Not to beat a dead horse or anything . . .

But geez, it is hot outside.

Record breaking temperatures all week.

Record breaking heat indices* all week.

During the day, the heat is bad enough to cause power outages because the air conditioners just can't keep up.


And at night?  Usually the place of blessed relief?

It is nearly midnight, and it is still 88 degrees.  And humid enough to feel sticky just by poking your head out the door.  Add in the massive numbers of bugs and it is murderous.

Who do I contact about getting a cold wave through here?


*Grammatical note: indices is the plural form of 'index'.  I hate that the rule for any word ending in x is to change it to a c and add es.  It takes away a lot of the cool factor when you remove the x.  I vote we change this rule.  The rule should be to simply add 'es' to the end.  Way easier to remember, and we get to keep the 'x'.  From now on, you should say 'heat indexes' or refer to the 'appendixes' of a book.**

**Never mind.  Now that I see that written out, it looks dumb.  Let's stick with the old rule.

Quack! Quack!

When Miles wakes up in the morning, I let him play for a few minutes before I go get him.  It allows me time to finish up what I'm doing, and it helps him build independence.  Plus, he usually wakes up grouchy, and a little quiet time often goes a long way toward improving his mood.

Monday morning, I was sitting in the living room, listening to him on the monitor, and waiting for him to yell, "Mom!"  After a few minutes I heard, "Mom-mom!  Cack!  Cack! Cack! Duck!"  I was laughing so hard.  The kid is obsessed with ducks and walks around quacking all the time.  After a couple of minutes of this, I finally went in to get him.

I found him naked from the waist down, and playing in a puddle of his own making, utterly proud of himself.  "Mom-mom!  Hi, Mom-mom!" he said, "Duck! Cack! Cack!"

Apparently, this was a fun game, because he has woken up this way three days in a row, now.  So, other mommas: how do/did you keep diapers on a toddler who is way too smart for his own good?

Tuuuuck.

So, yesterday, Miles and I went to Target to pick out a birthday present for Daddy from Miles.  Given Miles' complete hatred of most shopping excursions, I have to admit that I was expecting the worst.  I had no idea what I was in for.

We were without a cart.  For some reason, Miles has decided that the primary use of a shopping cart is to dive out of it.  Several times, I have managed to somehow catch my son mere seconds before he crashes into the floor.  Somehow, motherhood has turned me into some sort of disaster-sensing ninja with lightning-fast reflexes.  Highly useful, considering my child seems determined to bash his head on . . . well, any and every hard surface in sight.  In any case, I've found that, as long as we're not in a hurry to get anywhere particular, it's highly preferable to just allow Miles to walk.

There we were, meandering through the store, just the two of us: Miles darting off to look at the wall of TV's or display robot in the toy section, Mommy trying desperately to keep him from pulling all of the nicely-folded polos off of the racks.  Still, for the most part, it was a far calmer excursion than most.

Eventually, we had our items, and began making our way toward the checkout.  Halfway to the front of the store, Miles suddenly veered off into the women's clothing.  As soon as his feet touched carpet, though, he carefully laid down, then rolled over.  He flung a hand dramatically over his head, and said,

"I tuck."

For a moment, all I could do was stare at him with an open mouth, thinking,  "Wha. . .?!?!?"  Laughter bubbled up and out, before I could stop it.  After a few seconds, I managed to ask, "You're what?"

"I tuuuuck," he repeated, drawing it out for maximum theatrical effect.

"You're stuck?" I guessed.

"Ess. I tuuuuuuuuuuuck."

I leaned over, and tried to pick him up.  Toddlers have this neat trick where they turn into really heavy, but really limp spaghetti; he did that, all the while pointing down, shaking his head, saying, "Uh uh! Uh uh!"  I put him back down.  He carefully, but dramatically, threw himself back to the floor.

"I tuck."

Not knowing what else to do, I walked a few steps away, out of his eyesight, but where I could still see his shoes.  Sure enough, he caught up to me a few seconds later, chattering on as though nothing had happened.  Twenty steps later, he fell to the floor again, this time in the middle of the main aisle.

"I tuck."

