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.

My worst fears come to light. Tuesday I went to the dentist after 2 weeks of pain that just would not disappear on it’s own, as it should have. It turns out, after three years of having 1/3 of a tooth missing, the nerve was finally dying and really, really unhappy about it. Apparently, I also had an infection running throughout. Joy!

After spending over 4 hours there, being told my impacted wisdom tooth was causing major decay – and therefore major pain – to the tooth in front of it (but they could only deal with the tooth with the hole in it, not the other two, because they only deal with one tooth at a time for insurance reasons), it took the dentist nearly 30 minutes to get the sucker out. A sore arm and quite a few extra shots of Novicaine later, I was missing a tooth with roots that apparently went down to my arm pit. I was also not at all proven incorrect about my “irrational” fear of dentists. They really are evil.

My favorite conversation of the day was as follows:
Dentist-like Creature (henceforth known as DLC): We’ll deal with the one with the hole. Your other one will require a lot of pulling to get around the tooth growing around it. It might crack the bone.
Me: Why’d you have to tell me that?
DLC: As opposed to what?
Me: I don’t know. As opposed to fairies are going to come down and magically remove my tooth and pain.
DLC:…Well, it’d require a lot of work with the other one. But the one with the hole? Fairies are going to drop fairy dust on it and it’ll come out.
Me: Thanks.

While I consider myself a sarcasm connoisseur, it’s lost on me when coming from someone who is about to shove a needle in my mouth and forcibly rip something out of bone. Call me crazy.

24″ long
12lbs
16 7/16″ head

3 shots that gave him a terrible fever and a little diarrhea. Due to the diabetes thing and his eczema, he cannot start solids until he’s 6 months. It’s too bad because he grabs at us everytime we’re eating something and stares at us as if we’ve just sold national secrets to the Soviets when we eat and he doesn’t get anything. I feel awful, but it’s better for him in the long run.

He goes in Tuesday for his first TEDDY appointment. Keep him in your thoughts. It’s his first blood draw. Poor kid.

I hate this yeast. I hate it with every fiber of my being.

Yesterday, we went to my midwife to see about the raging boob yeast. “I’m not entirely sure that is yeast…” she said. See, she said that because I have taken it upon myself to wash the evil bumps with Dial soap. Yes, Dial soap. It’s no longer as bumpy, but it looks like someone took a cheese grater to it. I was, desperate, see? It had to go away, and Dial kills 99.9% of…well, everything. I figured, what the hell? Might kill of the yeast, too.

It didn’t. Just my skin. Now I’m not so bumpy but raw, ragged and itchy. I am an idiot.

She prescribed me a 3 month treatment of Diflucan. THREE MONTHS. Because, apparently, my yeast is evil.

Ben’s pediatrician prescribed him more Nystatin because the Miconazole was not working. If it doesn’t go away in yet another two weeks, he’s to go in and see them. However, after one treatment of Nystatin last night, he’s much less red and there are nearly no more bumps left. I think we’re finally in the home stretch with his demonic yeast.

Now, I’m going to go boil my nipples.

2 cm dilated and 70% effaced. Hoh yeah! I know it’s not a huge improvement but it’s something, and that is really all that matters.

She stripped my membranes and I had contractions for about an hour afterwards. Then I went on a 30 minute walk, which is supposed to keep contractions going. Make them stronger, even. It didn’t. In fact, it made them stop entirely.

I think my body is officially a rebel.