Five-Sixths of a Year...And a Day

Punky was ten months old yesterday!  She had a doctor appointment today so I waited to post thinking I would have her stats, but they didn’t even weigh her today.  She got the second half of her flu shot, and we were in and out in about five minutes.  I bet she gained at least a pound this month though, she’s suddenly seems a lot heavier for some reason.  Maybe I just really need to find a new chiropractor.

She learned some new tricks this month, like turning the dishwasher on…usually when it’s empty.   It takes a bit for us to notice and turn it off again. Stinker.

She learned to go head first over the footstool and give me a heart attack.  She tries to climb up on everything.  She walks around the basket chair, pushing it around and around in circles.  She falls down at the end of “ring around the rosy” and finds it highly amusing to see you fall down with her.

She still loves her books and must know a handful of them by heart by now.  Lord knows I do.  I hear “one fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish” in my dreams at night.  She stares intently at the pictures now when you point things out and tell her what they are.  You can almost see the neurons firing.

She has a new fascination for balls and her tree toy.  You drop the balls in the top of the tree and they spiral down a ramp and roll back toward you.  I bought it a few months ago but she never paid much attention to it.  Now she loves it and is equally amused just rolling the balls all over the house.  Under the couch and behind the refrigerator are two of her favorite spots to lose them…  If I had a nickel…

She has “mama” down pat now, and also tries regularly to repeat the words ball, red, and green when I say them.  Of course they sound more like bah, reh, and greh, but I know what she means.  She talks…well, babbles…to her toys when she is playing by herself.  The other day she sat on the floor with a book on her lap, turning the pages and babbling away like she was reading the story.  Can she get any more adorable?

She graduated from her infant carrier to a convertible car seat…finally.  The only problem is that she keeps peeing in it.   The angle of it somehow makes her diaper leak and she ends up sitting in a puddle.  It’s making me crazy.  She needs to grow just a tad more so we can raise the shoulder straps to get her more upright and stop the flood. 

I can’t believe I’m saying but still no teeth.  I thought I felt the ridge of one finally poking through the other morning, but I haven’t been able to get another look since.  At this rate she’ll have her period before she has teeth.

She still loves her food, and is eating more and more real stuff.  I love watching her face when she tries new things.  No matter how awful the face is, she still wants to have more.  The only thing she ever closed her mouth and refused another bite of was a banana.  Apparently, they’re yucky.  Who knew?

She went to her first Halloween party last Sunday.  She was an elephant, and a damn cute one at that.  She wasn’t wild about having something on her head, and the little trunk bouncing up and down in her line of vision, but she was a good sport and kept it on without a fight.  I was proud of her.  I thought it would be off in three minutes. 

She is still sleeping well, with the occasional off night.  Last night was one of those nights.  I thought maybe it was her teeth…silly me…so I gave her Tylenol.  A little while later I realized it was gas pain, not gum pain, keeping her awake and cranky.  She had some of a pierogi at dinner, only the mushy inside, but I don’t think it agreed with her.  She eventually got back to sleep and I ended up with a whopping three hours for the night.  Those nights suck.

Tonight she has a slight fever so I fear we may have another rough one.  I can’t help but worry since she got that flu shot today.  I know there are risks, but I am still pro vax.  At least for now anyway.  We’ll see how tonight goes.  I’ll be keeping a close eye on her, that’s for sure.

And the bandaid was removed promptly after returning home from the doctor.  I wasn’t playing that game again.

The Art of Amusement

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and suddenly realized that nothing is off limits when it comes to amusing your child. And I mean nothing.

There I sat…in the bathroom… peeing…bouncing an unopened tampon up and down between my teeth while making funny faces and humming the theme song from Bonanza. And there Punky sat…on the floor…fully consumed by one of those highly contagious belly laughs and clapping her patties for all she was worth.

Apparently, in that moment, I was the absolute funniest thing she had ever seen. I would pause a few seconds so she could catch her breath, and then resume the silliness to her delight. She would squeal with excitement and then the belly laugh would return…each time equally as hysterical as the first.

It was during my fourth of fifth rendition of the song when I noticed myself in the mirror. I could see why she was laughing; I looked totally ridiculous. I immediately flashed back to the Friends episode where Rachael makes the baby laugh by singing that big butt song…I forget the real title…

Anyhow, I really had to pee, and sometimes it’s just easier and faster to take her with me when we are home alone. My bathroom isn’t exactly baby-proofed and I needed to hold her attention for two minutes so she wouldn’t get into trouble and make me jump off the toilet mid-stream. My antics worked well.

