Kids get sick. Period. With a daycare swarming with random germs and viruses, it happens. Every now and then there's a wonderfully disturbing sign next to the door highlighting a more serious malady that one of the undisclosed children has come down with. All you can do is hope that whatever your child catches is one that can be nursed at home and not something that requires you to lay out yet another co-pay at the pediatrician.
We've been very lucky with Alexis. But recently she caught some sort of bug and has been on an up and down rollercoaster ride of varying states of health. It all began after she had her MMR shot, which caused us an enormous amount of distress considering that's the shot that everyone freaks out about. She broke out in these huge, angry hives and had a slight fever. The hives went away, but the next day she sat in pure misery, falling in and out of states of slumber, culminating with a hefty fever that night.
A Christmas Tree farm cutting adventure was the next day. We were a bit concerned about taking our sick little bug out into the cold to hunt for a tree, but in the end, it seemed that the brisk cold air did her some good. She was back to her normal lovable, jibber-jabbering self. Next day, back to misery along with a strange lacy rash that dissipated over time. Add an eye infection that glues her eye shut in the morning to the mix, and she's not all too pleased.
The poor women at daycare have had to deal with her mixed moods. The poor little child actually went to the barn door that leads to the nap room, stood at it, and pointed, indicating that she'd like to lay down. Apparently, yesterday, she ended up falling asleep on a boppy pillow that was on the floor. All of this sleeping clearly indicates that she's not yet back to normal.
She'll be better soon. In the grand scheme of things, a week of misery is simply par for the course.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
but i know there are more!...
I do my best to offer healthy food choices to my little one. Fruits, veggies, some lean proteins, yogurt, etc. But every now and then, we all enjoy a treat.
Recently, Alexis and I were at our Super Walmart. Even though it was snowing outside with wet roads and freezing temps, for some reason I decided that was a great time to go grocery shopping - the store should be nice and empty. Never underestimate the draw of the beast which is Walmart. There were plenty of people in there. Apparently rain or shine, shopping must continue.
As we walked the aisles, I came across a freezer case full of ready to bake holiday sugar cookies. They were the kind that had the faces in them - snowmen, Santa, and reindeer. While I'm not a fan of sugar cookies, they were quite cheap and the happy reindeer face was enjoyable enough for Alexis to keep her busy as we continued our shopping. I dubbed them, "the cookies Alexis picked out."
We get home, I preheat the oven, and while Alexis sat on the counter next to where I was standing, we pulled out each perfectly shaped reindeer cookie and carefully placed them an inch apart on the sheet. She, of course, was inclined to snatch one up, but when she got a taste of it, surprisingly, she made a face and gave it back. The preheat timer goes off, I stick them in the oven, and 15 minutes later we have happy little sugar cookies. I put them on my festive holiday plate and plopped them on top of our microwave.
Once they were cool enough, I knew I needed to give her one of the cookies "she picked out." She gingerly took it into her hands, inspected it a bit, then slowly took a little bite. I could see the light in her eyes. "Oh my Lord what is this succulent bit of sweetness in my hands?" Slowly she munched on it until it was gone. "Excuse me? Give me another one please." "Ok, one more, but that's enough." And so the drama began. Tear streaming she insisted that she need another one. "Sorry my dear - one cookie is enough for now."
Every time we went through the kitchen, she'd point up at the place where she knew the cookies lay, ready for the taking. From her perch in her high-chair, she would crane her neck up to look at the cookie plate and point persistently. "No, mom...THERE. See it? Right THERE." Needless to say, while she got to have a few of them here and there, Jamie and I suddenly realized that it was our duty as parents to polish off the rest of the cookies, post haste. The sacrifices we make.
Recently, Alexis and I were at our Super Walmart. Even though it was snowing outside with wet roads and freezing temps, for some reason I decided that was a great time to go grocery shopping - the store should be nice and empty. Never underestimate the draw of the beast which is Walmart. There were plenty of people in there. Apparently rain or shine, shopping must continue.
As we walked the aisles, I came across a freezer case full of ready to bake holiday sugar cookies. They were the kind that had the faces in them - snowmen, Santa, and reindeer. While I'm not a fan of sugar cookies, they were quite cheap and the happy reindeer face was enjoyable enough for Alexis to keep her busy as we continued our shopping. I dubbed them, "the cookies Alexis picked out."
We get home, I preheat the oven, and while Alexis sat on the counter next to where I was standing, we pulled out each perfectly shaped reindeer cookie and carefully placed them an inch apart on the sheet. She, of course, was inclined to snatch one up, but when she got a taste of it, surprisingly, she made a face and gave it back. The preheat timer goes off, I stick them in the oven, and 15 minutes later we have happy little sugar cookies. I put them on my festive holiday plate and plopped them on top of our microwave.Once they were cool enough, I knew I needed to give her one of the cookies "she picked out." She gingerly took it into her hands, inspected it a bit, then slowly took a little bite. I could see the light in her eyes. "Oh my Lord what is this succulent bit of sweetness in my hands?" Slowly she munched on it until it was gone. "Excuse me? Give me another one please." "Ok, one more, but that's enough." And so the drama began. Tear streaming she insisted that she need another one. "Sorry my dear - one cookie is enough for now."
