Hoof & Mouth
On Monday at 3am, I was awakened by an extremely hot baby hollering at the window fan. He and I were up until 6 - chatting, pointing at the fan, nursing (him, not me). He was a happy camper, just a hot, happy camper.
By Monday evening, his temp hit nearly 103 and I.freaked.out because that is what I do when I see a number above 100 on the thermometer. I called an advice nurse and made an appointment for Wednesday morning. She, very sweetly, said, “You can always cancel the appointment, even 5 minutes beforehand if he’s doing better. Tonight, you can call the after hours line if there is a crisis…uh..I mean…oh! I’m sorry! I just mean…” It’s okay, I understand. She means if his temperature goes up one more iota, I can call the after hours number and freak out on the nurse who will remind me that, “we don’t worry until it hits 4 billion.” Then I can curse to my husband and cry to my mom that no one takes my baby’s brain boiling out of his head seriously.
The Tuesday appointment was like watching a detective work. He had a fever, that we knew. Could it be his belly? Maybe his head? Was it the snake I let him touch at the aquarium? Maybe the anti-bacterial hand wash I used afterwards? Earache? This is going to be so much easier when he can talk.
She began with mildly annoying him by attempting to look in his ears which was nearly impossible since he has full control over flipping his head side to side when anyone tries to touch his ears. She ended with, “let me look at his mouth…there’s an illness that can cause ulcers on the gums and throat.” which was quite a bit easier since his mouth had taken over his entire face with the amount of screaming his was doing. Because, how dare she look in his mouth. May as well have ripped off his leg and eaten it in front of him because that is the exact.same.thing.
“Ah, yep. Have you ever heard of hand, foot and mouth?” Yes. Yes, I have. My friends’ babies have had a sudden outbreak of it this month. Somehow, they managed to transmit the disease to my child through the internets…all three of them.
I call mom to tell her he has hand, foot and mouth. “Oh, you’re such a bad liar. You’re such a liar.” Apparently, she first thought I made up the name because I really am that creative. Then she thought I meant the cow disease. My dad’s response, “Oh Jesus! What the HELL is that?!” Nice to know my baby is helping me carry on my goal of continuously horrifying my parents.
He’s feeling quite a bit better. Although, he’s still cranky and doesn’t want anything to do with anyone but mommy the boobs. I knew he was feeling better the moment he woke me by standing up straight in bed, pointing to the fan and screaming, at the top of his lungs, “DAAAAAAAAAAAAATS!” At 5:30am.
I’m One of Those Moms
Ben started getting really hot and bright red last night. Turns out he had a fever of 101. I kinda freaked out and called the ped immediately because I was convinced it was because he got an itchy nose from french fries earlier. Did I mention it was midnight? It was midnight. And I made the mistake of looking up “fever” and “flushed” in infants and reading all about fifths. *shakes head* Yeah, “Uh, we don’t worry until it’s over 105 rectally…” I already knew that but, still…
He has his first cold and I feel awful for him but he seems to be pretty happy other than that. Poor kid and his overreacting mama.
Filed under 8 month, sick | Comments (2)Those Flippin’ Bananas
Also known as, “My endless food, poop, puke rant” or “Note to self: Beware the wet burp”.
I’ve given Ben organic carrots (not homemade). I’ve made and pureed him sweet potatoes. I’ve made fresh applesauce from both red and green organic apples. I always get the same face. The squished up, “what the hell was that” face. It’s, of course, to varying degrees depending upon what it is I’ve just fed him but it’s always the same face.
Then, we tried bananas. His eyes got big, his mouth got wide and he squeeled, “He-yeaaaaaaahah!” He loved them. First day, he got a little gas but I thought it may have been from my over-indulgence in Lactaid that week. I cut back. Second day, he got horrible gas. I was still trying to blame it on the Lactaid and had made no connection to the bananas. I cut back even more. Third day, he ate an entire banana and proceeded to have a diarrhea so massive that it shot out of the back of his diaper and all over my shirt.