Ah, the crazy things parents do to amuse their kiddos…

Back Home and Alone

Punky and I went home again for the weekend.  I had today off from work, and the drive home and all the packing/unpacking is worth it for a three day weekend.

It was rather uneventful, which was fine with me.  We hung out with family and relaxed.  Sometimes it's just nice to go home.  There's no place like it...

The only downfall to going home is the sadness I feel after leaving again.  I miss being close to family and friends.  I get so lonely up here at times.  Yeah, I have Punky, and she definitely is wonderful company, but he and I work opposite shifts all the time and never spend any time together.  The one week we are on the same shift every month, my mom is here to watch Punky for us.

Don't get me wrong, it's my favorite week of the month.  I miss being close to my mom.  We used to hang out all the time.  We would go out for dinner almost every Friday.  I hate that she's so far away now and I can't just get in the car visit whenever I want.

When I moved here almost two years ago, I was definitely ready for a change.  Aside from some time at college (I only lived on campus two semesters and commuted the rest), and the few months in Spain, I lived in the same small town my whole life.  I wanted out...to start over somewhere new and try a different life for a while.  It was only five months later that Punky was on her way.  Now things are different.  I wish we could be closer to family, especially for her sake.

Sometimes I ponder going back home for good.  He wouldn't go for that though.  His family is here.  His boys are here.  This is his home town.  We both have good-paying jobs here.  And a new house.  Maybe in a few years, once his second son finishes school, we can consider making a move. 

I just get so lonely.  I feel like I am missing so much, and my family is missing out on seeing Punky grow.  I guess seeing them every few weeks isn't so bad; it could be worse, we could be across the country.  But it's the everyday moments that make the best memories, the best stories, the times you cherish the rest of your life...

This Time of Year

I hate it.

Well, part of me likes it. A small part.

But I mostly hate it.

The beautiful fall foliage, the crispness in the air, the return of soft plush robes and flannel jammies, and the smell of stew in the crockpot… October brings many pleasing sensory indulgences, but it’s hard to enjoy them when I know what’s lurking beyond…

I get so depressed knowing that winter is looming around the corner. The freezing cold. The snow. The ice. The mud that follows a recent melt. Filthy floors from tracking the mess inside. Heating bills. Lack of daylight. Risking my life driving in a blizzard just to get a paycheck. Coughs and colds. Blah, blah blah…

Last year it wasn’t so bad. We had just moved into our new house in September. I was securely in my third trimester and anxiously awaiting Punky’s arrival at the end of the year. My baby shower was in mid October, and the weeks immediately following were filled with the preparation of the nursery. I had so many doctor appointments cluttering up my schedule. Life was busy, and everything was centered on being ready for baby.

I knew that I would be home…warm, safe, and sound…in the worst part of the winter with my newborn baby girl. I could care less about the shitty weather that was coming (although it did make for a long ride to the hospital in the middle of the night when I was in labor). The thought of the pending winter really didn’t depress me last year. There was too much excitement in the air.

Now this year, that feeling of shear dread is back again. I was doing well. I hadn’t thought much about it, until I had to scrape my car windows yesterday morning. Grrrr. I can barely stand the thought of it. In some ways it’s worse than ever before since I already struggle every day with wanting to stay home with Punky and not being able to afford it. Add snow, ice, and over an hour commute home in bad weather and I will be downright miserable.

I suppose I should try to look at the good things headed our way. After all, we will have Punky’s first Halloween…she’s going to be an elephant (yeah, my silly choice)…and her first Thanksgiving…her first Christmas (she missed it by three days last year)…then her first birthday (that’s as sad as it is exciting). So many “firsts” hanging on the horizon…but come the new year, we’ll be left with at least three more months of awful weather. Sigh.

If anyone needs an idea for Punky’s first birthday present, she would like an all-inclusive ticket to a warm, tropical destination, for about two weeks in either January or February. Please choose a hotel with a kiddie pool, and ask for a room with a crib. Some place with lots of music would be ideal since she loves to shake her hiney. Of course, she needs someone along to carry her, feed her, and change her diapers since she hasn’t gotten the hang of it yet (those velcro-like tabby things are a bitch). So don’t forget to include a ticket for her mama…or she won’t be allowed to go.

