Twenty-Seven Months

Well, this month Punky reached a milestone I thought she never would: size 4 diapers.  I figured she'd be potty trained before ever needing those.  She's still a little runt and, truth be told, the size 3 ones still fit her fine in the waist and legs but we needed the extra height on her abdomen.  Her new bed prompted the switch.  Most of the time she wakes up dry; for the rare occasion when she doesn't, we need that bit of extra protection.  Changing crib sheets was a pain, but I've discovered it was much less of one than stripping, washing, drying, and making her big-girl bed three days in a row.  So, size 4 it is.

And despite yet another spontaneous success a few weeks ago, she has once again turned her nose up to the whole concept of potty training.  She doesn't want to do it, see it, or hear about it.  She's completely ignoring it.  She just has no time for it yet, I guess.  At least I knew better than to get excited this time.  

Also new this month: counting in spanish and italian.  A few months ago, it was becoming more and more difficult to get through the bedtime teeth-brushing so I started counting and it worked like a charm.  She already knew how to count to ten, thus she knew exactly how long she had to sit still with her mouth open.  Ten on the top, ten on the bottom, and ten for her beautiful smile.  When she started to grow tired of that routine, I had to get more creative.  I started counting in other languages and she quickly caught on and began to repeat them.  On the heels of that success, I started teaching her the colors and a few simple phrases in spanish.  It's been quite a refresher for me, too.  Despite the college degree, I found myself needing to look up a few words I had forgotten over the years.

Her mouth still runs non-stop, her vocabulary is growing and growing, and she makes me chuckle every day.  I have no idea where she hears some of the things she says, but she manages to say them in the correct context... like the day her brother was ignoring her and she told us he must have lost his hearing.  She carries on full conversations with her toys and I can't help but giggle when I overhear her chatter. 

"Do you want to sit on the floor with me, Elmo?"

"You do? Great!"

"Do you want to share my blankie?"

"Awesome!"

"Do you like it?"

"Yes, you're right! It is very soft!"

"Who got (bought) it?  Hmmm... I don't know, Elmo."

"Let's go ask Mommy!"

She has really taken to singing lately and knows many kids' songs word for word.  She'll be playing quietly and suddenly burst into random verses.  It's adorable...and funny.  My favorite so far is her rendition of "There's a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza..."  That one made me snort and coffee came out my nose.  

She is definitely suffering a bout of cabin fever, especially since we made that first trip to the playground last weekend.  She loves going, well, anywhere we are willing to take her.  She has a fascination with restaurants and asks to go almost every day.  Thankfully I can't blame my poor cooking skills since her dad does most of it.  I think she just loves to people-watch and be out of the house for a bit.  I can't wait until we can take walks again in the evening, and kick the ball around the yard, and play in the dirt.  I don't know where I'll get the energy to keep up with her in the coming months.

Same Old, Same Old

I long to write about things other than infections and bad weather just as much as you would like to read about things other than infections and bad weather.  My next post will mention neither.  I promise.  But for now, please humor me and read yet another bitch post on these awfully disgusting topics.

As we sat in the pediatrician's office on Friday, I already knew the diagnosis before the doc stepped foot in the room.  I told her my suspicions but she wasn't convinced.  Punky just finished some heavy-duty antibiotics five days earlier.  The doctor fully expected to see clear ears despite my story about coughing, sneezing, whining, low fevers, and Punky's flat out refusal to eat that day.

A quick glance in her left ear put an end to the doctor's optimism.  Another double ear infection.  I knew it.  A mother's instinct is never wrong.

So, after she wrote a script for yet another potent antibiotic, we briefly touched on the topic of tubes.  The doctor thinks it's too early to refer her to an ear, nose, and throat specialist.  Her argument is that aside from the last five months or so Punky has generally been very healthy.  This season just hit her exceptionally hard with daycare now in the mix.  She wants to wait for the weather to break, and cold/flu season to pass, and then evaluate the situation.  If she stops getting sick, there is no need to go any further.  If the cold-induced ear infections continue into the summer, tubes it shall be.  Cripes.

The next visit for a follow-up to this most recent infection isn't until April 5th.  We finished the antibiotic yesterday.  Ten bucks we will be back at the doctor for another possible ear infection before then.  I hope I'm wrong.  I really, really hope.

Now for the second shitty topic: snow.  Mother nature pulled a fast one once again.  We awoke to an easy eight to ten inches this morning (they were calling for one to three) and then got a few more after daybreak.  She topped it all off with a generous dose of freezing rain, sleet, and even about fifteen minutes of hail.  Mighty impressive.  Bitch.  Look at the damn calendar, would you?  I thought we were finished with this shit.  