It took half an hour to travel the fifty feet or so to the registers.  I couldn't help but laugh.

Lessons of Mommyhood

Lesson #106: Never take a sick toddler anywhere.  Especially somewhere that requires waiting.  Even if it's just for a minute.

Today was Dominic's first vet visit since coming to live with us.  We wanted to get him checked out, and establish a relationship with a vet, just in case we need one in the future. (We had one for Lilo, but we weren't crazy about him, and his office was 20 minutes away.)

I got there a few minutes early, anticipating the inevitable barrage of paperwork that comes with going anywhere new.*  We arrived, and were immediately taken to an exam room and handed a clipboard and a pen.  I rolled up my sleeves and dove into the paperwork frenzy.

It was a single page.  Front only.  Lots of white space.

Which meant that I now had several minutes to wait in the tiny exam room with a Very Worried Dog and a Very Cranky Toddler.  Not a good mix.  Dominic laid under my feet, whining, probably expecting to be left here or worse.  Miles, meanwhile, ran laps around the room.  In the space of two minutes, he asked for Goldfish and a book, pushed the doctor stool around the room a half-dozen times, threw his Goldfish angrily at the floor and tried to take the dog's leash from me.  And then I wiped his nose.

All hell broke loose.  He threw his head back, arched his spine, and wailed.  He punched and kicked and tossed and turned like a fish flopping around on a dock.  Snot and saliva flew.  Eardrums were pierced.  Bruises were inflicted upon an unsuspecting and helpless Mommy.

Who was still trying to hold on to the dog and keep him calm.

Blargh.

In the end, the vet came in, Miles calmed down, the dog was given a clean bill of health, and we went home.  Where Miles promptly fell into a deep sleep, exhausted from his first-class tantrum.  And I fell into a heap in my chair to blog and watch the neighbors call the cops on each other repeatedly.  For an hour.

Ahh, it's so relaxing to be a stay at home mom!

* Seriously, there's a reason I don't go to new restaurants anymore.  By the time I finish the paperwork, I'm famished! :)

Icky Sickies

I am the mother of a snot-monster.

Seriously, the kid's nose hasn't stopped running since yesterday morning.  And this morning, when I got him out of bed, he had dried snot all over his face.  Disgusting, but true.  And, of course, his nose hurts, so wiping it has become this major struggle.  Every two minutes.

So, I pulled out the snot-sucker.  I have never, ever used the thing on him.  But then, he's never been this congested before.  I held him down, and fought with him, and in the end, he was breathing through his nose.  Briefly.  Then, exhausted from our epic struggle, he fell fast asleep.

I'll probably be cleaning dried snot again in an hour.

It wouldn't be so terrible, except the kid was already on the verge of extreme crankiness because he has four molars coming in, all at once.  We have been fighting these teeth for almost three weeks now.  So far, he's done wonderfully.  He gets a little fussy for awhile, sometimes, and then I put on the Orajel and life returns to sunshine and rainbows.

But now, with this cold, he just can't force himself to be happy.  He tries.  He played with eighteen toys in the space of ten minutes this morning in an effort to distract himself.  When that didn't work, he climbed into my lap, put his head on my chest, and whimpered.*  I tried comforting him, but he assumed I was trying to put him down for a nap, and he bucked backward and climbed back to the floor, looking again for comfort in his toys.  And so the cycle continued.  Over and over again for the next hour.  Until I pulled out the snot-sucker and he finally fell asleep.

As if that weren't enough, I woke up with congested sinuses this morning.  It's going to be a long week.

*And then blew his nose on my robe.

Lactose-Free

I'm sure you all remember my rant regarding the last doctor visit, no? If not, please refresh your memory here, because there's nothing like crazy to start your day. :)

After much agonizing and raving like a lunatic to anyone who would listen, I finally pulled myself together, thought it through, and decided on a plan of action. Starting this past Monday, we have put Miles on a strictly lactose-free diet. I am recording every item of food that goes into his mouth, along with his sleep patterns, behavior, and of course . . . diaper contents.