Now We Have a Mama!

And she meant it, too. It’s no longer a fluke; she knows what she’s saying.

When Punky is ready for bed, she lets us know. She’ll be playing one minute, smiling and happy, and the next minute she is cranky and crying. This sudden transformation in mood usually occurs between eight and nine p.m., depending on how/when the day’s naps were (or weren’t in some cases). Saturday night was no different. Happy one minute, crying and clinging to me the next.

As I rushed to get her bottle ready, something caught my ear. In her cries, it sounded like she was intentionally calling out for me. I asked my mom if she heard what I heard and she agreed. I took Punky in her room for a final diaper change and all the while she was crying “mmaa mmmaaa” in such a heart wrenching, pitiful tone. It brought tears to my eyes.

She took her bottle and fell asleep in my arms. I absolutely hate putting her down when she does that. I just want to stay on the rocker and hold her all night. I fought the urge and put her in her crib. I still wasn’t fully convinced she really meant what she was saying, until she woke up crying a half hour later.

There she was, standing up in her crib, staring at the door, and yelling “mama” as clear as a bell. That sealed the deal for me. It also made me decide it is a touch of separation anxiety she is experiencing at night. She wanted me and she knew how to call for me. It is real; she can say mama. I waited nine and a half months to hear it, and it was the sweetest sound I ever heard and more precious than I ever imagined. I have heard it several times since, and my eyes fill with tears each time.

Mama.

That’s me.

Somehow, hearing her say it created a whole new reality. I’ve felt like her mother since the moment I found out she was cooking. Now I feel like her mom.

Her mama.

We Have a Mmmmaaaaa!

And a ba, da, la, bla, and gra, all in additional to the original ga that started about two weeks ago. It was so exciting to finally hear a mmmmaaaaaa! I was in the other room when she first did it, and I went running!

It’s so cute the way she rambles on and on sometimes. She talks to her toys, and her books, and her hands. The other night at bedtime, she had a conversation with her stuffed frog before she threw him out of the crib and fell asleep. Right now I know she isn’t really connecting the sounds she is making with the things they may represent. She has let out a few ma’s, but not purposely to get my attention. She’ll connect the dots soon enough I’m sure.

She has been waking up crying the past few nights. Sometimes I can get her back to sleep in a matter of minutes; other times I’m not so lucky. I read that separation anxiety really sets in around this age and can disrupt her sleeping through the night. Now, when she wakes in the middle of the night, she is fully aware that I exist somewhere outside her crib and she wants me, thus the crying. I suppose it’s logical and could very well be the reason, but I can’t help wondering if her still swollen gums have anything to do with it.

Her newest trick is giving a high five. I really didn’t try to teach her that, I just happened to do it once while she had her pattie up and she didn’t forget. As soon as she hears “high five” and sees your hand go up, she puts her little pattie up and even moves it toward you. Smarty pants. She also really loves to be chased now, and she goes like hell when you tell her you’re going to get her. Every few feet she stops and turns around to see how close you are, then it’s full speed ahead again for the next few feet. Of course, she still flashes her adorable smile all the time. She is such a happy baby!

In other news, my nephew is a very sick little boy. He’s been dealing with colds and ear infections almost continually the past few years. Finally, a specialist determined the root of the problem is his tonsils. They need to be removed, along with the adenoids, and hopefully he will no longer be sick every couple of weeks.

The surgery is scheduled for this coming Monday. He has really been suffering the past two weeks, and the surgery is still days away. My heart just aches for him. He can’t eat. I imagine it also burns his throat to drink since he isn’t too keen on that either. He can’t sleep for long stretches because he wakes up crying from the pain. He suddenly burns up with fever and sweats like crazy. Continuous doses of antibiotics, Tylenol, and Motrin don’t appear to be helping one bit. Even a visit to the emergency room yielded no relief for him. All the doctors simply agree that it’s all his tonsils, and they can’t do anything for him except the surgery.

So…why not move up the surgery then? Morons. I just can’t believe these doctors are all content with letting a three year old suffer like this for weeks on end. His tonsils are covered in puss. He is crying more often than not. He is starving. He is exhausted. He is probably not far from dehydration at this point. He’s lucky if he has the strength to play for ten minutes before he ends up back on the couch, crying and holding his throat.

