So Sasha has had a bit of a cough for lo these past two weeks. Monday, when I was a good two-hour drive away at a site, she came down with a 102+ fever. Matt picked her up and brought her to the doctor, where we got some exceedingly good news: Sasha had... a Bad Cold!
No ear infection!
No wheezing!
O frabjous day!
Unfortunately, the fever didn't respond well to Motrin; or even Motrin plus Tylenol on the off-hours. It never really dropped much below 100. And the cough persisted. And her breath got shorter and shallower.
This morning, I gave her some albuterol just as an experiment, and saw an immediate improvement. Argh, the Bad Cold turned into something more complicated. So... back to the doctor this afternoon.
We got the same doctor this time around; and, clear as a bell though her lungs were on Monday, today, he said, she sounded terrible. The upshot: she might (or might not) have pneumonia. I leave the difficulties in acquiring a chest x-ray of a two-year-old as an exercise for the reader; suffice to say we felt that an impractical measure, and so we are proceeeding as though she has pneumonia (even though she might not). So we're back to the whole circus of nebulizing and antibiotics for a few days.
My kitchen is: In a state of flux, for tomorrow, I shall get a New Kitchen Sink! Stainless steel and shiny, unlike the nasty cast-iron-coated-in-cream-enamel piece of junk I've got now. The current sink scratches and stains so easily, it's grotesque. I look forward to a new era of shiny sinkitude in my future.
Daddy: "Hey, Sasha, do you want juice?"
Sasha: (turns to cat) "Juice, kitty. MINE!"
Mommy: "..."
One wonders what mental process, exactly, brought her to the conclusion that her juice was in serious jeopardy of theft and consumption by the, uh, the cat.
My kitchen is: I'm back to the course of gradual improvement. It would've been shiny, today, but I spent time restringing network cables, instead.
Sasha has been growing and toddling into new developments so gradually, lately, that it's been difficult for us to really notice. She did hit a number of new milestones all at once, recently, though, so I thought I'd provide a nice roundup for those of you keeping score at home.
First, she is turning into a little monster.
This statement works on several levels. The most obvious is that she now enjoys growling ("Raaar!") and reaching out with her pudgy little hands turned into claws. She is, in fact, pretending to be a Scary Monster. She is about as successful in this as, well, Grover of Sesame Street fame. (She does succeed in being more scary than Elmo).
Unfortunately, she's also feeling her twoness a little sharper with each day that passes. She's a very smart girl, and knows exactly how things are supposed to be. She also believes it is her place in the world to make sure that everything stays in line. This means that mommy is not allowed to sit at daddy's place at the table, daddy is not allowed to use mommy's lapop, and she herself should never, ever, ever have to go outside without her coat.
When the Vast Conspiracy that is her world foils these plans, she gets understandably upset. But since she's been feeling particularly twoish, lately, she doesn't just yell and cry, no, no. This is where the metaphorical aspect of her monsterhood comes up. She hits. She bites. She makes realy insulting and chimp-like raspberries at us.
Fortunately, she is smart enough that we can reason her out of some of these fits. It is really wonderful to have a baby who follows you when you tell her, "Yes, sweetie, I know you're upset and you want some juice. But can you wait until we get home?"
As she's grown in intellect, she's also grown in stature. On a recent trip to Florida, we discovered that not only does she know how to use doorknobs, she is tall enough to actually reach them.
And lock them.
In her great-grandmother's room.
Twice.
To our tremendous relief, we have found that New York doorknobs are somewhat higher up than the Floridian doorknob. There has been no repeat performance, so far, but I fear my giddy days of using the bathroom in sweet solitude may be coming to a sorrowful end.
The same cannot be said for her twoness, which will only loom larger in our lives for months to come; but if she's going to be a monster, well, at least she's a cute and lovable (though not also furry) monster.
My kitchen is: Um. Well, see. Can we not talk about my kitchen right now? Because, well. I don't want to talk about it. BUT I did paint Sasha's nails last week, in an attempt to demonstrate a point she was not following, to wit: "No, sweetie, that is NOT a boo-boo, it's nail polish."