it. He got to play some toys while they weighed him, checked his temperature, and took other basic stats. We were then walked down to the surgery ward and given a bed in a huge communal ward. There were toys, and cars, and things for the kids to ride on, which made the time pass much more easily. We were met by every member of the surgery team, and they gave us a mask for Ben to play with and get used to.

I knew where this was going to go. He took one look at it and started biting it. He hates masks - he had to wear one last summer for a case of bronchiolitis. Ten minutes at a time, 6 times a day. He developed a hatred for it. It took two of us to administer it, and nine hundred repetitions of "The Wheels on the Bus" to soothe him. I was glad when that stopped. So was my husband.

He ended up popping the plastic on it, so we needed to get another one. Rawr.

They explained what would happen, and I donned the cap and smock and mask and walked him into the room. I sat him on the edge of the bed, and it was a bit of a wrestling match, but he was out in about twenty seconds. I'm not sure why they warn you so much about his reaction, but it wasn't any more dramatic than his eyes rolling back in his head after a really good bottle. They walked me out,a and I went back to collect my husband and the bag.

We were in the waiting room about ten minutes, watching the screen with the status numbers on it. You could follow his progress into recovery. He was in recovery only about five minutes after we got to the waiting room. I barely had time to drink a cup of coffee when I heard wailing from down the hallway, the phone rang, and the voluneer came over to get us. He was up. And annoyed.

From what we were told it's common to have them wake up cranky, and he certainly was. He had leads on his chest, and a oxygen sensor on his toe, and all sorts of wires. We were able to cuddle him and he calmed down a bit and then something... we have no idea what, set him off.

He took a deep breath - a truly huge one that seems to hang with a pregnant pause... and the monitor went off. And kept going off. His blood oxygen levels were dropping as he prepared to let out a whopper of a scream. We both burst into relieved giggles - good to know he was back to normal.

After some apple juice and a little more TLC he calmed down and we were able to head home. It's been like nothing has happened since then.

Best possible outcome. We're happy we did it. We'll see if this has an effect on his ear infections.