I am somewhat glad I am over two hours away. The whole scenario makes me so damn mad. If I were there, I don’t know if I could handle seeing him. I think I would be on the phone with someone… anyone… demanding the surgery be done immediately. It’s just not humane to let him suffer and it’s already gone on too long.

I wish I could take his pain away, even if just for a while. Long enough for him to fill his belly with all the food he wants, drink to quench his thirst and rehydrate himself, play with his toys uninterrupted by pain, and get some solid sleep.

Get better soon, little man. We love you.

Did She Eat It?

I looked.  And I looked.  And I looked some more.

On everything.  The toys she was playing with all evening.  The inside of her clothes.  My clothes.  The bottoms of my feet.  My eyes scanned the carpet a hundred times.  Nothing.  It was nowhere to be found.  She must have eaten it.

Nine Months

I remember seeing them both when I changed her into a cute little dress to take her nine month photo.  About an hour or so later, as we sat on the floor playing, her dress bunched up and I noticed the little bandaid on her right thigh was starting to peel.  It was still on from her vaccinations earlier that day.  I could have removed them sooner, but...I just didn't.  Dumb ass.

I gently pulled it off her baby-soft skin.  She gave a little whine; I'm sure the spot was sore from the needle.  I figured I may as well take the one off her left thigh and get it over with all at once.  I lifted the other side of her dress.  The bandaid was gone.

I casually glanced around the floor.  Looked at the inside of her dress.  Picked up a few toys to check.  Didn't see it anywhere.  But, she had spent some time playing with her dad while I washed bottles, and I figured he had probably taken it off then. 

He was napping before having to work third shift.  By the time he got up to get ready for work, Punky was already sleeping.  I asked him about the bandaid.  He didn't touch it.  Damn.

I knew that once I changed her into the dress, she was not in her bedroom or the kitchen.  She stayed in the living room and dining room area, and I was confident I would find that bandaid in that vicinity with little effort.  I didn't want it left somewhere so she could find it and try to eat it.  Everything goes in her mouth these days.  The search was on...

A half hour passed and I still hadn't located the missing bandaid.  Suddenly, the realization popped in my head...She could have already eaten it!  I was even more determined to find it.  It had to be there somewhere, it just had to be!  I retraced all her steps, the toys she played with, the places she sat, the furniture she climbed on...I even pulled her clothes out of the hamper to check them again. 

No bandaid.  She ate it, I know she did.  Add another "F" to my parenting report card.  I can't believe neither one of us noticed her chewing on a bandaid...

I then spent the next half hour searching the web for all possible complications that could arise from swallowing a bandaid the size of a nickel.  Apparently, it's a common item for a baby to swallow.  Glad to know I'm not the only one who stinks at this mom stuff. 

At any rate, I finally managed to convince myself that if she ate it, she would poop it out in a day or so and be none the wiser.  I listened to her breathing while she slept.  No wheezing.  No gasping.  No shortness of breath.  There was nothing stuck in her airway.  If she managed to get it in her mouth, it was most likely safely in her stomach and should travel through her system with no problems...at least that was the case with the cyber babies...but there was always that chance...  What if it gets stuck somewhere?

I got to sleep around two a.m., after checking Punky a million times.  The alarm went off at six this morning.  I stumbled out of bed and headed to the kitchen to start the coffee, then continued through the dining room on my way to the bathroom. 

Something caught my eye.  I don't know how since it was barely open, and the only light was coming from the hood over the stove.  Just as I saw it, I stepped right on it.  No...it can't be...not after all my searching...

Yep.  There it was.  Under my left foot.  A tan bandaid on a dark green rug.  It wasn't even folded over; it was a perfect little circle as if it floated down from her leg like a leaf in the autumn wind.  Right out in the open.  Dammit.

I looked at that carpet over and over last night.  With all the lights on.  I swear on my life, that bandaid was NOT there.  I couldn't have missed it.  No way in hell.

It's almost like someone was playing a cruel practical joke.  I thought I let her eat a friggin' bandaid...all sticky and rubbery...with dried blood and all.  I felt awful, I was worried sick, I barely got any sleep...

As mad as I was when I found it, I am so relieved she didn't eat it.

Lesson learned.  In the future, the bandaids will be removed as soon as we get home from the doctor.  Duh.