And, yet, I still didn’t get it. I avoided all solids for a couple of days in case maybe, just maybe, it was the bananas. I also didn’t drink any Lactaid.
When we tried it again, we were at my parents’ house. We pureed an entire banana and he ate it all. I followed it up with Gas X and he had very little gas that night. I thought, “Huh. Maybe the bananas just give him gas.”
But, wait! I get stupider!
He finished about 3/4 of a banana today with 4T of rice cereal & 2T of breastmilk and took his mid-afternoon nap immediately afterwards. He woke up, he played, and then got sleepy again. I tried to nurse him back to sleep and he refused. He never refuses. I stood him up and put him close to my face, “Sweetheart, are you sleepy?”
*burp*
“Awww, was that a…”
*Blauhhhggghhh - he projectile vomits down my shirt, my pants, on the couch, on the floor*
“ERIC! He just puked all over me! Take him so I can change, please!”
Eric proceeds to go for a wash cloth sitting on the couch. “Why don’t you use this…”
He, apparently, did not understand the urgency of the situation. He didn’t seem to get that there was vomit running down my chest and belly and it needed to be remedied immediately. Clearly, he was worried about the couch and not that I was going to have to kill him if he didn’t take Ben so I could clean off the vomit.
“TAKE HIM NOW!”
I changed and wiped down while Eric changed Ben’s outfit. I took Ben back and walked him back to the couch while Eric threw in a load of laundry. I sat down.
“Poor baby! Are you…”
*Blauhhhggghhh*
Another change of shirt for me, outfit for Ben. Another 2 things to go into the laundry. I take back the boy and, by this point, he’s quite pale with no fever and a fierce habit of rubbing his eyes over and over. I start walking him back and forth in hopes of getting him to go to sleep.
“Sleepy boy, you’re not feeling….”
*Blauhhhggghhh*
I’m beginning to think that it’s my voice that’s making my child vomit and am afraid to speak again. While this was a much less prolific vomit (never thought I’d ever type those words), it still required a change on my part. Ben, for his part, managed to miss his outfit entirely. Another shirt for the wash. I, thinking I am being intelligent, put a prefold on my chest between Ben and I to avoid another change.
“Hush little baby…”
*Blauhhhggghhh - misses the prefold, hits my arm - Blauhhhggghhh - hits the prefold, proceeds to wipe face in it*
I know very well I did NOT feed him this much. Where the hell this child is getting his reserves from, I have no idea, but it was really quite impressive. Especially that this particular iteration was more than the first 3 combined. I’m beginning to think he might win an award and am almost sad that Eric was washing all the proof of super puke proliferation down the drain.
“He PUKED AGAIN!” I screamed at Eric, who was downstairs washing away our hopes and dreams for the Best Vomiting Baby award.
“What?!?”
“HE PUKED!” I scream louder.
“WHAT?!?”
“HE PUKED!!” I scream like an angry construction worker with a 2 pack a day habit.
“WHAT??”
“Oh screw you.” I hate being whated when I’ve got puke running down my arms. Our house is not that big. I just didn’t understand why he couldn’t hear me when I’m standing immediately above his head and yelling at the top of my lungs. Of course, he heard that part.
Up he comes, saying something about creaking floors, can’t hear, and takes Ben. I change. Again. Eric changes Ben, I wash off his face. Ben plays with my “Baby 411″ book that tells me, “This is a food allergy, you raging fucktard. What did you think it was? Lactaid?”
I get Ben back on my shoulder and resign myself to being covered in puke. He’s not feeling well and I felt awful for having poisoned him. I sing, “Hush little baby” and he begins to fall asleep on my shoulder. I cringe with every burp. As his eyes flutter shut and I’m hit with the effervecent scent of banana vomit seeping out of my baby’s lips, I think of how very lucky I am to be a mom and how, the moment he wakes up, I’m going to call my own mother so she can say, “HAH! GOT YOU BACK!”
Filed under rant, sick, solids | Comments (7)
