Ready for my bath!
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
RSV
After a few too many days of high fever and nasty coughing (following last weekend's cold), we were off to the doctor this morning just to check that there wasn't more to it. Well, turns out that Kellan has Bronchiolitis caused by Respiratory Syncytial Virus (RSV). He's a very sick little boy. We brought home a pile of [expensive!] medications and a nebulizer to be used for the next two weeks. My poor little man.
I worry about where he got it, and how I can prevent him getting it again in future, and the main conclusion that I've drawn is that he simply must stop chewing on the bar of every shopping cart in which he rides! I mean, honestly, he's not often around sick kids and he rarely shares toys that other kids have had in their mouths. But that shopping cart thing is epidemic, he cannot keep his little mouth off. Who knows how many other unsuspecting children in Springfield will be joining the RSV ranks now that they've ridden in a shopping cart recently vacated by my own little Typhoid Mary.
I worry about where he got it, and how I can prevent him getting it again in future, and the main conclusion that I've drawn is that he simply must stop chewing on the bar of every shopping cart in which he rides! I mean, honestly, he's not often around sick kids and he rarely shares toys that other kids have had in their mouths. But that shopping cart thing is epidemic, he cannot keep his little mouth off. Who knows how many other unsuspecting children in Springfield will be joining the RSV ranks now that they've ridden in a shopping cart recently vacated by my own little Typhoid Mary.
Monday, February 14, 2005
Happy Valentine's Day... but where's the romance?
Romance. Its what makes the world go round. Or so they say. And while I try to remain focused on my personal and professional goals, my skills as a parent, and my achievements in life, I'd love to have just a bit of romance every once in awhile. A kind word from my husband, a compliment even. Today I did receive a lovely Valentine's Day card, lots of sweet words penned by some unknown pawn of the greeting card industry, and the sentiment was much appreciated.
I know that Nic is a typical British male -- unexpressive, shy, lacking in grand emotions. Sometimes I wonder if it goes deeper than that. Probably doesn't, but I'm a woman, and since we're stereotyping, we're supposed to overanalyse things. We have ideas about the way that men are supposed to be, the things that they're supposed to say -- the way that they should tell us often, and sincerely, that we are the most beautiful beings in their world, the way that they should get down on one knee to propose after having ensconced us in a most romantic setting, the way that they're supposed to cry when we bring forth their offspring from our bodies, the way that they're meant to worship us in our new roles as mothers to their children. But they don't. They notice the way that we haven't lost that "last 5 lbs", the way that our faces look older after over a year without a decent night's sleep, the way that we've replaced our sexy miniskirts with practical crawling-around-after-the-baby clothes. And on these things they comment.
Perhaps its just me, perhaps the rest of the husbands out there are romantic flattering fools. Enjoy them. Mine hasn't said a nice word about my physical appearance since, well, ever. Unless in the context of sex, and quite frankly guys, nothing that you say in the context of sex counts. I'm not complaining, honestly, I have a wonderful husband, a beautiful son, and a perfect life. Its just that there's this day, this romantic day, and on this day I wistfully think about all of those romantic notions with which I grew up. Maybe I can infect my son with a bit of it and make another woman's romantic dreams come true one day.
I know that Nic is a typical British male -- unexpressive, shy, lacking in grand emotions. Sometimes I wonder if it goes deeper than that. Probably doesn't, but I'm a woman, and since we're stereotyping, we're supposed to overanalyse things. We have ideas about the way that men are supposed to be, the things that they're supposed to say -- the way that they should tell us often, and sincerely, that we are the most beautiful beings in their world, the way that they should get down on one knee to propose after having ensconced us in a most romantic setting, the way that they're supposed to cry when we bring forth their offspring from our bodies, the way that they're meant to worship us in our new roles as mothers to their children. But they don't. They notice the way that we haven't lost that "last 5 lbs", the way that our faces look older after over a year without a decent night's sleep, the way that we've replaced our sexy miniskirts with practical crawling-around-after-the-baby clothes. And on these things they comment.
Perhaps its just me, perhaps the rest of the husbands out there are romantic flattering fools. Enjoy them. Mine hasn't said a nice word about my physical appearance since, well, ever. Unless in the context of sex, and quite frankly guys, nothing that you say in the context of sex counts. I'm not complaining, honestly, I have a wonderful husband, a beautiful son, and a perfect life. Its just that there's this day, this romantic day, and on this day I wistfully think about all of those romantic notions with which I grew up. Maybe I can infect my son with a bit of it and make another woman's romantic dreams come true one day.
