Andrea's Adventures in Binkyland

Care & Feeding of Sick Baby

Sasha is now on Day 7 of a 10-day course of antibiotics for her pneumonia. I was bemused and a little surprised when she slurped down the first dose; but then again, the stuff does look and smell like a tasty orange-yogurt smoothie. And there is a precedent -- after a period of struggle, she now sucks down Infant's Tylenol with an eagerness one expects from a heroin junky getting her next fix. After that first dose, though, it turned into a pitched battle.

She thrashes, she wails (but with her jaw clenched shut) she whips her head from side to side and wiggles and blocks her face with her hands. I have found two ways to get the drug into her. This is the first method: I can lie her on her back, on the floor, with her head to me. I sit on the floor, holding her body and legs down with my legs, and squeezing her head between my thighs to keep it still. I then have two hands free to pry her mouth open and squirt medicine as far back into her mouth as I can. And then blow in her face so she swallows. This is a method that has achieved much success, and I have also used it for tooth-brushing.

However, I'm also having luck holding her cradle-style, with one of her arms behind my back, and the cradling arm both holding her other hand and locking her head into immobility between my shoulder and wrist. I wait until she opens her mouth a little too wide when she cries, and then squirt the medicine as far down her throat as I can, with the face blowing &c. This has surprisingly resulted in less spitting-out and misfiring than the first method, and is currently my favorite.

Sasha has suffered under her course of medication, in a variety of ways. First, it so upset her stomach that we changed the dosage on Day 4. Unfortunately for me, this meant changing her frequency (and accompanying struggle) from twice to three times a day. She is also now suffering from a monumentally bad diaper rash. It shows a lot of the signs of a classic yeast diaper rash, and I am treating it very carefully to avoid thrush, which is frankly one more problem I don't need. Sasha now has Prescription Diaper Rash Cream.

She's also not eating much in the way of fruits or vegetables at the moment; it's the all-Cheerios-all-the-time diet. I imagine her appetite will get back to normal when she's off the antibiotic and her stomach settles down a bit more. In the meantime, I'm trying to work out the specifics of what she should and shouldn't be exposed to, depending on the results of her allergy testing, which we will hopefully get back in a couple of weeks.

Despite her many health issues, Sasha is really doing quite well. She stands without support for up to 40 seconds at a time (though doesn't seem interested in walking). She says these words, though not necessarily clearly enough for anyone but us to understand: mama, dada, hi, no, that, up, down, cat. She is a pro at shaking her head no and at pointing at things she wants. She has FOUR teeth! She is learning important and valuable social skills, such as hitting and biting. We are very proud.

I suppose we should start letting her have actual dishes and silverware so that she will someday know how to use a spoon. But no hurry.

Today, I attended to various personal grooming tasks of hers we had been neglecting. For example, I clipped her razor-sharp little talons for the first time in, oh, weeks. Also, we took a Drastic Step. Since Sasha no longer approves of her little top-knot ponytail and pulls it out posthaste, her hair gets in her way and accumulates an unpleasant crust of food and baby snot. Therefore, today, we cut her hair. She took an immediate cuteness hit, because, well, the bangs are just a bit too short, but she got sweaty later and they curled up again and restored some of her cuteness. Hopefully in a week or two we will be back to optimal cuteness levels.

My kitchen is: really quite messy. I've not attended to it in quite some time, being home with Sick Baby and all. It will likely be a few days yet until I can get to it, and hopefully ease into a regular routine again.

Sick Baby Returns

So Sasha has pneumonia, finally diagnosed after two weeks and on her fourth visit to the doctor. It's still a mild case, so it probably wasn't audible any earlier than yesterday. So much for my regularly-scheduled life! She's at home with me for at least a few days while the antibiotics do their thing.

On Thursday, Sasha had her appointment with the pediatric allergist. He listened to her lungs and heart, examined her ears and throat, and gave me a prescription to get blood drawn for testing for IgE antibodies for peanuts, a few kinds of tree nut, bananas and milk. She almost certainly has a peanut allergy, and for now, she and I are to both avoid peanuts as though we are sure they would kill her instantly.

