Thirty-Two Months

This month has been a whirlwind of emotions, that's for sure.  I have to start with a quick update.  We finally got our appointment with the children's hospital in Rochester.  Tuesday, September 13th.  It can't come fast enough.

If things continue as they have been, I'm expecting to see another fever this coming Wednesday.  The poor kid, I have to be driving her nuts.  I feel her head every time she's within arm's reach.  I'm constantly asking her if everything is okay.  I inspect every inch of her at least once a day in search of any bizarre rashes or bumps that could indicate one of the zillion medical conditions I've read about at two in the morning when I'm up walking the floors and worrying myself sick.

My paranoia has seeped into her play time.  We've treated almost every stuffed animal she has for a fever in the last few weeks.  "Oh no! Mommy! My cow is running a fever! He's hot! He needs medicine to help him feel better! Hurry, Mommy! Get the medicine! No, not the bubble gum one! Cow likes grape, Mommy! The purple medicine! Quick!"

Then I have to run into the kitchen, shake the purple medicine, and pretend to pour the exact amount necessary to cure a fever in a stuffed cow.  Punky grabs the cup and runs to her toy while making siren sounds.  The cow feels better in an instant.  If only it would bring her fevers down so quickly.

Potty progress is still very slow, but at least we're finally seeing a bit.  Some days she seems a bit interested, some days she could care less.  But the interest is definitely growing and she's accumulated about fifteen stickers on her potty paper.  Her dad taped a page to the back of the bathroom door and, every time she pees, she gets a sticker to put on it.  It wasn't much of a pull at first; she's always had access to stickers.  So, I told her that once her potty paper is full, and all of the white is completely covered in stickers, we will go to the toy store and get her any toy she wants.  You know what they say, if you can't beat 'em... bribe 'em. 

There's only one problem with that: my child is no dummy.  We were just at the toy store a few weeks ago when we bought her new bike.  She was totally smitten with the little battery-powered cars and trucks; she sat in every one they had on display.  And she's been asking for one since.  The fact that a few kids in the neighborhood have them is only fueling the fire.  The thought never even crossed my mind when I made my proposition about the coverage of the potty paper, but it took all of two seconds for her eyes to light up and a smile to appear on her face.  "I want a car, Mommy!" 

Those little cars are ridiculously expensive but it was too late.  I couldn't take it back just because my two and a half year old out-smarted me.  Plus, I'm desperate to put an end to the diaper changes.  When I told her dad how she took me for a ride, he pointed out that a few months without diapers will more than pay for the car.  I hadn't thought of it that way.  Of course, if this potty train keeps moving at a snail's pace, she'll be too big to fit in one of those cars by the time her paper is covered in stickers.

Punky continues to be extremely curious about everything.  We've had in-depth discussions about how bones break, why mold grows, and the rotation of the earth around the sun.  She is already asking us questions we can't answer and I've had to google things on more than one occasion.  The most amazing part is that she remembers every single bit of info she gets, word for word, and then explains it to anyone who will listen.

When she first started repeating bad words a few months ago, we had a talk about which words are okay to say and which will get her in trouble.  When she slipped a J.C. a while back, I told her to say gees Louise instead because the other isn't a nice thing to say.  When damn became her bad word of choice, we gave her options like dang, darn, and even dagnabbit.  We quickly scrapped that last one when we realized she couldn't pronounce it right.  It sounded like "damn rabbit" which defeated the purpose altogether.  

Of course we know it's not funny when words like that roll off her tiny little tongue, and we fully realize it's entirely our fault, but it is so damn (there I said it) hard not to laugh sometimes.  I'm proud of myself though.  I think I've done an excellent job at selecting my words since it became an obvious problem.  Her dad, on the other hand, still has some work to do. 

Earlier today, I was busy doing something when Punky asked for a juice box.  "In a minute, sweetie.  Mommy just needs one minute."  I turned around to continue the task at hand and heard a stern, little voice behind me.  "Come on, lady! I've got shit to do today!"

That was an unmistakable excerpt from her dad's daily road rage driving commentary.  I had a few colorful words for him when he got up for work.  And yes, Punky was out of earshot when I let him have it.

When It Rains

...it pours.  Such a fitting saying around here.

Don't mind me.  I'm just a tad bit miserable.  

I have a toothache.

It never fails.  Being extremely stressed always makes me sick in one way or another.  My body just can't handle it.  It needs an outlet.  Unfortunately it's usually a painful one.  

