"Me Time"

After waking up early with BabyBoy, making him breakfast, and playing for a couple hours, Hubby crawled out of bed.  We took the boy to the zoo for a run in the crappy weather (That sounds like we're taking the dog to the off-leash park, which is kind of exactly how it is).  After the zoo visit, we got some lunch, and I put him down for his nap.

I emptied the dishwasher, setting out bottles, sippy cups, and child plates to air dry, loaded the dirty dishes in, and asked for some "me time" to go to a craft fair at Seattle Center.  A particular vendor was there, and I wanted to take advantage of the show discount to stock up on soap for the shower.  Hubby agreed, and went downstairs to take a nap while BabyBoy slept.

After the craft show, I was walking back to my car in the rain.  I saw an older lady, skipping hand in hand with a young girl who was wearing and elaborate feathered mardi gras mask and a tutu.  They were skipping right through the cross walk, in the pouring down rain.  I wished that my eyes were a camera so I could save that image to share here.  Unfortunately, I can't translate an image from my head to the computer, so this will have to capture the mood.

My first thought was "sometimes I wish I had a little girl", my next thought was "I hope I can still skip when I have a grandchild."  Lastly, I thought "I want to skip with my son in the rain." 

Frivolous part of "me time" was done, so I made the practical trip to the grocery store.  Milk, Toilet paper, food for dinner, and a few other staples for the house were all on the list.  When I got to the checkout stand, I handed the checker my bags.  I had an Oscar the Grouch bag, and a Thomas and Friends bag that happened to be in my car, so that's what I brought in with me. Apparently, I was also wearing my "please poke fun at me" face.  The checker inclined his head toward my bags of groceries and said "You don't get out much, do you?".  He was right, I don't.  I laughed a little ruefully and said "What was your first clue?"  He said "We don't get a lot of Thomas bags on Lower Queen Anne."

When I got home, the dishwasher had finished it's cycle, and the sink was full of dirty dishes.  There was a bag of garbage blocking the door to get into the house, so I took it out to the garbage cans before I could get in, put away the groceries, unload the dishwasher and put the dirty dishes into the machine for the next load.  Hubby and BabyBoy were in the living room, sitting in the middle of a pile of toys, and watching "How to Train Your Dragon" for the third time in 24 hours.  All nice thoughts from 90 minutes to myself were completely washed out of my head by internal grumbling about delayed chores.

I want to skip in the rain, holding hands with my son.  I'm going to hold onto that for tonight.

Plague Baby

BabyBoy is sick.  We're not quite sure what he has, other than a "fever of unspecified origin, with suspected Roseola".  Today starts the third day of fever, and if it IS roseola, this would be the last day of fever, then we'll enter the rash phase.  I've forced the issue and Hubby and I are splitting the time taking care of him at home, since we can't take him to daycare until he's been 24 hours without a fever.

I'd like to stop and take a moment to pat myself, and my genetic contribution to BabyBoy's immune system, on the back.  My "spunky immune system" (rhuematologists phrase, not mine) causes me a lot of grief, my body is trying to eat itself, starting in the joints, and I am on a vigorous medication regimen to try and slow that down.  Even with being in a constant state of immuno-suppression, I rarely get sick (but when I do, I tend to get REALLY sick).  BabyBoy has had a number of ear infections that seem to be more related to physiology than to immunology, but all in all, he's a healthy little dude.

All eyes in a pale face. 

Also, he's sitting in a box.

Begin Rant.....
Last Sunday, a friend came over with his 13 month old to hang out with Hubby and BabyBoy while I went out to lunch and SAW A MOVIE with a girlfriend from work.   The played as toddlers do, passing toys back and forth, then passed out in BabyBoy's crib for a nap together.  On Monday, we got an e-mail: "Oh, I forgot to mention, our kid was running a fever yesterday - he just had a febrile seizure with a high fever, and the doctor thinks he has roseola."

