Greetings Little One

You do not like chicken, but you’re an apparent medical expert

You had a fever last night, little one. She refused to take any medicine, and as a three year old, it’s difficult, if not impossible, to force you to drink it.

We try to slip it into other food and drink, but rarely are we successful.

Last night I brought a measuring cup of children’s Tylenol over to you, hoping to convince her to take a drink.

Your response:

“I’m going to drink plenty of liquid and get lots of rest and that will make me feel better.”

Then:

“I’m not drinking that. It tastes like chicken, and I don’t like chicken.”

Then:

“And don’t bring me any chicken, either.”

What is a father to do with that combination of wisdom, wit and hilarity?

Thankfully, you were right. You drank lots of water before bed, slept for almost eleven hours and woke up fever-free.

From lunacy to reason in just three days

Emergency Room, Day 2, little one. I wrote about it again.

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On Saturday we were back at the emergency room with our daughter after a less-than-pleasant ambulance ride two days before. The dreaded hives had reappeared, and unaware that this was not a continued reaction to a peanut allergy but simply a virus, we sped to the hospital in fear of the onset of anaphylactic shock.

The doctor sat down with us, explained that the return of the hives was probably indicative of a virus (especially since we never found any evidence that Clara had come into contact with peanuts), and gave her a little Benadryl.

Within the hour, we were on our way.

It’s interesting how quickly your attitude in regards to parenting can shift.

On Friday, we were panicked. Terrified. Out of our minds. I wanted to stick my daughter in a hermetically-sealed bubble and never allow her to come into contact with the world again. I yelled at emergency room doctors when they told me that the ambulance hadn’t arrived yet. I set an alarm that night and woke up every hour, on the hour, to check on her and ensure that she was okay. I considered sleeping on the floor beside her crib.

On Saturday we left the emergency room as changed parents. At least I did.

Still vigilant in terms of Clara’s peanut allergy and still wary of her breaking out in full body hives again, my attitude in terms of the hermetically-sealed bubble and the round-the-clock observation was gone. I had learned a great deal during the two days that I feared for my daughter’s safety.

Kids get sick. Viruses exist. Peanut-allergic kids sometimes have reactions to peanuts. In almost every case, things turn out okay. When they don’t, it’s usually the result of underestimating the problem and not reacting quick enough. 

Having dealt with my bee sting allergy for most of my life, I know I would never underestimate the dangers of anaphylactic shock. My wife acted almost instantaneously to what she perceived to be a peanut allergic reaction, and I know that I would have done the same.

That’s all you can do. Almost every time, things will turn out fine. 

But living with my allergy has also taught me that you cannot live in constant fear. Life in bubble isn’t any fun. 

Instead of driving home and resting for the remainder of the day, we went to a folk festival instead. An hour after being examined by an emergency room doctor, this is what my girl was doing.

Thank goodness for a little perspective.  

 

A Tale of Two Beds

Mommy has spent the past two nights in the hospital, little one, dealing with a placental abruption.

A placental abruption is the separation of the placenta (the organ that nourishes the fetus) from its attachment to the uterus wall before the baby is delivered. If not treated properly, it can endanger the baby’s safety and well being.

You have been excellent during the time that Mommy has been in the hospital, little one, and Nani and Gramps have been staying with us and helping as well. Among other things, they have been bringing you to and from school everyday and feeding you your meals when I am not available.

Other than the occasional complaint that Mommy is not home, your spirits have been surprisingly good.

You have also been getting a lot of Mommy and Daddy time, as the photographs below indicate. The three of us may not be together, but we are spending as much time with you as possible, little one.

 

The efficacy of a mother should never be overlooked.

Today is Mommy’s birthday, little one.  You kicked off the celebration around 12:30 AM by projectile vomiting on her. 

Happy birthday, Mommy! 

But here’s the thing: 

When it comes to a sick little girl in the middle of the night, Mommy is a super hero.

First, she somehow made it into your room quickly enough to be vomited on.  While I slept peacefully, unaware that you were about to explode, Mommy somehow detected that there was a problem and leapt into action faster than I find imaginable.

This is the same woman who crawls out of bed every morning with the pace of a disabled snail.  But when you are in need, she dons her proverbial red cape and moves faster than a speeding bullet. 

After suffering the indignity of your projectile vomiting, she called me into the room to help.  I stumbled from bed and staggered into the room, barely aware that I was even awake.  She handed you to me and told me to hold you while she went to work.

And went to work she did.  You had managed to vomit in your crib, on your pajamas, in your hair and into the small crib full of dolls beside your crib (a most unfortunate bit of targeting).  While I was still wiping sleep from my eyes and regaining my wits, Mommy had removed the contaminated items from the room, changed the sheets, sanitized every square inch of the crib and changed your pajamas. 

She was like a whirlwind. 