Every time we went through the kitchen, she'd point up at the place where she knew the cookies lay, ready for the taking. From her perch in her high-chair, she would crane her neck up to look at the cookie plate and point persistently. "No, mom...THERE. See it? Right THERE." Needless to say, while she got to have a few of them here and there, Jamie and I suddenly realized that it was our duty as parents to polish off the rest of the cookies, post haste. The sacrifices we make.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
danger zone...
With Alexis doing her fair share of walking now (though crawling still seems to be the quicker and more dependable mode of transportation), I look at things around our house much differently. Sharp corners are suddenly screaming at me, begging me to cover them up. Door knobs, while out of reach, strongly remind me regularly of their contents, some of which could undoubtedly be dangerous. I'll admit that we're slacking a tad in the childproofing department, and writing this out has made me realize that I need to get my ass in gear and venture down the ridiculous baby-proofing aisle at Babies R Us.
One room in the house, while the smallest room we have, seems to be the one with the most potential hazards - the bathroom. First off, every single thing in that room is hard as a rock. Tub, tiles, toilet, vanity...all solid. And some of those hards are also sharp - vanity cabinet door corners, bath spigot. Plenty of slippage is possible - wet tub or wet tiles aren't exactly conducive of sturdy footing. And then of course there's a plethora of germs and bacteria. I cringe when I realize that Alexis is bee-lining for the toilet. Don't touch! Don't you know that a man lives here and can't seem to keep his pee in the toilet??
My little one loves to hang out in the tub. She also enjoys toying with us, staring us in the eyes with a steadfast gaze as she shows indication of wanting to stand up. "Alexis...stay sitting," we warn. I'm constantly lifting her up and plopping her back down on her butt. On hands and knees, she'll suddenly decide that attempting to crawl up the side of the tub would be just as fun. That also warrants a warning. Jamie and I, of course, are watching her closely, ready to make our move in the event of a catastrophe.
When bathtime is over, I let the water run out but leave her in the tub. She hangs out as the water slowly runs out, and eventually she's sitting, wet and nekkid, on her bathmat. How she can continue to enjoy herself when I know she must be chilly is beyond me. The other night, Jamie and I are chatting while watching the child in the empty tub, warning her occasionally to take a seat. For a split second, Jamie and I look at each other, and apparently she saw that and sprang to her feet. No good. It was followed by a faceplant with an audible cheek bump against the side of the tub.
Luckily, she walked away with only a hefty bruise under her eye. I figure her pudgy face must have cushioned the fall. There really wasn't much I could do that night - keeping an icepack on a toddler's cheek isn't exactly easy. It could have been worse, but in the end, she's just fine.
The house is dangerous. Children are dangerous. The dogs are dangerous. Let's throw us in there as being dangerous too. Living is dangerous, for goodness sake. All we can do is keep her in our sight and be prepared to lunge or jump when necessary. S**t happens.
One room in the house, while the smallest room we have, seems to be the one with the most potential hazards - the bathroom. First off, every single thing in that room is hard as a rock. Tub, tiles, toilet, vanity...all solid. And some of those hards are also sharp - vanity cabinet door corners, bath spigot. Plenty of slippage is possible - wet tub or wet tiles aren't exactly conducive of sturdy footing. And then of course there's a plethora of germs and bacteria. I cringe when I realize that Alexis is bee-lining for the toilet. Don't touch! Don't you know that a man lives here and can't seem to keep his pee in the toilet??
My little one loves to hang out in the tub. She also enjoys toying with us, staring us in the eyes with a steadfast gaze as she shows indication of wanting to stand up. "Alexis...stay sitting," we warn. I'm constantly lifting her up and plopping her back down on her butt. On hands and knees, she'll suddenly decide that attempting to crawl up the side of the tub would be just as fun. That also warrants a warning. Jamie and I, of course, are watching her closely, ready to make our move in the event of a catastrophe.
When bathtime is over, I let the water run out but leave her in the tub. She hangs out as the water slowly runs out, and eventually she's sitting, wet and nekkid, on her bathmat. How she can continue to enjoy herself when I know she must be chilly is beyond me. The other night, Jamie and I are chatting while watching the child in the empty tub, warning her occasionally to take a seat. For a split second, Jamie and I look at each other, and apparently she saw that and sprang to her feet. No good. It was followed by a faceplant with an audible cheek bump against the side of the tub.
Luckily, she walked away with only a hefty bruise under her eye. I figure her pudgy face must have cushioned the fall. There really wasn't much I could do that night - keeping an icepack on a toddler's cheek isn't exactly easy. It could have been worse, but in the end, she's just fine.
The house is dangerous. Children are dangerous. The dogs are dangerous. Let's throw us in there as being dangerous too. Living is dangerous, for goodness sake. All we can do is keep her in our sight and be prepared to lunge or jump when necessary. S**t happens.
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