When her test results are back (which will be sometime after I take her for the blood to be drawn, I imagine) then we will talk more concretely about how to proceed. From what I have read, if we can minimize her exposure to the allergen for the next few years, there is a decent chance that she'll just outgrow the allergy.

Poor baby. She's about to have her fourth tooth come in, too, on top of it all.

Oh, and me? How am I doing? I'm sick, too, of course. But no fever or coughing for me, just a sore throat. And my neck hurts. Did I mention I'm tired? I don't relish seeing the doctor with Sick Baby in tow, so I'm going to wait it out a bit and see if just getting some rest fixes me. At least my marathon of social events is done, now. Next weekend will be my first free since early April. Also I got to read Order of the Phoenix over the weekend, during all of Sick Baby's naptimes and on the plane to and from Atlanta.

My kitchen is: Not so great. The cleaners were supposed to be here two hours ago, but I'm too tired to call and see what happened to them.

We Now Return You To Your Regularly Scheduled Life

Tonight, I went to my Yogilates class. You know, the one I didn't make it to last week? Breathe in, breathe out. Stretch. Sit up straighter, pull in your navel, breathe. It was so exactly what I needed.

Sasha is fine now. She stayed home Tuesday and Wednesday with a fever and a bad temper. Thursday she seemed all right and went to daycare, but by lunchtime she came home with her fever again. Friday morning, she was in such a poor mood that we brought her to the doctor once again, where they tentatively diagnosed a urinary tract infection. They stuck her finger for blood and took a urine culture, and sent me home with Baby's First Antibiotic. The doctor was quite surprised she had never been on one before.

By Friday night, her fever had well and truly broken again. Sadly, it was the day of her baby naming, and the first in a number of days where her schedule was thrown all off-kilter. Today, we got the urine culture back negative. So we still have the worrisome mystery of the 5-day nonspecific fever. All I can do is hope it was some virus that won't be bothering us again.

Her naming was probably beautiful. I spent most of the service outside the sanctuary trying to settle the poor baby, since the service only started after her bedtime. When Sasha's moment arrived, the rabbi said some choice words to Sasha, and Sasha, well, she had a few things to say to HIM, too.

Matt spoke about her Hebrew name, Shulamit Sarai, and the loved ones we have named her for, and the meanings of her names. Shulamit means tranquility, and Sarai means argumentative. Put together, I find it wonderfully Zen: the peaceful warrior, one who has a core of strength within to hold firm to her own convictions.

By the end of the service, during oneg (that's "snack" to you non-Jewish people out there) there was not a thing I could do anymore to settle Sasha. It was just way too far past her bedtime. I had one bite of cake and then we brought her home.

During all of this, my dad was visiting. Hi, papa! It is really wonderful to watch him playing with Sasha. There is one particularly great thing about my dad: He can play with a small child with the kind of abandon only really seen in other small children. He is not concerned with dignity. It is all about chasing the smile, and nothing is too silly in that noble endeavor. Thinking back, I can remember that quality even from when I was a little girl. I suspect there's some sort of moral lesson for the world, here, but I can't find it just now. I'm just a little sad he couldn't stay one more day for Father's Day.

On Father's Day, Sasha and I had our second annual Craft Day With Mommy. It went over much better this year than last. This year, we got a baseball and a collector's stand for it, and put a lovely big splotchy pink handprint on it. Daddy seems to like it very much. Although I do still have pink paint on my foot, no lasting property damage seems to have occurred.

The cashier in the craft store was not quite bright. I wandered in holding the baby, chose a paint, and asked her if she thought my choice would work on leather. It said semi-permanent, so I was a bit concerned. I explained that I wanted to put a handprint on a baseball for Father's Day. She gave me a funny look and said that it must be an awfully large baseball. I explained that no, in fact, it would be the baby's handprint in question. She kept trying to steer me to puff paint, for some reason. In the end, I found a fabric paint that worked quite nicely, and now I know not to trust the staff at the craft store for accurate advice.

I'm starting to see the sunlight break through this whirlwind of weddings, showers, parties, special events. Next weekend, we go to Atlanta for a wedding, and then we just might have a weekend free. In the meantime, I should just breathe in, breathe out. Stretch. Sit up straighter. Life is what's happening to us every second, and I shouldn't wait around for the calm, I should make it myself.