I won't go into the disgusting details, but suffice it to say that my biggest concern is that I can count on one hand the number of . . . solid stinky diapers Miles has had in his entire life. For thirteen months, now, every dirty diaper has been . . . loose, to put it mildly. I could explain it better,* but I think you get the idea.

So, I'm keeping a record. And I'm finding that it keeps me very cognizant of what I am allowing him to consume.

For instance, I realized on Monday evening that every single meal and snack included a generous helping of fruit. Not an altogether terrible thing, granted, but it showed me that he got far more fruit than he did vegetables, proteins, or even grains - his favorite food group, by far. Which meant that I was more careful about balancing his meals today. Now, that's not to say that I went crazy and changed his diet entirely - that would bias the data I am taking regarding his reactions to dairy. But I did think through every decision I made about his food intake yesterday, something I haven't done in months.**

And regardless of what this little study finds, it is, at the very least, encouraging me to think a bit more about what I feed my kid. So, even if I find that my instincts are wrong, and he really doesn't have an issue with dairy, I will still have learned something that will help me to better care for my son. Because, at the end of the day, that's the best I can do.

For the record, though, 48 hours into the study, and things have already solidified, if you get my meaning. I can't say this is necessarily a permanent result, but . . .

Perhaps my motherly instincts weren't so far off after all . . . :)

*In fact, I've found I have quite the knack for describing the contents of Miles' diapers, much to Patrick's chagrin . . .

**I know, I know, I'm a Bad Mommy. Why are you surprised?

I have only one thing to say today: Ugh.

I had planned to write some tonight, but I have two more pressing issue:

1) My ceiling is leaking. In a big way. Either our air conditioner has a major leak, or the one in the apartment above us does. Either way, ugh.

2) I have to find a new home for my dog. I've had her for seven years, and I love her so much. But she growled at Miles, and now continues to do so. Until I find her a good home (without children), I'm not going to rest easy.

So, sorry. Life sucks, so no updates. Rest assured that Miles is, in fact, still cute.

One of those days

I have to start by acknowledging that I am incredibly lucky that I have very few days like this.

That doesn't make it any easier.

We are on day 6 of the Plague, and it has definitely been one of those days. Miles did ok last night, but was still up 3 times before he finally woke up at 8:15. And he woke up with a vengeance. Usually, he wakes up cooing, and will play in his crib for a few minutes while I brush my teeth and prep his bottles, and generally prepare for the day. Not today. Today, he woke up whining, ready to eat immediately. And then took half an hour to eat 2 ounces. He whined and clung to me for almost an hour before finally deciding he was still tired and passing out. When I tried to put him down, he woke up, and I could see him preparing to scream. So, I laid down on the bed with him, and we napped. Which was glorious, I admit. Until he woke me up by screaming that he was starving. Since, you know, he hadn't eaten earlier.

It took me almost an hour to calm him down enough to actually eat. And once I had accomplished this feat, the phone rang. It was important, so I took the call. The lady took forever to tell me what she needed, even though I repeatedly asked her to get to the point, as I had a screaming baby in the background. By the time she finally told me what she needed, and I hung up, Miles was inconsolable again. It took another 45 minutes of bouncing and walking and shushing to get him calm enough to eat, and he sucked down the entire bottle in a matter of minutes.

For fifteen beautiful minutes, Miles played happily on the couch. Until he puked all over himself. When I took him to change him, I discovered he had a dirty diaper that had overflowed to the point that we both needed baths in the end.

So, now, he's taking a little siesta in his swing in the bathroom, and I am sitting here exhausted and ready for bed, even though it's only 2:3o. And I still have work to do. And a house to clean.

And a baby who will be waking up screaming any minute, I'm sure.

The Snot-Monster Strikes Again

Miles is still a coughing, snotty boy, but now he's added whiny-ness to his repertoire. He wants to cuddle, but still play by himself. He wants to eat, but only on his terms. He's always tired (trying to sleep off this bug, I guess), but he fights sleep. In short, nothing is making him happy. And it's driving me bonkers.

And, to top it off, Patrick and I have managed to contract this lovely little plague as well. Our house is not the most fun place to be right now. Ugh.

