Let's all just ignore my utter failure at blogging this month while I hang my head in shame and try desperately to catch up in these last days of March...
Ahem.
So, as you've probably already noticed, the usual monthly updates went by the wayside once Punky turned three at the end of December, partly because they are no longer needed and partly because it's difficult to find time to write the last few months. But, since I truly started this blog for her benefit years down the road, an update type of post every so often can't hurt.
When we were staring down the barrel of the terrible twos a year ago, experienced moms everywhere told me the twos are a breeze compared to the threes. Wise women indeed. So far the threes are no barrel of monkeys, and I can honestly say a part of me is hoping four comes quickly.
I think the biggest issue in her life at this point is navigating her emotions. Minor events that are no big deal in the grand scheme of things sometimes cause an entirely over-dramatic outpouring of feelings, and major ones that beg for a reaction get hardly any at all. If I turn a light off out of habit, she freaks out because she wanted to do it. She cries, she whines, she demands I turn it back on again so she can turn it off. On the opposite end of the spectrum, when she slipped getting off a stool in the kitchen and cracked her chin hard enough to cause a nickel sized black and blue mark under her jaw, she cried for twenty seconds and got on with her day. It's a total crap shoot; we never know how she will react to anything these days.
Her need for independence is often trumped by the fact that she's three. She wants to do everything herself, but she lacks the skills, co-ordination, and experience to do so. She gets so frustrated when she can't do something and, unfortunately for her, she seems to have inherited my lack of patience. It's the perfect combination of traits to spark mega-meltdowns.
Her eating habits have shifted with the onset of the threes. She was never a picky eater; from baby food on up, she always ate whatever we served with very little resistance. Now she has a list of about ten things she'll eat willingly, and any variation from the norm causes a fight at the dinner table. At least some of the things that make the cut are healthy, like carrots, apples, and celery. But, given the choice, she would happily eat mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese for dinner every night, with an occasional chicken finger here or there.
To our surprise, she managed to make it through the rest of winter without another ear infection. She had some colds and coughs along the way, but nothing doctor-worthy until two weeks ago. As soon as she got out of bed that Friday morning, the puke-fest began. By sheer coincidence, I'm usually the one home at the time when the vomit volcano erupts. But not this time. I was already at work, so her dad was on bucket juggling duty for the day.
Even though her list of acceptable foods has shrunk, her appetite certainly has not, and the poor kid was complaining of hunger all day. Every time her dad gave her something solid, she brought it back up within minutes. Apparently he's a slow learner because when I walked in the door that evening she was devouring a plate of macaroni and cheese. He headed for the bedroom to get a quick nap before going in for third shift that night, and he closed the door just as the living room carpet was showered in projectile macaroni and cheese. Needless to say, he got clean-up. After all, I wasn't the one who thought it would be a good idea to feed a puking child a heaping mound of pasta and cheese sauce. But I did, of course, get her all cleaned up while he was scrubbing the carpet. Thankfully, that was the last eruption.
The next day Punky had no appetite whatsoever. I mean zip. She didn't have a solid bite to eat all day, but what worried me was that she didn't want to drink anything. Not even a popsicle tempted her. I know that stomach bugs can linger a few days so I wasn't super-concerned, but I didn't want to see her get dehydrated either. The germs altered their plan of attack that evening and opted for explosive diarrhea instead. At that point she hadn't eaten in 24 hours, and everything prior had already exited through the front door, so I was completely baffled by the volume. I was convinced the worst was over and she would return to her normal, hungry self the next morning.
For the next three days, we begged her to eat. I offered cookies, candy, and whatever else I could think of just to get something in her belly. She adamantly refused and would only take one little nibble here and there when I forced her. She was a little more cooperative with drinking, but not by much. She was a totally different child. She kept complaining she was tired and actually napped on several occasions. She hadn't jumped on her trampoline in days. She didn't want to play games, or read books, or ride her scooter. She was content on the couch in front of the TV, and every evening like clockwork she made a mad dash to the bathroom for another round of diarrhea.
By Wednesday, a trip to the doctor was inevitable so I called off work. It was understandable that she had no energy because she hadn't eaten a solid meal since the previous Thursday. Through it all she remained in good spirits and swore nothing hurt each of the thousand times I asked. I began to wonder if she swallowed something she shouldn't have, but she insisted she didn't. Nonetheless, it was time to see the doc.
After a full check-up, the doctor thought a stool sample would be the best course of action. She said it could very well be a rotavirus because some are known to linger up to ten days, but Punky's shift in behavior warranted some further investigation to rule out parasites or bacterial infection. I left with a goodie bag full of vials, labels, latex gloves, wooden sticks, and a plastic bowl contraption that fits on the toilet for easy specimen collection. The worst part was that it needed to be at the lab within two hours, so I was instructed to take it to the hospital emergency room if it occurred after hours. I immediately envisioned a forty minute drive at three in the morning to drop off the gross, little tubes for processing.
That evening she actually ate some dinner, not much but at least it was an improvement. I waited for the regularly scheduled bout of diarrhea that night, but it didn't happen. Thursday morning she ate two pieces of toast for breakfast and we decided to send her to school. Neither of us could miss more work time just waiting for a poop. We made the right choice because she didn't go that day either. She ate some at school, and had a bit of dinner again. Things were looking up.
Finally, at the very end of the school day on Friday, she went. Needless to say, we missed the opportunity for specimen collection. That night she was an entirely different kid. She ate dinner, twice. She asked for cookies, crackers, gummy snacks, and candy. In a matter of three hours, she ate more than most people do in a day. She hadn't really eaten in a week and she was making up for it big time. Come Saturday, her appetite continued to race and she ended up using the bathroom at the grocery store, so we blew another opportunity to provide a sample.
The doctor called Sunday morning to see why she hadn't received the lab report yet. When I filled her in on Punky's insatiable appetite, her triumphant return to her bouncy, energetic ways and normal bathroom activities, she told us to skip it. I can't say I was disappointed to hear that. It must've just been one hell of a stomach virus, and luckily she didn't share it with Mommy. Daddy, on the other hand, suffered a small bout of the shits for two days, probably because he had to clean the four-foot stretch of vomited mac-n-cheese off the living room carpet.
In other less disgusting news, Punky transitioned to her new class at school this month and so far all is well. She is so proud to be with kids older than her again. They should've never kept her back to begin with last September and it still makes me angry. I'm so excited to see what happens this fall when she starts pre-K at only three and a half.
Another big change I've noticed with the dawning of the threes is her thirst for new books. Instead of reading the same old books over and over again like she wanted before, now she asks for new books constantly and simple stories spark great conversations between us. I have no problem saying no to new toys or candy at the store, but I can't say no to a new book. The tiny, public library around here is only open a few hours a day, during the week of course, so it's not an option. I think children's books are ridiculously expensive but it's not killing me to buy a few each month, and I know I can always donate them down the road to kids who aren't as fortunate.
Punky's vocabulary continues to grow with leaps and bounds. She regularly uses words like stupendous, proceed, hypothesis, and evaporation. I swear, she talks like she's thirty. And when she hears a word she doesn't know, she immediately asks what it means. She still plays the Spanish flashcard game on the iPod, and throws random Spanish words into sentences from time to time. When she's bored, she'll grab her chalkboard and ask me to do math with her. A few weeks ago, I taught her how to play Crazy Eights and Go Fish so they are currently her games of choice.
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