It's bad enough when you're sick.
When baby is sick, all bets are off.
Last night was one of those nights.
This was completely preventable in my opinion. Now, truth be told, I am the offending party that got my boy sick. I'm coming off bronchitis, but it didn't have to escalate to that.
The sniffles started over a week ago on a Wednesday. By Saturday morning, I figured I should hit the walk-in clinic to nip this thing in the bud. It felt like a sinus infection - I've had more than my share in my day - and I figured a z-pak would knock it out and keep the kids from catching it.
But nooooooooooooooooo.
I see an N.P., which apparently stands for no prescription. She single-handedly decided to defeat the impending mythical super-bug that over-prescription of antibiotics may (and likely will) cause some day. You see, my symptoms were classic "viral." And if that was the case, antibiotics wouldn't help.
I understand this. However, I've had these symptoms before. I know what they lead to. And I don't want it going there.
It's seems simple enough: Gravity + boogers (this is a parenting blog after all) + asthma = nasty bronchitis if left untreated.
Add a 4-month-old baby to the mix at home, and I'd sure as hell prescribe some GD meds to keep everyone healthy.
But alas, I leave with only a refill for my Nasonex.
So along comes Tuesday and my voice has dropped two octives, I'm hacking up what looks like gray matter (more evidence that my brain has indeed melted and now resides in my bronchioles).
Back to the walk-in-clinic we go.
So now I'm back in the waiting room at 8 a.m. surrounded by what looks like the walking dead. In fact, some poor old woman standing up by the front counter ends up puking and passing out, which facilitates a call to 9-1-1.
At this point, I'm wishing for one of those biohazard suits from the end of the movie E.T.
Eventually, they bring me back, and as the physician assistant walks in (yes, again, no doctor), I launch into a coughing fit that leaves me doubled over, hacking up a lung and gasping for air.
Good times.
This time, they send me for a chest x-ray. Negative for pneumonia. At least something has gone right.
He puts the odds at 70% viral / 30% bacterial, but he'll give me the z-pack and a steroid dose pack to clear out the chest.
FINALLY!
What really burns me is, I've now had a second trip to the doctor and a chest x-ray - and a lost day of work. And of course, I have one of those lovely new high-deductible health plans with an HSA. So I'm out another $80-some dollars.
This could have been avoided had they treated the possible sinus infection in the first place.
Now it's Thursday, and my poor 4-month old is coughing, boogering and down-right miserable.
He woke up EVERY HOUR last night. It just took a little pacifier and some coddling to get him back, but as you can imagine neither of us is too happy today.
And oh yeah, the medicine is working. I'm feeling a lot better.
But rest assured, we're still safe from that Super Bug thanks to the courageous (in)action of one very special N.P.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Friday, February 29, 2008
Not It!
One of the great things about having moved for this new job is that I actually get to go home and eat lunch with my family just about every day. It breaks up the day nicely, and I get to spend a few minutes with my wife and kids.
Yesterday, I get no farther than two blocks away and the cell phone rings. It's my wife, whom I just left 30 seconds ago. The conversation goes as follows:
Me: Hey.
Her: You did that on purpose!
Me: Huh?
Her: The baby's stinky!
Me: LOL!
Now you have to understand that Amy has this tendency to hold off of changing a dirty diaper until I get home. She doesn't let him go all day, but if I'm en route, he's waiting. And if I'm physically present, you know he's coming my way.
She is home with the kids all day and changes the majority of the diapers, so it's fair. But she's sneaky about it. She'll walk over to me, hand me the baby, and say, "Here, take your son." It's only when the aroma hits me that I realize I've been had.
We actually have friends that do rock-paper-scissors when it comes to changing their son's diapers. I tried that once. Apparently, rock, paper and scissors all lose when the other person doesn't throw down.
Needless to say, I got quite the chuckle when I learned I managed to get out of dodge before the eruption occurred. Of course, she wasn't buying it. She accused me of ... well, pulling an Amy.
So when I get home, and Sean is happily lying on the blanket, I pick him up to give him a hug and...
Sniff, sniff.
AMY!!!!
Yesterday, I get no farther than two blocks away and the cell phone rings. It's my wife, whom I just left 30 seconds ago. The conversation goes as follows:
Me: Hey.
Her: You did that on purpose!
Me: Huh?
Her: The baby's stinky!
Me: LOL!
Now you have to understand that Amy has this tendency to hold off of changing a dirty diaper until I get home. She doesn't let him go all day, but if I'm en route, he's waiting. And if I'm physically present, you know he's coming my way.