My kitchen is: Slowly, day by day, returning to a state of cleanliness. I have a goal of cooking dinner three times this week, which should help, since I always clean before I cook.

Blue Monday

Monday dawned sunny and warm, filled with the promise of a new, better week ahead of me. Sasha slept clean through the night until 7am. I had a Yogilates class in the evening, peaceful documentation work to do all day, and Friday off, like a vision of the Land of Milk and Honey in the distance. It is now clear that Monday was a no-good, dirty liar.

I had plans to go into the city to do some work for a client that morning; I planned to catch the 9:08 train and be there at 10am. At 8, I wandered downstairs to check my e-mail, and found a request from my boss to get some files to a colleague, and find out if he needed some additional information, while I was at it. I send the source code, and place the call to find out about the other stuff. At 9:15, I call again. At 9:30, my colleague calls back and says that yes, he does need the other stuff, sorry, he was in the shower. So I take a quick detour to drop Sasha off at daycare, and eventually get everything squared away. Hey, it gives me a chance to call the pediatrician to ask about the whole peanut thing.

In the meantime, I have missed the 9:08 train. I have missed the 10:07 train. I fix myself some breakfast and prepare to catch the 11:03 train. I resume my regularly scheduled day with a song on my lips and a light in my heart, etc., etc.

On the train, I get a Dreaded Call from the daycare provider: "Sasha is rubbing one of her eyes, and it's getting awfully red. Did she have a crust on it this morning? I'm worried she might be getting conjunctivitis."

After a brief conversation, we agree that we will reserve judgement until Sasha is up from her afternoon nap. I call Matt, and he arranges for Sasha to see the doctor at 5:15 that evening. I explain the situation to the project manager I'm pitching in to help; she has a small child of her own, and is sympathetic.

At this point, I am feeling like one of the Hindenbergs of motherhood is on my hands: Sasha has splinters in her feet from a misadventure on a wooden deck the day before, she has residual pox from her chicken pox vaccination, the potential peanut allergy, and now she's got pinkeye. I still hold some vague hope of attending my relaxing Yogilates class at 7:15 in the evening.

At 1:30, the pediatrician calls me back regarding the peanut question; it takes three separate phone calls on two phones to convey to him that we can discuss it later, as long as I am bringing Sasha in anyhow.

At 3:00, daycare calls to let me know Sasha is up from her nap and appears to be better, though she is still rubbing her eye. I am assured by my project manager that it is better to take her to the doctor and at least get a prescription, because Tuesday morning she could yet wake up with a flaming, blood-streaked monstrosity of an eye, crusted over with goo, peering out at me from the crib. I feel it is better to be safe and continue with the doctor plan.

I catch the 4:16 train and hustle to the doctor. Once I get to the doctor's office, I observe that Sasha's eye is watery but otherwise fine. Hmm.

The doctor confirms my suspicions: Sasha does not have pinkeye, but he gives me a prescription Just In Case. The splinters will be OK, just soak her feet in warm water for a few days. Her vaccination-related chicken pox are healing normally and all is as expected. The peanut thing may or may not be an issue, but for now, I get a prescription for an Epi-Pen Jr. and the all-clear to continue as we had been before (no peanuts for Sasha, but we do not need to get psychotic about avoiding microscopic molecules of peanut flour). Great! Terrific! Thanks, doc!

Just one more thing: She's got a fever of 101.7 and you'll have to keep her home tomorrow. Nothing wrong with her ears or her throat, no congestion, no sneezing or coughing, just... a fever. You can't win for losing.

My kitchen is: Very Clean. The cleaners came and made it better for me today. Although the Sick Baby was afraid of the cleaners. Also she was upset when her grandmother came to visit her. Also she didn't much like my putting her down at all today. Surprisingly, I had a very productive day.

On the other hand, the display on my laptop totally went out and they're sending a guy to replace my motherboard on Friday. Joy joy joy.

TGIF

This has been an eventful and not-so-fun week. The sort of week that drives men to drink, the sort of week that turns you against your faith.

OK, maybe not that bad, but it sure wasn't a GOOD week, either. Warning: This was not a week for the faint of heart.