It started out of nowhere Tuesday evening while I was on the phone with my mom.  Six hours later I was wide awake and ransacking the medicine cabinet at three in the morning.  My gums were swollen, my tooth was throbbing, and it was immediately apparent that antibiotics would be necessary.  

Thankfully Punky's dad is terribly irresponsible when it comes to finishing prescription medicine.  I found half a bottle of Cipro leftover from an infection he had earlier this summer.  After quickly consulting the web to make sure it wouldn't kill me or anything, I took one pill and followed it up with a Motrin chaser.  By the time I finally fell back to sleep (at almost six), it already felt much better.

The next night went about the same only I made it till almost four before excruciating pain yanked me out of a dead sleep.  Since then I've been on a steady diet of drugs.  Some how, some way, I need to make it until next Friday.  I already have a planned dentist appointment scheduled for that day and I'm determined to make it.  Given that I still see a dentist at home, two hours away, scheduling an appointment sooner would cause me to miss another whole day of work and that's not an option right now.  So, I'm just dealing with it.  

But I am awfully cranky.  Tooth pain is the worst pain in the world.  When I was pregnant and worried about labor and delivery, my mom told me, "Don't get me wrong, it hurts.  But it's not as bad as your worst toothache.  That much I can say."  

And she was absolutely right.  I'd gladly swap this tooth pain for contractions.  Chances are they would be over long before next Friday.

Something's Wrong

You have no idea how much I wish I could take back this post.  I wish I never even wrote it.  We had Punky back to the doctor on Thursday and it was far from routine.  And I'm devastated.

She started running a fever again on Wednesday afternoon.  Exactly two weeks to the hour from the last fever episode.  This has been going on for months and, little by little, I detected a pattern and began to feel like something just isn't quite right.  I so wanted to be wrong.

We thought there was a chance another ear infection set in so her dad called the doctor Thursday morning for an appointment.  The doctor checked her over from head to toe.  No ear infection.  No respiratory infection.  No strep throat.  No sinus issues.  No reason at all for the 102.4 temperature she was sporting, which was just what I suspected.  I laid it all out for the doctor.

The first high fever episode was Mother's Day weekend.  I did find it odd that she had no other symptoms aside from the fever but I chalked it up to a viral thing going around and didn't think much about it.  She had another episode before vacation in June and she ran a slight fever for a few days on our trip.  A few days after we got back, a visit to the doctor revealed another ear infection and she was on antibiotics over the Fourth of July weekend while the next high fever hit.  That time she did have some vomiting and diarrhea with it.  I called the doc thinking it was maybe a reaction to the meds, but they assumed it was something viral that just happened to hit at the same time.  Two weekends later, the fever was back again.  Just shy of two weeks later, it returned on Wednesday, August 3rd.  And the most recent one this past Wednesday, again just two weeks after the previous one.

Aside from the Fourth of July weekend, she has had no other symptoms when she runs these fevers.  They always start out of nowhere, run in the 102-103 range, and last about 72 hours.  No sneezing.  No congestion.  No aches, pains, or upset tummy.  She eats well, drinks well, and plays.  She's not fatigued or cranky.  She runs, jumps, and stands on her head all while having a fever over 102.  Once I connected the dots and noticed the pattern and similarities in these episodes, I started reading all I could on the web.  And it scared the hell out of me. 

After the doctor's exam found no cause for her fever on Thursday, and I explained what's been happening, the doctor insisted we take her right to the hospital for blood work.  I knew where she was going with it; I did my reading.  Leukemia causes recurrent fevers.  She wanted to see her white count right away, to rule out not only that possibility but also to see if there is an infection looming somewhere in her body.

As soon as the doctor left the room, I lost it.  I regained my composure long enough to go back to work and wrap things up for the day.  Her dad took her for the blood work because I couldn't hold it together.  I met them back at the house afterward.  The next twenty-four hours were the longest twenty-four hours I've ever experienced.  I felt like my world fell apart.  I could barely look at Punky without bursting into tears.  How could there be something wrong with my perfect little girl?

The doctor finally called around four on Friday.  Apparently the hospital's computer system was down so there was a delay in getting the results.  When I saw the number come up on my cell phone, I almost threw up.  I was terrified to answer it but I knew I had to.  I was literally shaking when I said hello.

The doctor had good news.  And bad news.  Her blood counts were perfect as far as the levels and types of red, white, and platelets.  It indicated that her liver and kidneys are functioning fine.  "But something's wrong," the doctor said with a heavy sigh.  She went on to explain that the markers in her blood that indicate inflammation are all elevated.  That would've been fine if her white count revealed some type of infection, but to have inflammation without infection is not good.  It points to the possibility of some really awful autoimmune disorders like lupus or rheumatoid arthritis.  It also does not rule out lymphoma or other cancers.  It felt like my heart shattered in my chest.