The ride into work was the absolute worst one I've experienced since starting this job over three years ago.  I passed five accidents on my morning commute, and ended up sideways and almost off the road myself three times.  By the time I got to work...an hour and thirty five minutes after embarking on my usual half-hour ride...I was literally shaking and in the midst of a massive anxiety attack.  I'm thankful that my boss kept his distance for a while; it was taking every ounce of strength I had not to storm into his office and utter the famous line, "Take this job and shove it."  Which would've been followed up with the words, "I quit.  I'm never driving on that effing road in a snowstorm again."  And those words would've been followed up with days of crying and panic when I realized what a stupid move that was.  

By about eleven, I was calm and level-headed again; work is an awesome distraction.  Then the phone rang and I was right back where I started.  They decided to close the daycare.  I had to go get Punky. 

Of course, this is the week that Punky's dad and I are both dayshift...so it's my week to take her to daycare bright and early in the morning.  I was awake before five-thirty.  I got myself ready for work.  I woke Punky at six.  I fed her.  Dressed her.  Combed her hair.  Brushed her teeth.  Packed her things for school.  I spent twenty minutes outside in a blizzard cleaning mounds of snow off my car.  Then I needed to change my clothes because I was totally soaked.  I took Punky out in terrible conditions and risked her life just to get her to daycare.  I then risked mine further on the long, treacherous drive into work as cars all around me were ditch diving left and right.  I suffered an anxiety attack to the point where I contemplated quitting my job.  I finally calmed down...and then they decided to close the damn daycare.  Enter anxiety attack number two.  

I lost track of all the hours I've missed at work in the last few months.  Between Punky being sick, me being sick, doctor appointments, and bad weather, I can't remember the last time I worked a full forty-hour week.  If this keeps up, I won't need to ponder quitting; the decision will be made for me.  Needless to say, I dreaded telling my boss that I needed to leave yet again.  Plus I was facing the same miserable, dangerous ride I barely survived a few hours earlier.  I was not happy.  Not one bit. 

If they would've closed the daycare first thing in the morning, like all the rest of the schools in the area, I could've avoided all the stress and aggravation.  Well, I still would've missed an entire day of work, but at this point that wouldn't have made me look any worse than I already do. 

Ready to race down the slide!

After all the whining and bitching above, this post deserves a happy ending.  On Sunday we decided to say screw the weather, screw the infections, and screw the date on the calendar.  It was sunny.  Only forty degrees, but sunny nonetheless.  We packed on layers of clothing and headed to the playground.  Punky's been dying to go, and all the snow from the last storm was gone, so we decided to surprise her.  We didn't tell her where we were going.  When we pulled into the parking lot, the look on her face was priceless.  Given today's storm, I'm glad we took the opportunity while we had it.  At this rate, it may be June until we can do it again.

I Guess I Win

A trophy nobody wants.

If infections were valuable collector's items, I'd be worth my weight in gold.  A family jaunt to the doctor's on Monday revealed I have beaten them both in the "desperately in need of antibiotics" category.  I trumped Punky's recent ear infection and resulting yeast infection, and her dad's current sinus infection, with my own unique triple combo: sinus infection, ear infection, and upper respiratory infection.  Crud.

I started feeling crappy early last week but, well, life was just to busy to pay much attention to my annoying symptoms...until Saturday night rolled around and I could barely breathe.  I finally admitted to myself that I wasn't kicking it without some heavy-duty drugs.  I suffered through Sunday; I'm not quite sure how my head didn't explode from all the pressure.  But, after a few doses of those precious, miracle-working antibiotics, I'm on my way to recovery.   

I don't know how much more of this I can stand.  I have been sick more times since last September than I was the entire decade prior.  Seriously.  And while I hate to put the blame on Punky, she is the new factor in the equation.  It doesn't help that she coughs on my plate, sticks her grubby, little fingers in my food, and has even managed to sneeze directly in my mouth.  Twice.  No lie.  Ah, the joys of motherhood.

But for as bad as I've been the last six months, Punky's had it much worse.  We are due back at the doc's on Friday for yet another follow-up visit on the ear infection situation.  She took her last dose of antibiotics Sunday night, but she had already started coughing again earlier that day.  The cough has persisted and gotten worse over the course of the week, and she's a virtual snot-dispenser yet again.  She's been running low fevers off and on and sleeping terribly.  Ten bucks it manages to back up into her ears just in time for the doctor visit on Friday.  I see another round of antibiotics in her future...and the perfect opportunity to have the tube discussion with her doctor.

