Got a little bit more time to write this week, as everyone’s gone to bed and I’m hoping… *hoping* my son doesn’t cough himself awake. This happened all weekend, and came to a climax yesterday evening when he could hardly breathe. A late afternoon pediatricians’ visit, steroids and a 15 minute session with the nebulizer, and he finally got what resembled a decent nights’ sleep (me included). We’re planning on putting him on some sort of preventative care for the next month, but boy does he HATE that thing. I would too if I were two years old, trying to figure out the world, and this noisy, vibrating, mist spewing thing is attached to my face like an Alien… all while watching Curious George on Netflix.
The torture starts early with kids…
Sick, Sick, Sick:
Oh, and the bronchitis/lungs of death wasn’t the first thing that came around. Apparently our day care provider was handing out fresh bouts of stomach flu, aka diseased lunch/snacks that someone neglected to check the expiration date on. I thought he had gotten through it without any problems, but no such luck. I found it out when I attempted to give him a piece of fresh scone at the Coppell Farmers Market, and he decorated the front of his shirt and pants with not one.. but two barf rockets resembling the banana oatmeal mix I gave him. He promptly screamed afterwards.
So I apologized to the startled vendor (who must have thought “This can’t be good for business…”), and proceeded to wheel my barf-covered son to a secluded area behind a tent. Secluded of course, means I’m shielding the clean-up from everyone on the tent-side of the market. The outside crowd has my on full display, as I keep my kid standing, screaming in agony while I wipe handful after handful of barf from the stroller. We take his clothes off next, put some fresh stuff on from the diaper bag, and haul him off to the one thing I came to do the market to do… pick up an online order from a local meat and dairy vendor.
We get up in front of the line, and there are two groups in front of us. The first is a rather large (I’m being kind) woman who was babbling and droning on and on about how much her daughter looked like the lady she was speaking too. She was also having a great conversation with the two others she was with. No one was talking about picking up an order… apparently oblivious to the time bomb I held in my hand that was NOT pleased to be in 90 degree weather, smelling like rotting oatmeal.
It took about 43 seconds before Alden started crying and screaming. At first, I felt a little bad having to keep him there, but then I changed my tune. I wanted him to scream his head off. I wanted that wailing, agonizing, piercing cry that I’ve been so used to in the past few months to pierce the thick skulls of the people in front of me. Anything to get them to hand over their cash in exchange for whatever they came there to do… beyond discussing NPR stories they heard on the way there.
Finally we get to the front of the line. I spell out my last name in between fits of screaming and crying, and eventually hand over my phone to show them that yes, we did actually place an online order that you confirmed. What they didn’t apparently do was get the order right, as both vendor reps were ripping frozen bags from the bottom of two huge refridgerators, trying desperately to find what they thought they had packed for us. When that didn’t work, they did the right thing and offered a replacement as well as an extra set of eggs. I paid, thanked them, and got my kid back into the car… firing up the air conditioning and making plans for a stroller/kid hose down when I got home.
24 hours later, the next phase of sickness hell came in the form of an overnight cough… as explained above.
Sleep Deprivation Central:
Since my schedule is a bit more flexible than the one my wife keeps, I can bend and twist to the curveballs my kids health puts me on. But the weekend was a killer. I had three straight days of less than three hours of sleep a night, and had fits of what you might define “napping” during the day. Interruptions like phone calls, meetings, text messages, and the usually lot of electronic communications kept me from going into a sleep coma. As of Thursday night, I’m finally looking forward to a good night’s rest… except that I’m blogging and chewing into that as we speak. But I digress…
Daycare – Level Up:
Our son is now officially in a ‘Pre-School’ classroom, where he can enjoy having a teacher stare at him while he’s placed on a toliet and encouraged to either pee or poo. This will occur about six times a day, which is expected to continue at home. Outside of our kid nearly dying from sickness, I’ll look forward to trying to do this myself. As Alden’s has seen me go to the bathroom as a matter of necessity (since he can’t be without me most of the time), he should be alright with the tables turning every so often.
The other thing is the pacifier. It’s going away, though he’s not really aware of this event occurring. The toughest part will be the overnights, where it’s been a mainstay from the beginning. I only hope that this isn’t another catalyst for me losing sleep because he panics at a pacifier that’s no longer available. Good times await!
See you next week!