The doctor said she thinks it's best if she refers us to a pediatric rheumatologist in Rochester rather than pursuing it locally.  She said a specialist will know better what to test for first and hopefully we can start eliminating possibilities from the list.  She is supposed to call back this week and let us know when the appointment is scheduled.  

Of course I spent the entire weekend surfing the web and reading about every autoimmune disease and cancer imaginable.  And crying.  Aside from the fevers, she has no other symptoms that match any of the illnesses I found but it could just be that it's in an early stage.  

It's so hard to believe she could be really sick.  She's a nonstop ball of energy.  She eats, sleeps, and plays like she should.  She never complains of any pain or discomfort.  She's happy.  She's, well, normal.  Absolutely perfect.

So now we wait.  And pray.  I'm trying not to dwell on it, but it's rough.  I keep tearing up when I see her sweet smile, or hear her adorable chatter, or watch her playing happily.  I need to be strong for her.  For all of us. 

In an attempt to end this post on a less somber note, I have to say I really enjoyed the amazed look on the doctor's face when, during her checkup, Punky pointed to a poster on the wall and boldly declared, "See that picture?  That's my skeleton.  It's under my skin.  There are two hundred and six bones in it!"

Not bad for two and a half, eh?

New Ride

We have some new wheels around here.  No, not mine, unfortunately.

Just when Punky finally got the hang of coordinating peddling and steering at the same time, her bike broke.  It was unrepairable.  The plastic disc that served as a support for the metal rod between the pedals broke in two pieces.  And she pouted for days while we searched for a new, sturdier replacement. 

I have to say I'm a bit ticked at how quickly and easily her bike broke once she actually started pedaling.  Up until a few weeks ago, the bike was hardly used.  Last summer it was really just a pseudo-stroller.  She sat on it and we pushed her around at a snail's pace.  Well, except for that one incident with the snake, but still.  This summer she started putting her feet on the pedals while we pushed, and she finally tried to make it go all by herself just last month.  We never even had the chance remove the push handle and convert it to a regular tricycle.

Anyway, I was determined to find her a real tricycle, not this plastic crap they sell these days.  I wanted a metal body and real rubber tires.  Something that would grow with her and last through a few summers.  I had an image in my head and I wasn't budging.  It took several stores but I finally found it: a classic Radio Flyer tricycle, retro red, metal frame, solid rubber tires, handlebar tassels, and even an old-fashioned bike bell. 

It was a bit more expensive than I imagined, but it's for ages 2-5 so she should get a few years out of it before she graduates to a two-wheeler.  She insisted her dad put it together immediately, and of course she helped.  She bounced around him in circles, tossing random tools his way and dropping metal bike pieces on his feet.  The anticipation was killing her; he couldn't assemble it fast enough.  As soon as he finished, she jumped right on it in the living room.  

New wheels!

Once we finally got the bike outside, and her new helmet secured to her head, she took off pedaling... and dumped it twenty feet later.  We picked her up, dusted her off, and tried to explain about turning the handlebars gently so it stays upright.  "Okay, Mommy! I can do that!"  She hopped back on, started pedaling... and dumped it again thirty feet later.  We repeated the previous lecture and she was ready to try again.  The third time was the charm and she actually pedaled the entire way around the loop with only one more minor incident that day. 

She getting the hang of it, but turning gently is apparently a hard lesson to learn since she dumps it at least once every time she gets on it.  She's so proud of her new wheels, and her precious smile makes it worth every penny.

Field Trip at the County Fair

On Wednesday, Punky had her final field trip of the year to the county fair.  My mom took her on the first one, she backed out of the second one because my parents were in town, and I was finally able to get the day off to take her on this third one. 

Let me just start by saying that after spending the day with these people, I can't believe I actually let them watch my child.  Talk about unorganized.  We we supposed to leave at 9:15; it was 9:50 till we actually got on the road.  Once we arrived at the fair, we stood in the parking lot for almost forty minutes while the daycare director searched for her cell phone and finally figured out she left it at the school.  I was the only one that had supplies on me like diapers and wipes.  When it was finally time to leave, one of the vans was completely dead which lead to even more time hanging out in the parking lot and I ended up having to use my car to jump it and get it started. 