She is home with the kids all day and changes the majority of the diapers, so it's fair. But she's sneaky about it. She'll walk over to me, hand me the baby, and say, "Here, take your son." It's only when the aroma hits me that I realize I've been had.
We actually have friends that do rock-paper-scissors when it comes to changing their son's diapers. I tried that once. Apparently, rock, paper and scissors all lose when the other person doesn't throw down.
Needless to say, I got quite the chuckle when I learned I managed to get out of dodge before the eruption occurred. Of course, she wasn't buying it. She accused me of ... well, pulling an Amy.
So when I get home, and Sean is happily lying on the blanket, I pick him up to give him a hug and...
Sniff, sniff.
AMY!!!!
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Selective Hearing
It's a little after 4 a.m. Sound asleep, I become vaguely aware of a sound. It's a familiar sound, and it easily incorporates itself into my dream.
It continues for a while - how long I cannot tell. But at some point, the subconscious mind finally yields to the conscious, and recognition sets in.
The baby is hungry.
I've compared the first few weeks of a child's life to boot camp. You know it's supposed to be difficult, but nothing can prepare you for just how hard it can be until you are in the throws of sleep deprivation. And those around you that have never experiences the "joys" of parenthood just don't understand why you just poured salt instead of sugar into your morning coffee -- and didn't seem to notice.
In fact, I believe the real reason that friends who already have children are so excited upon hearing about your impending pregnancy is not that they're truly happy for you.
They're happy for them.
For now they will have someone to commiserate with. NOW you will understand what they have been enduring. And they are just giddy at your impending joy - and misery!
So here you are at 4 a.m. with a baby wanting a bottle. The funny thing is, I've been through this before. Sean is child number two. And he's four months old. He's actually slept through the night a few times - and that is when you get spoiled.
At the beginning, you know the baby needs to be fed every couple hours. If your wife is breast feeding, dad gets a bit of a break. That is, unless you do what we did and Dad ends up getting the baby, changing the diaper and presenting him to Momma.
You get into a routine and embrace your sleep deprivation. You're coasting on fumes, but adrenaline kicks in and you get stuff done.
But I've found that as your kids get older and start sleeping better, and you actually get a few good nights' sleep, when a "bad night" comes along - it absolutely kicks your ass.
Now there are bad nights and there are "bad nights." "Bad nights" are when you are up and down several times a night. It could be a cold. It could be teeth. It could be the Flyers lost again (oh wait, that's me). But he's not happy. And you're not sleeping.
Thankfully, last night was not one of THOSE nights. But when you're roused from your slumber and you realize you have to get up, sometimes it takes every bit of energy to get your legs to respond.
Mine were choosing not to last night.
The boy wasn't in full meltdown mode, just a "fuss." Otherwise my "Super Dad" instinct would have kicked in. That's where some autonomic reflex kicks in that literally spring me out of bed launching me in the direction of a screaming child.
I think it's a hereditary skill. My own dad has told me about being able to hear us kids from a deep sleep. But this is a bit different.
When we moved here about 2 years ago, my then-2-year-old daughter and I ended up living in a cheap apartment behind a strip mall while my wife stayed behind to sell the house. Unbeknownst to me before I rented the place, the dumpsters from the strip mall are emptied EVERY NIGHT between 1 and 3 a.m.!!!
You can imagine the terror a 2-year-old in a strange, dark apartment, sleeping on an air mattress experiences when she's awaken by an extremely loud BANG BANG BANG in the middle of the night.
So I would come running in to comfort her in a full sprint. This went on for a month before we were able to sell the old house and buy a new one.
This led to night terrors for the poor kid. So I developed this Pavlovian response to 'screaming child' that flings me in the direction of the noise before really gaining consciousness.
Apparently, the "I'm hungry" fuss doesn't quite trigger that response.
But after a couple minutes of coming-to, we start the middle-of-the-night route: grab the robe, hit the bathroom, make the bottle, pick him up, change his diaper, into the rocking chair, bottle in mouth and zzzzzzzzzzzzz.
I pass out in the chair, baby tucked into my body and going to town on the bottle.
I wake up 45 minutes later, bottle is almost empty and he's asleep, too. So, I try to get a burp to no avail, put my little angel back into the crib and return to my comfy bed.
And I just nod back off to sleep when it starts.
"Waaaaaaaa"
SON OF A ....