Friday, February 11, 2005
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Somewhere in between...
Is he a baby? Is he a toddler? Is he an infant? Is he a big boy? I feel like this age, nearly one, and probably the next couple of months, is a very "in between" time. He's not walking, but he's almost there and can pull up onto any stable (or not so stable -- ouch!) piece of furniture. He's big, wears size 2T clothes. He's fun to be with, he's perceptive, and he has a very strong will. Yet he's still very much a baby. He can't talk. He can't use a spoon. When he nurses, I look down and he's my little baby, mouth open, gulping milk, no different to when he was one month old, never mind one year old! He's too big for our Wednesday baby group (though we'll still go for a few more weeks), yet too small to really interact and enjoy toddler oriented play groups.
I suppose that there are many stages of life like this. Times when we're on the verge of a big change. We've outgrown the previous stage, but not quite entered into the next. Kellan is very much there at the moment. Standing on the verge of Toddlerhood, just waiting until he's big enough to take that next step -- that first step!
I suppose that there are many stages of life like this. Times when we're on the verge of a big change. We've outgrown the previous stage, but not quite entered into the next. Kellan is very much there at the moment. Standing on the verge of Toddlerhood, just waiting until he's big enough to take that next step -- that first step!
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Birthday Month
I can't believe that one year ago I was sitting at my really sucky old job that had nothing to do with my degree but was close to home, paid well, and had great benefits in Gloucester and counting down the weeks until my due date. 10 days later, due to being diagnosed with the beginnings of pre-eclampsia, I was ordered off work and on total rest. And another 9 days after that, I was induced. Kellan came along 8 days early, but not a moment too soon for me. Then again, that February 29th birthday (his due date) would have been really cool!
I am pleased to announce that the biting has stopped. Completely. He's also nursing wonderfully again, even during the usual "off times" (ie right when I get home from work, when we're out in public, etc). I am thrilled, relieved, and so happy that our nursing relationship is back to being enjoyable for both parties. Many people told me that it was just a stage, but when you're right in the middle of it, what a horrible and endless stage it can seem!
He is also eating again. And eating, and eating. Back to his old self. And he's doing really well with more solid foods. Picking up and eating mandarin orange slices, bread, noodles, and so on. He'd never done that before this last episode of food aversion.
Our momentous event of this week was Kellan's pulling himself up to standing. And now he can do it consistently. Crawls over to the couch (he's only been crawling for a month), pulls up to his knees (using the couch for leverage), then onto his feet and usually brisk walks to grab the remote control, Daddy's hair, the paperback novel, or any other taboo object which has been left on the no longer baby safe sofa.
He is also in and out of his crib now. Its pushed up next to our bed (makes getting him in and out of our bed for night nursing much easier). Last night he was sleeping (or so I thought) when I suddenly felt something crash down upon my sleeping body. It was my son. He'd got up and launched himself over the bars of his crib onto our bed. There are slightly more subtle ways of telling me that you want to nurse!
I am pleased to announce that the biting has stopped. Completely. He's also nursing wonderfully again, even during the usual "off times" (ie right when I get home from work, when we're out in public, etc). I am thrilled, relieved, and so happy that our nursing relationship is back to being enjoyable for both parties. Many people told me that it was just a stage, but when you're right in the middle of it, what a horrible and endless stage it can seem!
He is also eating again. And eating, and eating. Back to his old self. And he's doing really well with more solid foods. Picking up and eating mandarin orange slices, bread, noodles, and so on. He'd never done that before this last episode of food aversion.
Our momentous event of this week was Kellan's pulling himself up to standing. And now he can do it consistently. Crawls over to the couch (he's only been crawling for a month), pulls up to his knees (using the couch for leverage), then onto his feet and usually brisk walks to grab the remote control, Daddy's hair, the paperback novel, or any other taboo object which has been left on the no longer baby safe sofa.
He is also in and out of his crib now. Its pushed up next to our bed (makes getting him in and out of our bed for night nursing much easier). Last night he was sleeping (or so I thought) when I suddenly felt something crash down upon my sleeping body. It was my son. He'd got up and launched himself over the bars of his crib onto our bed. There are slightly more subtle ways of telling me that you want to nurse!
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