I have heard both good and bad about tubes, and I can't say I'm leaning either way at the moment, but I think we need to at least get the facts and educate ourselves in case it becomes a decision we need to make.  I can't see letting her hearing suffer as a result of the ear infections, yet the thought of subjecting her to surgery simply scares the hell out of me.  I also think she will eventually be diagnosed with asthma.  Even when she isn't sick, she gets winded so quickly when she jumps around like a maniac.  Too quickly for someone her age.  I guess time will tell.

Infections, Overdoses, and the BGB

I suppose I should start with the BGB...

Punky's big-girl bed arrived on schedule last Thursday.  I was just as excited to see it as she was.  I picked her up at school and, as soon as we got in the house, we both ran straight to her bedroom.  The look on her face was simply priceless; she climbed right up to take it for a trial run.

No, not a nap...a five minute jump fest, of course.  Then she ran to her closet, where her new, freshly-washed sheets, comforter, and pillows were waiting, and demanded we make the bed right away.  She didn't want to change her clothes, she didn't want dinner, she wouldn't even let me pee first.

It turned out to be quite a chore.  I didn't realize that the mattress pad I bought is essentially a giant pillow case that zips shut on one end.  I had a hell of a time trying to lift the mattress and slide that damn thing on by myself.  We had the delivery guys set it up against the wall, of course, which made the task at hand that much more difficult.  And in the process, I managed to pin Punky between the mattress and box spring...which led to some tears, some comforting, and I finally got to pee before tackling the sheets.

It took forever to coax her out of her room to eat dinner, and right after the last mouthful she started asking if it was bedtime yet.  We spent most of the evening in her room.  She jumped on the bed, read books on the bed, put all her toys on the bed, and destroyed my hospital corners when she decided to hide under the covers.  I, on the other hand, worked on filling her new dresser drawers and rearranging the other furniture in the room to make everything fit the best way possible.  Okay, I hid under the covers too, but only for a few minutes.

I planned on sleeping with her the first night so I didn't even attempt to install the bed rail...good thing because it turned out the one we bought didn't fit anyway.  We raced through the rest of the bedtime routine that night and hopped into her brand new bed.  We read a few of her favorite books then turned off the lights.  We talked, and snuggled, and she jumped some more.  It took about an hour to drain her excitement and finally coax her to sleep.  Just before she closed her eyes she said, "Mommy, my ear hurts."  Dammit.  

Her dad took her back to the doctor the next day.  We were just there ten days earlier for the follow-up visit from her last ear infection.  Just three days after that visit, she started coughing.  Then her nose ran constantly for days.  By the end of the week, it had backed up into her ears again.  Damn daycare.

This is her fourth ear infection since November, and the fourth antibiotic she's had in that time frame.  I expected her to pick up a whole host of crap at daycare, but I didn't expect her to be sick for over two months straight.  When she was twelve weeks old, she ran a slight fever for a few days...then she wasn't sick again for over a year.  I thought nursing had paid off; apparently, we were just lucky.  I feel so bad for her, and I really hate the fact that she's zipping through antibiotic after antibiotic.  Of course, it doesn't help that we overdosed her at the start of this go 'round.

After she took her medicine twice on Friday, twice on Saturday, and once on Sunday, we finally realized we were supposed to be giving it to her only once a day.  I waited until Monday night to resume the antibiotic but our accidental overdose caused a yeast infection on top of everything else.  

Anyway, on Friday and Saturday night she was so tired come bedtime that she fell asleep on my lap in the living room.  Being sick and refusing a nap left her tuckered out and made it easy for nights number two and three in the big-girl bed.  Sunday night was my first crack at putting her to bed...alone...and getting her to stay there.  

I tucked her in, told her a story, and then explained that she needs to learn to fall asleep by herself in her bed...just like she did in her crib.  I kissed her forehead and told her goodnight.  I don't think fifteen seconds passed when I heard her door open and she was standing in the living room.  We marched right back into her room where I repeated the same tucking, kissing, and explaining.  And to my utter surprise, she stayed there.  Fifteen minutes later she was kicking the wall and needed a diaper change, but she fell asleep on her own shortly thereafter.  Success.  Too bad it didn't last long...