It continues for a while - how long I cannot tell. But at some point, the subconscious mind finally yields to the conscious, and recognition sets in.
The baby is hungry.
I've compared the first few weeks of a child's life to boot camp. You know it's supposed to be difficult, but nothing can prepare you for just how hard it can be until you are in the throws of sleep deprivation. And those around you that have never experiences the "joys" of parenthood just don't understand why you just poured salt instead of sugar into your morning coffee -- and didn't seem to notice.
In fact, I believe the real reason that friends who already have children are so excited upon hearing about your impending pregnancy is not that they're truly happy for you.
They're happy for them.
For now they will have someone to commiserate with. NOW you will understand what they have been enduring. And they are just giddy at your impending joy - and misery!
So here you are at 4 a.m. with a baby wanting a bottle. The funny thing is, I've been through this before. Sean is child number two. And he's four months old. He's actually slept through the night a few times - and that is when you get spoiled.
At the beginning, you know the baby needs to be fed every couple hours. If your wife is breast feeding, dad gets a bit of a break. That is, unless you do what we did and Dad ends up getting the baby, changing the diaper and presenting him to Momma.
You get into a routine and embrace your sleep deprivation. You're coasting on fumes, but adrenaline kicks in and you get stuff done.
But I've found that as your kids get older and start sleeping better, and you actually get a few good nights' sleep, when a "bad night" comes along - it absolutely kicks your ass.
Now there are bad nights and there are "bad nights." "Bad nights" are when you are up and down several times a night. It could be a cold. It could be teeth. It could be the Flyers lost again (oh wait, that's me). But he's not happy. And you're not sleeping.
Thankfully, last night was not one of THOSE nights. But when you're roused from your slumber and you realize you have to get up, sometimes it takes every bit of energy to get your legs to respond.
Mine were choosing not to last night.
The boy wasn't in full meltdown mode, just a "fuss." Otherwise my "Super Dad" instinct would have kicked in. That's where some autonomic reflex kicks in that literally spring me out of bed launching me in the direction of a screaming child.
I think it's a hereditary skill. My own dad has told me about being able to hear us kids from a deep sleep. But this is a bit different.
When we moved here about 2 years ago, my then-2-year-old daughter and I ended up living in a cheap apartment behind a strip mall while my wife stayed behind to sell the house. Unbeknownst to me before I rented the place, the dumpsters from the strip mall are emptied EVERY NIGHT between 1 and 3 a.m.!!!
You can imagine the terror a 2-year-old in a strange, dark apartment, sleeping on an air mattress experiences when she's awaken by an extremely loud BANG BANG BANG in the middle of the night.
So I would come running in to comfort her in a full sprint. This went on for a month before we were able to sell the old house and buy a new one.
This led to night terrors for the poor kid. So I developed this Pavlovian response to 'screaming child' that flings me in the direction of the noise before really gaining consciousness.
Apparently, the "I'm hungry" fuss doesn't quite trigger that response.
But after a couple minutes of coming-to, we start the middle-of-the-night route: grab the robe, hit the bathroom, make the bottle, pick him up, change his diaper, into the rocking chair, bottle in mouth and zzzzzzzzzzzzz.
I pass out in the chair, baby tucked into my body and going to town on the bottle.
I wake up 45 minutes later, bottle is almost empty and he's asleep, too. So, I try to get a burp to no avail, put my little angel back into the crib and return to my comfy bed.
And I just nod back off to sleep when it starts.
"Waaaaaaaa"
SON OF A ....
Monday, February 25, 2008
Food Fight
Dinnertime has become a battle of wills with my 3-year-old. Thus far, I'm losing. Badly.
Up until recently, the girl would eat anything you put in front of her.
She will eat Kraft Easy Mac - EVERY FRICKIN DAY for lunch. She'll eat breakfast usually with no problem. But say the word "supper," and cue Michael Buffer -- "Let's get ready to rumble!!!"
We've tried offering rewards of dessert.
We've tried timeouts.
We've tried nothing until breakfast.
We've tried letter her sit there until its gone.
The weird thing is that in lieu of eating her dinner the other night, she voluntarily ate 2 whole carrots!
Her will is strong, and I'm just too tired to fight. My wife refuses to cook two different meals each night, and neither of us wants to resort to Easy Mac each night.
Could it be that her palette has just changed, or is this just a total toddler power play?
I don't get it. Time for lunch.
Up until recently, the girl would eat anything you put in front of her.