Anyway, it was family day at the fair so they had special activities for the kids.  Punky got to make a bracelet, take a pony ride, and she got fitted for a free bike helmet by the state police.  We spent a lot of time in the animal barns and my allergies were insane.  Sneeze after sneeze after sneeze.  It was the first time Punky saw many of those animals up close in real life and she loved it.  A dairy cow looked right at her and gave her a long, loud "Mooooooo!"  She thought it was the greatest thing ever.  A real cow talked to her!

The kids got a free lunch on the fair for family day and we also got to watch a reptile show.  I was fine with the lizards, but once they started pulling out snakes and carrying them around the audience for everyone to see, I got a bit panicked.  Punky, true to her nature, had no fear whatsoever.  When a guy stopped to show us a red, slithery, evil-looking snake, Punky didn't hesitate a bit.  She reached right out to touch it... on the head of all places.  I just about had a heart attack when I saw her reach for it.  After that episode, I quickly talked her into going to see the cows again.  I'll take sneezing my ass off over snakes any day.

Punky was really disappointed because the daycare wouldn't allow the kids on any of the rides at the fair.  Some parents wouldn't give permission and I understand their thoughts completely.  It wouldn't be fair to let some of the kids ride and others not, so none of them were allowed to do it.  Of course, it's the one thing that all the kids kept asking to do.  Over and over and over.  Punky included.  But she handled it fairly well, no temper tantrums or anything.  

She fell asleep in the car on the way home and continued to sleep when I carried her in and put her on the couch.  I took a little nap on the recliner and Punky's dad woke us up when he came in from work an hour later.  After hearing her disappointment over the whole ride situation, we decided to head back to the fair for dinner.  And to let her on some rides, of course.

Wheeeee!

She rode, and rode, and rode while her dad and I munched all that good fair food.  Yeah, I think I created a monster this summer.  She's definitely taking after me in the ride department.  She rode the kiddie rides herself, and I took her on a couple bigger things, but I drew the line at the giant slide.  Waiting in line on steps high in the air just isn't for me.  It was her dad's turn to step up to the plate and take her on the slide.  And he did, over and over again.  I think it was her favorite thing at the fair.  We never got home until almost ten o'clock and I was exhausted.  And stuffed.  What is it about fair food that makes it seem so incredibly delicious?  

I'm glad I got to go with her on at least one field trip this year, and I'm glad there won't be any more to worry about until next summer.

Favorite Things Friday: Bathroom Cleaner

Well, it's one day shy of a year since I've done one of these posts.  As Punky gets older, blogging is becoming much more difficult.  Not for a lack of material, that's for sure, but a lack of time.  Naps have officially gone out the window, bedtime has gotten later, and keeping her occupied long enough to finish a single paragraph without interruption is no easy task.  But I recently found something worthy of a favorite things post: Kaboom Foam-Tastic bathroom cleaner.

It's no secret that I'm no domestic goddess.  The little cooking I do, I do solely out of necessity.  In other words, Punky's dad is at work and I need to feed her something other than string cheese and oyster crackers.  In the same fashion, cleaning gets done when it needs to be done.  I'm not one of those women that clean for the hell of it.

I think the whole idea of having a spotless, picture-perfect house has gone by the wayside in my generation.  I remember my grandmother, and even my mom for that matter, routinely moving furniture to get near-invisible specks of fuzz off the carpet.  Curtains were washed frequently.  Summer and winter clothes were rotated and spent the off-season neatly packed away in boxes.  Who has time for that these days?  With both of us working full time and raising a two-year-old, we're lucky we have time for the basics.

Aside from the general straightening-up, the laundry gets done, the dishes get washed, kitchen counters get wiped, the garbage gets taken out, and the vacuum gets run at least once a week.  Mostly everything else gets done in small spurts when needed.

When the TV screen looks dirty, I clean it.  That means I grab the Windex and a paper towel and I'm finished in sixty seconds flat.  It does not mean I stop what I'm doing and spend the next hour cleaning the entire living room.  When the dust on my dresser is high enough for me to notice from across the room, I clean it.  Again, I grab the Pledge and a rag and I'm done in two minutes.  I do not clean the whole room right then.  When the microwave is gross, I clean it.  That simple act does not mean the whole kitchen gets scrubbed.

Most of the house gets cleaned this way, piece by piece, with one exception: the bathrooms.  And I'm really not sure why.  Maybe it's because they are small and deceitfully appear easier to tackle.  Maybe it's because when one thing in the bathroom is disgusting enough to catch my eye, I'm grossed out enough to want the entire room sparkling.  Maybe it's just because I love cleaning bathrooms.  No.  That one's definitely not it.