I know it will get better soon, and that it's really not a big deal. But I miss my happy, smiling, content little boy, and I want him back!

Besides, I'm really tired of being covered in snot every time he snuggles in. Ewww!*

*Ahh, the joys of motherhood. :)

Snot Monster

Miles has his first cold. :(

His nose has been congested (and runny) off and on for almost two weeks, but it wasn't bad, and he didn't have any other symptoms, so we didn't really worry too much about it.* Then, yesterday, he started coughing as well, and his nose is so stuffy that he's having a hard time eating and sleeping. The poor kid couldn't sleep for more than two hours at a stretch last night because he kept waking up to cough or sneeze. I finally brought him into bed with me, and propped his head up on my arm. Thus elevated, he slept for almost 4.5 hours before waking to eat, and the rest of the night went ok.

He's been up and happy and playful all day,** so far, so I'm not too worried. I called the doctor to see if I should bring him in, and was told that it's probably nothing to worry about. But, we scheduled an appointment for tomorrow morning, just to make sure.

I know it's not that bad, and it could be a lot worse, but it breaks my heart to see him suffer, even a little. Hopefully, the doctor will tell us that nothing is wrong, and that he will be better in a couple of days.

Until then, I will cuddle him and try to find the nose-sucker. (Ewww.)

I'm sure this whole thing was caused by his lack of socks. ;)

*I know, hand me the mother of the year award.

**Though, he's been very, very clingy. I had to put him in the sling just to finish my housework.

To Call or Not to Call (the Doctor)?

Warning: The following is kinda gross, and not for those with weak tummies. If you feel nauseous, too damn bad. I warned you.

One of the things they should teach you in those newborn classes is that it's hard to tell if a baby is actually sick, sometimes.

Last Thursday, Miles puked twice. I won't go into gory details, but both times involved total outfit changes for both Miles and Mommy. So, early Friday morning, I called and got an appointment with the doctor.

The diagnosis: Clean bill of health. No temperature. No signs of infection. No sickies, whatsoever. Apparently, Miles just thinks it's funny to projectile vomit all over the place.

So, we went on with our weekend. Fed him rice cereal. Gave him a bath. Got him ready for church Sunday morning - which is when he decided that two whole days without puking was just too long. Two minutes before we were supposed to leave, he covered himself, his carseat, and his cute little polo shirt that matched Daddy's.

About 5 minutes before the grossness. . .

I stripped down the baby, cleaned him up, and dressed him in another cute little polo shirt, while Patrick cleaned out the carseat and dealt with the bulk of the yucky. We ran out the door, with only minutes until Mass was supposed to start. Thank goodness for the kind old lady at church who gave up the seats she had been saving for her son and daughter-in-law so we could actually sit.

Ok, no big deal. One little bit of puke. Maybe he just gagged himself on his spit.*

A second round of rice cereal ensued, along with lots of happy playtime. No temperature + happy baby = just a fluke(?)

Wrong again. He threw up twice more throughout the day. I had to change my clothes both times. :(

After The Boy had finally gone to bed for the night, Patrick and I sat on the couch, trying to figure out what was wrong. He still has no temperature, no cough, no congestion, not even a runny nose. When he's not puking, he is a happy, playful little man, inquisitive, as always. He doesn't seem sick. He's just puking everywhere.

Maybe, I suggested, it's from the teething.** Maybe it's the rice cereal, disagreeing with a tummy that isn't as ready to grow up as he is.

Or, maybe he's sick. Without any symptoms.

So far, no puking this morning. If he pukes again (or starts running a temperature, or showing any other sign of illness), I'm calling the doctor. If not, I'm going to assume it's one of the other possibilities, and try not to freak out.

Can someone just invent a gauge or something that can tell me when my baby is sick, and when he's just . . . whatever?

*He does this far more often that I would like to admit. I just have to keep reminding myself that you can be a genius and still forget to swallow from time to time . . . right?

**He has 2 teeth (top center) that feel as though they're going to push through any day now. So much for the doctor's reassurances that "Most babies don't start teething until much later." Doesn't he know that Miles is determined to take over the world before his first birthday? Can't do that without teeth.