Two hours later she was awake, and crying, and clawing at her diaper for all she was worth.  The yeast infection had dawned and the poor kid was so itchy and miserable.  I spent the rest of the night trying whatever I could to make it better, calm her down, and get her back to sleep.  When I finally accomplished it, I only had forty-five minutes left till I had to get up for work.  It was a rough Monday.

She went to daycare Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, so the two hour nap there made bedtime a bit rough those nights.  It took her forever to fall asleep, but I'm happy to say she didn't get out of her bed once after I tucked her in each night.  I still can't believe it; I seriously thought I'd need that velcro.  So, I guess I have to say the transition to the big-girl bed was...easy.  No big deal whatsoever.

On a side note, totally out of the blue today Punky told her dad she wanted to use the potty.  And...she did.  Of course I'm hoping it just "clicked" and the diapers are on their way out the door, but I know better than to count on it after our brief success last fall.  We'll maintain our no-pressure approach and let her lead the way.

Old Man Winter

...can go screw himself, Mother Nature is a sneaky bitch, and I've formally put the hit out on that stupid, little groundhog.

I jumped out of bed at 6:40 yesterday morning when the wind grabbed our screen door and slammed it off the porch rail six or seven times.  I recognized the bang and ran to pull it shut.  It was a total downpour and I got soaked as I leaned out the door to grab it.  I wasn't thrilled about being awake and wet at that hour, but I couldn't help but smile as I caught of glimpse of our yard.

Grass.  Beautiful green grass.  Hours of rain had chipped away at the inches of snow left from the last storm.  All that remained were a few isolated patches here and there.  In my mind, we were suddenly on the verge of spring no matter the date.  I saw green, dammit, for the first time in months.

I crawled back in bed and actually managed to fall back to sleep for an hour before I heard Punky over the monitor.  Her dad brought her in our room to snuggle but it didn't last long.  The Cinnamon Toast Crunch was calling.  She wanted breakfast.

We had to make a quick stop at the door so I could show her how the snow disappeared over night.  I've been telling her that we can't go to the playground until all the snow melts, so I felt I owed it to her to share the good news.  Spring was on its way.  Soon, she could ride the swings! 

I got her breakfast and poured a cup of coffee.  I sat next to her at the counter while she ate and I continued to ramble on and on about melting snow, warmer weather, and the fun we'll have at the playground in a few weeks.  Punky's dad was in the bathroom but he overheard my monologue and headed out to stomp my ray of hope.  

"You know," he said smugly, "We're supposed to get between one and two feet of snow today."

"Yeah, right," I chuckled.  I fully thought he was joking.

"I'm serious," he added, "It's supposed to be the worst one yet."

"I'm not buying it.  You're not fooling me!"

"Fine, don't believe me," he said and reached for the TV remote.  "You might want to watch this though..."

He turned the Weather Channel on just in time for the local report.  I fought the urge to close my eyes, stick my fingers in my ears, and hum so I didn't have to see it or hear it.  But alas, he was absolutely right.  Damn.

By nine, the heavy rain had turned to sleet.  By ten, it changed to snow and was falling at a rate of an inch per hour.  I stood at the door and mourned the disappearance of my so beloved green.  By eleven, the world was completely white again.  And I wanted to punch something.

The snow continued all day...and all night...and finally stopped around seven this morning.  The damage?  Just shy of two feet with drifts twice the size.  Yet another fun-filled commute to work...

And to top it all off, I heard rumors that another storm is due to hit the end of the week.  Oh, goody.

The Final Night Behind Bars

As soon as I stepped into Punky's room tonight, I turned into a blubbering idiot.

The tears started immediately and I did what I could to contain myself long enough to get through the bedtime routine.

As I do every night, in my head I silently cursed her slightly out-of-square crib as I struggled to drop the side.  I gave her a big hug and kiss.  I placed her head gently on the pillow and pulled her pajama legs down.  I handed her the special blankie and Elmo to snuggle.  I grabbed her favorite baby quilt, tucked her in, and brushed her hair out of her eyes.  I told her I love her.

"Goodnight Moon, Mommy, please," she said softly and held up one little finger as she added, "Just one time, please, Mommy."

I leaned over the side of the crib and somehow managed to spit it out, word for word, as I have done night after night for what seems like a lifetime.  I tried desperately to sound normal; I didn't want her to think there was something wrong.  I didn't want her to get upset.

I gently touched her cheek then pulled the drop-side back up and locked it into place. 

"Goodnight, baby girl. Sweet dreams. Mommy will see you in the morning. I love you."  I blew her a kiss and literally ran out of the room.  I knew I was about to lose it...