I hate cleaning the bathrooms.  Is there anyone who doesn't?  Bathrooms are yucky, stinky, germy little places.  Some would argue that cleaning the toilet is the worst chore of all.  I disagree.  I would clean the toilet a thousand times over if it meant not having to face my ultimate nemesis: the shower. 

The bathroom off our bedroom has a shower stall.  Two walls are tile, two walls are glass.  First of all, the only way to clean it is from the inside, which means getting covered in chemicals, breathing in toxic vapors, and ending up soaked from head to toe.  Not fun.  And to add insult to injury, most of the time the glass looks almost as bad when I'm finished as it did before I began. 

We're in this house almost three years and I've probably tried every shower cleaner on the market.  And they all suck.  No matter how much shit I cake on the glass, no matter how hard I scrub, no matter how much I rinse, it never looks clean.  A film of some unknown matter has a death grip on my glass and nothing can cut through it.  Over time, it really started pissing me off and landed me on a mission to find something, anything, that would work.  Well, it was either that or hire someone to etch the glass to make it less noticeable.  Oh yeah, I priced it.  

About two months ago, on one of those long insomnia-filled nights, I was channel surfing and saw a commercial for Kaboom Foam-Tastic.  I totally mocked the commercial like a six year old at recess.  Blue foam that magically turns white when the surface is clean...ah, bullshit.  The power of oxi-clean stain fighter...big deal.  No obnoxious fumes...yeah, right.  But, when I landed in the cleaning supplies aisle a few days later, I couldn't resist the temptation to buy a can.  Damn commercials.

It sat in the cabinet a few weeks while I mustered up the energy and desire to tackle the shower again.  On the can it clearly states that heavily-soiled areas may require longer contact time.  My shower surely qualified; I was prepared to let it sit a few days.  I sprayed the neon blue foam and within seconds it started turning white.  I stopped after half a wall and immediately started cursing.  Another shitty product that would leave my shower looking like hell.  There's no way it could work that fast, not on my armor-coated glass.  The worst part was that I still had to get in there and wipe it off, and then get soaked to rinse it.  

I was still bitching under my breath when I grabbed a rag and started wiping.  I could hardly believe my eyes.  The glass looked...clean.  Perfectly clear.  I couldn't see any trace of the film that clung to it for years.  I rinsed and dried a small section.  The glass felt...clean.  Perfectly smooth.  I couldn't feel any trace of the film with my fingertips.  I was completely dumbfounded.  

Once the initial shock wore off, I tackled the rest of the shower with a vengeance.  I sprayed the magical blue foam in every nook and cranny and giggled like a school girl as it turned white.  The more I sprayed, the louder I giggled.  I was like a mad scientist gushing over a new experiment.  Punky's dad came in to see what the hell the commotion was about and I gave him an over-excited, wide-eyed "It's alive! It's alive! It's alive!" 

He grabbed my hand and escorted me out to the porch for a much-needed breath of fresh air.  I think I was a bit buzzed.  I was so wrapped up in my science project I never even noticed the vapors building but it almost knocked him out when he opened the bathroom door.  So, while I have to say without a doubt that this stuff really works, I still get to call bullshit on their "no obnoxious fumes" claim. 

Of course, it could just be that I was trigger happy and sprayed almost an entire can in a matter of minutes while standing inside the 3' x 4' shower stall with the door closed.  I was having so much fun, I just couldn't help myself. 

Told You So

My boss came into my office this afternoon and sat down.  He had a few quick questions for me; nothing out of the ordinary.  At the end of our conversation, he casually mentioned we were successful in our bid for some new business.  About four million dollars a year successful.  A big one.  A huge new account.  

And my first reaction, of course, was a sigh of relief.  Not only for the future of the company, but also for not having to eat my words.  I knew there was something brewing.  And I was right. 

He didn't have all the details but he told me what he knew about it thus far.  Apparently this project won't really take off until sometime next year so, even though it's great news, we still have a while until we see the work.  Any normal person would have simply smiled and left it at that.  But not me.  Big mouth syndrome kicked in again and I expanded on my previous prediction.  

There's more to come, I told him.  This business is definitely an important piece of the puzzle, but I still feel like we'll be thrown into chaos when we're suddenly overwhelmed with a dramatic increase in production.  Planning for this account next year doesn't fit the bill.  Two more big ones.  I think two more big ones are coming.  Soon.  

And while I honestly trust my gut and believe my words are true, I really wish I'd learn to shut up.  

That being said, I wasn't able to resist the urge to sing and dance around my office in Adler family fashion once he left.  "Told ya so, told ya so, told ya told ya told ya so!"

God, I'm an idiot.