Answer me this, internets.  WHO the FUCK brings a sick kid with a fever over to play?  As much as daycare rules annoy me when I get hit with them, they're there for a reason.  "24 hours without medication and without evidence of fever above 100 accompanied by: diarrhea or vomiting, earache, headache, signs of irritability or confusion, sore throat, rash, fatigue that limits participation in daily activities." Do I have to start requiring a doctor's note for playdates?

The thing that really chaps my ass is that this is not the first time this parental unit has brought plague-baby over to interact with others.  Does anyone remember the great stomach flu of 2011?  Yep. Plague-baby started that one too.  Oh, and it's the same couple that criticizes other parents on sleep-training and nutrition.
End Rant.

I should look at this as a positive, right?  Each infant sickness that he has builds his immune system and (theoretically) means one less cold/flu/infectious disease later.  I just hate that he's sick, and I can't help him, other than to administer Tylenol, cuddle him, make sure he drinks, and try to force food into his no-appetite mouth.  Yesterday I think he ate two pieces of apples, 3 french fries and two slices of mandarin oranges total, which is the complete opposite of our normal hoover-it-down-not-picky eater.

Not even mac and cheese balls could entice him to eat more!

Night time seems to be the worst for the fever.  Wednesday night he topped out at 103.3, last night it was 104.3.  I cradled his strong little body that was radiating SO much heat and waited for the Tylenol to work, while contemplating the best way to commit mariticide on my soundly asleep and snoring loudly husband, and I tried not to worry to much. 

My Mama used to sing a lullaby to me, best I can figure, it's a slightly lyrically-changed version of  a ballad written in 1873 called "Put My Little Shoes Away" .  I sing it to BabyBoy, because it's one of the few pieces of her I have left, but at the same time, it's a really shitty song to sing to a kid, sick or not.  I don't sing it to him when he's sick, it puts too much worry into my head and heart. 

Repeat after me: "We're entering day three of fever.  This will be done soon, he'll be fine, and we'll have a nice long weekend together."

Boundaries

The last week has been insanely frustrating as a parent.  Today, one of BabyBoy's teachers made a comment to me.  She said "He's really left all vestiges of babyhood behind.  He's a full-on toddler now!"  I said, "That's not exactly a compliment, is it?"  She laughed and said, "No, not exactly."

Perhaps I didn't make myself clear.   I. Said. No.

Naps are a struggle, bedtime is a full-on war - I have the bruises to prove it.  He's biting, throwing punches, kicking, and has started to utter the dreaded word: "NO!"  He also likes to take things and shriek "mine, Mine, MINE!"  He's been tugging at his ears like he'd like to pull them off his head and I've had him into the pediatrician twice to make sure it's not yet another ear infection.  (It's not).  He's working on the canine teeth on the top, one has poked through and the other is a swollen, irritated lump on his gum.  He gnaws on things and drools constantly.

The worst for me, is the clinging, sobbing drop-offs at school.  He cries like he's being abandoned, reaching for me and calling "Mama, MAMA!"  When we walk in the door, the screams if I try and put him down, and if I manage to get him off of me, he goes limp on the floor and sobs.  I've been trying to be patient, and to allow some extra time where I can sit with him, play with toys, and reassure him that it's FUN to be at school, but I'm not sure if I'm actually helping or making things worse.

He acts a little shy and clingy with Hubby, but nowhere near where he is with me.  It's that way at home, too.  He wants to see Daaah-eee, and play with him, but when the rubber meets the road, it's the Mama-way or the highway, accept no substitutes.

Singing to him last night, I changed the words to the "Tennessee Waltz".

I was dancing, with my Mama

to the Tennessee Waltz

When my Dad tried to take me away.

I said "No thank you" to my Daddy

and held on to my Mama

'cause sometimes a guy just needs his mom.

I love that he likes to be near me.  I love that sometimes just the sound of my heartbeat and me singing to him is enough to calm him down.  But he likes to sit on my lap while I go to the bathroom, and I could really use some space these days.  Someone please reassure me that this is a phase and it will pass?