- Spicy ✓ (check)
- Cheesy ✓ (check)
- Steak ✓ (check)
- Chicken ✓ (check)
- Shrimp ✓ (check)
- Pasta of all shapes and sizes ✓ (check)
She will eat Kraft Easy Mac - EVERY FRICKIN DAY for lunch. She'll eat breakfast usually with no problem. But say the word "supper," and cue Michael Buffer -- "Let's get ready to rumble!!!"
We've tried offering rewards of dessert.
We've tried timeouts.
We've tried nothing until breakfast.
We've tried letter her sit there until its gone.
The weird thing is that in lieu of eating her dinner the other night, she voluntarily ate 2 whole carrots!
Her will is strong, and I'm just too tired to fight. My wife refuses to cook two different meals each night, and neither of us wants to resort to Easy Mac each night.
Could it be that her palette has just changed, or is this just a total toddler power play?
I don't get it. Time for lunch.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Therapy or Creative Outlet?
I'm new to the blog party, but I've often thought my life would make a good sitcom - or horror flick, I haven't figured out which. So instead of writing the next great American novel, I decided to inflict my random musings on the blogisphere.
I write for a living. Nothing deep or truly meaningful, but it pays the bills. But I've noticed that since we've had our second child, my brain has melted.
It may have started before that -- I mean really, how can you really tell your brain has melted until you're standing in a puddle of gray matter. But at some point my synapses just stopped firing correctly.
There was a point in my life I was the smart kid. (I was also the fat kid, but that's an entirely different set of neuroses! ) But now I find myself in conversations with department heads and other office staff, and I try to say something intelligent.
And *poof*.
That entire lexicon of vocabulary - gone.
Thankfully I'm a writer and not an orator, but still. What happened? Is it the sleep deprivation gnawing away at portion of my brain? I can function on 6 hours of sleep. But I've found that 2 hours + 2 hours + 2 hours does not give you that same feeling of being recharged.
Perhaps it was the years of writing those "watch-or-die" news promos early on in my career? You know the ones. "Tonight - what you don't know might kill you. And we won't tell you until 11 o'clock tonight."
Hopefully, those few hours between seeing the spot and watching the news didn't actually claim any lives.
It really is amazing that any parents stay together after having children. When you actually do get time together, one or both of you are so numb that you kind of stare at each other. It was bad enough before kids and you end up in one of those, "What do you want to do? I dunno, what do you want to do" conversations. Now it turns into a bad combination of Tim Allen and the Frankenstein Monster.
"Aruah?"
"I duhnuh"
It's gotten so bad that I've actually started doing crossword puzzles online just to stimulate some neural activity. I've always HATED crossword puzzles. My wife gave me that "who are you?" look when I told her.
Am I alone? Is there hope? Or is this just symptomatic of hitting my mid-30's?
How do we fight back?
I write for a living. Nothing deep or truly meaningful, but it pays the bills. But I've noticed that since we've had our second child, my brain has melted.
It may have started before that -- I mean really, how can you really tell your brain has melted until you're standing in a puddle of gray matter. But at some point my synapses just stopped firing correctly.
There was a point in my life I was the smart kid. (I was also the fat kid, but that's an entirely different set of neuroses! ) But now I find myself in conversations with department heads and other office staff, and I try to say something intelligent.
And *poof*.
That entire lexicon of vocabulary - gone.
Thankfully I'm a writer and not an orator, but still. What happened? Is it the sleep deprivation gnawing away at portion of my brain? I can function on 6 hours of sleep. But I've found that 2 hours + 2 hours + 2 hours does not give you that same feeling of being recharged.
Perhaps it was the years of writing those "watch-or-die" news promos early on in my career? You know the ones. "Tonight - what you don't know might kill you. And we won't tell you until 11 o'clock tonight."
Hopefully, those few hours between seeing the spot and watching the news didn't actually claim any lives.
It really is amazing that any parents stay together after having children. When you actually do get time together, one or both of you are so numb that you kind of stare at each other. It was bad enough before kids and you end up in one of those, "What do you want to do? I dunno, what do you want to do" conversations. Now it turns into a bad combination of Tim Allen and the Frankenstein Monster.
"Aruah?"
"I duhnuh"
It's gotten so bad that I've actually started doing crossword puzzles online just to stimulate some neural activity. I've always HATED crossword puzzles. My wife gave me that "who are you?" look when I told her.
Am I alone? Is there hope? Or is this just symptomatic of hitting my mid-30's?
How do we fight back?
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