This is the same woman who can put an object down on a counter or table and never see or move it again.  This is the same woman who will collect enough bottles and tubes on the top of our sink that I sometimes mistake it for a shelf of products at the local pharmacy. 

She is not the most minimalist, organized, put-your-stuff-away woman in the world, but when it comes to the possibility of an especially foul germ coming in contact with you, she is second to none when it comes to eradicating it. 

I’m tell you, she’s a super hero.

Had I been alone, I probably would have stripped you down to your diaper, washed you with a moist towelette and brought her into our bed, which would have been exceedingly unfortunate considering you vomited again an hour later. 

The efficacy of a mother should never be overlooked, little one.  

It was an inauspicious beginning to Mommy’s birthday. 

Old school napping with a fever

When you were an infant, little one, it was not uncommon for you to fall asleep atop Mommy’s chest or even mine during a nap.  It happened almost every day at one point or another. 

But that hasn’t happened in a long time, and you have reached the point that you like your crib and ask to be put inside it at night. 

As a result, we suspected that those days of napping atop us might be over.

Then you got sick last weekend, and while I was out playing 18 holes of golf, Mommy remained home to take care of you.

And this happened:

   

Cute.  Right? 

Mommy thought so, too. 

During the first hour of the nap. 

Then she was reminded that a napping baby lying across your chest can quickly become more of an endurance sport as the minutes tick away and become hours. 

Trapped in the chair with no one home to help, things can get difficult.

Somewhere around hour #2 of the nap, I received this text while on the golf course:

Mommy:  I’m thirsty!

And then this:

Mommy: Should I drink this?

Accompanied by this photo:

And then: 

Mommy:  Hmmm….

And then:

Mommy: Drank it.

Desperate measures for a desperate woman, little one.  But I’m sure she didn’t mind one bit.

High fevers but no worries

You’re sick, little one, and when you are sick, you treat your illness like a professional.  You routinely manage fevers around 103 and 104 degrees without any trouble, and it is only through the magic of Motrin that these high temperatures can be temporarily brought down. 

Mommy and I are surprisingly calm about the whole thing, at least according to some of the more experienced parents who I know.  They say that they would routinely panic at the sight of such a high fever, especially in their first child, and even after the doctors told them not to worry. 

I guess that Mommy and I look for reasons not to worry.  And when found, we embrace these reasons with the same ferocity that we embrace you.

We worry about you at times, little one, but overall, we don’t worry too much.  I’m not sure why, especially in light of all the parents I know who spend their lives in perpetual concern, this probably bodes well for your future. 

TV junkie

You’ve been sick for the last two days, little one, running a high fever and producing vast quantities of mucous.  Mommy and I allow you to watch a lot of television during these times  of illness, knowing that you will sit still and rest more if plopped in front of the boob tube.

Sometimes we fear, however, that we are creating a monster.

Tonight we found you on the couch, baby in one arm and remote control in the other.  You were pointing it at the television and calling out for for the television to be turned on.   

We look forward to detoxifying you from the TV as soon as possible.

Clara and Daddy down for the count

You and I have been very ill over the past three days, little one.

On Wednesday, I was playing golf, ready to finish a decent round (four bogies and a par), when Mommy called and asked me to come home.  Your fever had hit 105 and you were breathing irregularly, 

I walked off the course, drove home, ran back out for some doctor-prescribed medication, and by the time I returned, I was unable to stop shivering.  My fever had suddenly shot to 102 degrees, even though I was feeling fine and playing golf just an hour before. 

We’ve both had the stomach flu for the past three days.  Though you’ve been doing better than me, we’ve both been unable to eat very much and have spent our days lying down and moaning.  Mommy has been doing a remarkable job of taking care of us and somehow not getting sick in the process.  I lost eleven pounds over the last three days and still feel pretty awful.  You’re still sick, but your smile has returned and your toddling around the house, making a mess of the place again. 

Let’s not do this again, little one.  Suffering from an unholy stomach virus is bad enough without having to watch your baby daughter go through the same. 

Terrified but justifiably so

You officially hate the doctor’s office, little one.  After a dozen shots and an equal number of pokes and prods from doctors and nurses during your first year of life, you have decided that our doctor’s office is no longer the place for you. 

Mommy brought you into the office  today to get your ears and chest checked out before we board a plane to Boca Raton in a couple days.  She just wanted to be sure that the congestion that you are still battling won’t be a problem during the flight and that your ears were clear of fluid.  Pressure changes can be tough enough on babies without having to worry about a clogged ear canal. 

Mommy reported that as soon as you entered the waiting room, you expressed your displeasure and desire to return home by screaming your head off.  And you did not stop screaming until well after the two of you exited the office.

I assume that this is a sign of intelligence. 

Only an idiot would like a place where strange men and women routinely stick you with sharp needles.

Feverish

Even when you aren’t feeling well, you’re still as cute as can be!