And I did.  The minute I reached the couch I completely melted down and sobbed like I lost my best friend.  Punky's dad fought the urge to roll his eyes and call me ridiculous and opted for the hug and supportive approach.  Wise choice on his part.

You see...

This was it.

The very last time I will ever tuck my sweet, baby girl safely into her crib.

The very last night I will sneak in to check on her and reach over the side to make sure she is okay.

Tomorrow at this time, her crib will be merely a pile of scrap wood behind the house waiting for trash day.

And now that the moment's upon us, I seem to be having some difficulty letting go... I know she's not a baby anymore, but getting rid of the crib is like the final step in that realization.  I have a little girl now.  She is growing up, and I need to learn to deal with it.  

Her new bedroom set will be delivered on Thursday, but we have to dismantle her baby furniture tomorrow because there won't be enough time to do it Thursday morning.  She'll sleep with me tomorrow night, and Thursday we'll tackle the "big girl bed" for the first time.

I'm too ashamed to admit how many times I've gone into her room while writing this post.  

In my mind, I can see her as a newborn in the center of the crib.  It seemed so huge at the time.  I can see her watching her frog mobile and smiling as it went round and round.  I remember when she learned to stretch her arms out for me to pick her up in the morning.  I remember the first time I went in to get her and she was standing up in the crib just grinning from ear to ear.  I'll never forget when I found her standing on her head in the center of it.  

And I remember praying that my monkey of a child would never attempt to climb out of it.  For whatever reason, she never did.  I can hardly believe it.

I'm heading back to her room for one last cry before calling it a night.  I need to get some rest.  I'll need the energy Thursday when I spend half the night returning her tiny hiney to her bed when she repeatedly escapes with no bars to confine her.

Twenty-Six Months

This month we had our very first parent-teacher conference.  

(I couldn't help but giggle as I typed that sentence.  It sounds way too official given the fact that we sat at a teeny-tine table, on teeny-tiny brightly-colored plastic chairs, in a teeny-tiny room filled to the brim with legos, dolls, matchbox cars, and such, and we discussed topics like singing the alphabet, dirty diapers, potty training, and snack time.)

At any rate, Punky's teachers officially confirmed what we had suspected all along: she is very intellectually advanced for her age.  She is the youngest in her group (seven kids) but she is the most advanced.  Her skill set is closer to the four-year-old group than her own.  When they do their "centers" (the time each day they spend directly teaching content like colors, letters, numbers, shapes, opposites, and such) the teacher makes Punky sit along side of her so she doesn't see the information at the same time as the other kids in the group...because if she does, she answers right away without giving any of the other kids a chance.  The teacher lets Punky answer if all the other kids get it wrong.

On one hand, that makes me extremely proud...yet on the other, it's sad.  She is stuck in this group for at least a year.  She already knows all the content stuff, and then some.  For example, they don't even teach this age group the lowercase letters at all, and Punky can already identify most of them.  They don't cover lowercase until the pre-k group for kindergarten prep.  That is years away for Punky. 

She is elevated in her communication ability as well.  At one point during the day, all of the age groups are mixed together for free play and additional opportunities for interaction.  The teacher said that Punky normally chooses to play with the older kids; she feels it's because her ability to communicate is more in line with that age group than her own. 

I have this vision of her asking the other two-year-olds, "What does duet mean?" and the blank stares she would get in return.  When she hears a word she doesn't recognize, she wants to know what it means.  And once we tell her, she doesn't forget it.  She soaks up vocabulary like a wet sponge, and then quizzes us to make sure we don't forget the definitions either.

Despite my fears, thus far Punky's been almost angelic in the behavior category.  There has been no hitting, no kicking, no tantrums, and no extreme defiance of any kind.  No behavior bad enough to qualify for two minutes in the time-out chair...yet.  She is doing better with the transitions from one activity to the next, but still gets upset sometimes when she is really enjoying what she's doing.  Music class is a prime example; she hates when it's over.

The teachers went through her written evaluation with us line by line.  She's right where she should be or advanced in all of the categories...except one.  The thing to work on at home?  Getting undressed by herself.  She makes no attempt to take her clothes off at school and apparently that's a necessary fine motor skill for kids her age.  I suppose we need to work on getting her proficient in stripping. 

I'm sure I'll be so proud of her fine motor skill development when she completely undresses herself in the frozen food section of the grocery store when I turn my back for half a second to grab a box of Brussels sprouts.