The problems really started on Monday. Sasha needed to go to have her blood tested for iron and lead. Just a routine thing for her age, but a hassle to get her to the lab. Monday afternoon, I figure I've got some free time, I should run over and get her finger pricked and get it over with.

But, oh, no. They couldn't do a finger prick test. They needed venous blood. What a lovely way to start your week: Trying to hold your one-year-old baby still, while another woman tries to keep her arm straight, and yet another ties her arm off with a tourniquet and then jabs her with the needle. And moves it. And moves it again. And again.

They must've tried with that first needle for a solid two minutes, Sasha wailing "Ya-ya-ya-ya-ya!" and tears running down her face the whole time. And they never did get that line working, so we had to go through the whole ordeal again, on her OTHER arm. Fortunately, this time the vein was a little easier to find. But then they had to take TWO vials of blood from her.

The bruises she has now are spectacular, and she had the marks from their rubber tourniquets for a day and a half. It makes one contemplate upon the relatively barbaric practices of our modern medicinal arts. There surely has to be a better way than that.

On to Tuesday. There was hope for Tuesday! On Tuesday, we got our new fancy-schmancy Fisher & Paykel washer and dryer. The deliverymen hauled the old ones outside, and gave me a break so I could clean up the dust and mud from under there. And what do I find, but a dead bird. Yes, you read that right: a bird, presumably some sort of sparrow, dead as a doornail, on the floor in my laundry room. I swept it up and threw away the dustpan. (You never know what Sasha is going to try to eat.) In fact, I had to sweep, went through two Swiffer Wetjet pads, and destroyed a cloth diaper trying to get that area -- not CLEAN -- but at least not as bad.

Wednesday was just rainy and blue and sad. We had pizza and watched "The Bourne Identity" that night to try to cheer ourselves up.

Thursday I spent in the city. On my way home to pick up Sasha, a major cross street had a light broken, so the traffic never stopped coming. Trying to make it across was a hair-raising adventure. And when I got there, Sasha had had NO NAP. So we get home, she conks out, she sleeps until 6:30. She wakes up, wants to nurse, conks out again. I try to keep her awake, with limited success; she will wake up but will not be happy about it. So I put her to bed again at 7, and at 8, she's up again. And then down, thankfully for the night. We watched "The Tuxedo," a cute and fun movie, and were glad the week was coming to an end.

And then Sasha woke up at 5:45 this morning and could not be convinced to go back to sleep. This brings us to Friday.

Today, Sasha's daycare provider calls me. "Don't panic, there's nothing wrong," she says, "But I wanted to let you know about something that happened. I gave Sasha a cheese cracker with a bit of peanut butter, I figured it was OK now that she's a year old..."

"Oh, no, not until she's three!" I said.

"And, well, she's got a little bit of a rash around her face," she finishes. I go looking for our Benadryl so we can compare dosages to see if she can give hers to Sasha, or if I should come over. I cannot find our Benadryl. Later, I find it in exactly the place where I had been looking for it.

Fortunately, Sasha only had a couple of spots on her face and no breathing problems, and the rash was fading before we even got off the phone; not but ten minutes later, she called back to let me know it was all gone.

Still, now we know we have to be careful about peanuts and Sasha; a peanut allergy is nothing to toy around with. I'm just hoping that this isn't going to become a permanent allergy, now.

My kitchen is: What, I have a week like this and you care about my KITCHEN? What's wrong with you!

Baby in the Mirror

Sasha's on to the Baby in the Mirror. Until now, she had a pretty good relationship with that baby. They'd smile and wave at each other, sometimes say hi, you know the deal. The way you are with neighbors you don't know so well. Now, though, Sasha knows that there's some funny business going on with that Baby in the Mirror.

It all started when Sasha was sitting in front of the closet doors, which are mirrors the whole way. She smiled at that baby, banged on the glass, and then tried to peek around behind the door to get a closer look. But... there was NO BABY THERE!

Quickly, she checked back in the mirror. Yep, baby still there, looking right at her. But... still no baby behind the door! Sasha took to rocking side to side, now there's a baby, now there's not.

I don't know how long it will take her to get the whole thing sorted out. But if, in the meantime, Sasha exhibits some paranoid tendencies, I think I'll know why.

My kitchen is: Really becoming quite atrocious. I suppose I should, like, do something about it.