I Did Not See That Coming (Up)

I just hosed down the kitchen stool, which Harry vomited all over after eating a lunch of strawberries and potato chips, one bite of brownie batter, and his iron pill. Rest assured, the brownie batter was not harmed, and Harry immediately smiled and said, "Bubble bath time!"

If you told me that this would be my day today, I would have laughed. Or possibly cried.

And what did you do today that could never have predicted this morning?

Today Isn't a Full Moon? Seriously?

It has just been one of those days, Dear Reader, and it's only 1:15. Begin the day at 6:15, which is later than usual, but quickly move on to a 15-minute wait on the phone to speak to the pediatrician's office, a near-miss as an idiot in the opposing left-turn lane greatly underestimated how long it would take him to turn in front of me, a screaming toddler in the pediatrician's office, a nurse practitioner we've never seen before scolding me for not giving Harry nasal saline twice daily, two lanes open at the grocery store, the pharmacy tech giving me the stink eye because I didn't check to make sure Harry's prescriptions were indeed faxed to them (Why does the pediatrician fax scripts? So I don't have to go to the pharmacy twice!), forgetting a bag of groceries at the check-out (Thank you, Check-Out Girl, for chasing me to the coin-operated horse), a 15-minute wait at the pharmacy drive-through, a $50 prescription that I may have to buy monthly for Harry's allergies, an exploding yogurt, and Harry vomiting on the kitchen rug.

The bright side: At least he had the decency to throw up on a rug this time instead of the carpet.

Hallmark, Take Note

I need a card that says "Sorry my little boy puked on your stuff." I guess I could always make my own, but I could have used two in the last four days - three if you think I could send one to myself.

We thought we had Harry's "allergies" under control with an evening dose of children's generic Zyrtec, but a trip out of town this weekend knocked us on our butts. Harry's nose is a faucet, he has little red racoon eyes, and he's coughing all night long. This coughing, which is due to postnasal drainage, invariably leads to puking. The allergies haven't been officially diagnosed and we've had no testing done. The advice to try medication came from the charge nurse at the pediatrician's office, and all will be reviewed at Harry's upcoming physical.

He spit up just a little bit on Saturday night at my grandmother's house, but at least I'd had the foresight to pack Harry's own pillow. The tiniest bit may have gotten on the sheets, but since he peed out his diaper, we were washing those sheets anyway.

Harry threw up twice last night, sometime around 11:30 and again around 4, which means I did two loads of laundry before the sun was even up this morning. Productive, no? Being dead tired, I dropped Harry off at my parents' house today so I could work, runs errands, and put Harry's bed back together. And, of course, Harry threw up all over my mom's bedspread after his nap and then again after his milk this afternoon.

So, as you can see, I really need some of those cards. . .

How In the World Can It Possibly Be May Already?

I won't complain that time is flying, because May means that it can't possibly snow again, and there is only one week left of class, and my anniversary is literally right around the corner, and I will soon be the mother of a 2-year-old. And it's been so long since I posted a picture that you might have forgotten what Harry looks like:



The best $10 we've spent recently was this igloo tent fron IKEA. The best $40 we've spent recently was on new pillows, and since Harry has finally/again/thank heavens slept through the night recently, we're really enjoying them.

This sleep thing has been almost a full-time job lately. After cleaning up vomit in the middle of the night six times in two weeks, I was finally told to try him on children's Benadryl, and when that only helped a little bit with the nighttime coughing and postnasal drainage and subsequent puking, we were switched to children's Zyrtec. Miracle of miracles, Harry slept from 8:45 until 6 on Thursday night, and he only woke up once last night, and briefly, when he rolled off of his mattress and onto the floor. (Don't worry - it's a six-inch drop.)

If Kevin wasn't sick, I could say we're all feeling 100% better now that we've had a few good nights' sleep. Maybe I'll be able to say that in the next post. . .

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie, or Why You Shouldn't Wake a Toddler

In all the excitement of his first haircut and Grandma coming over to play, Harry was (possibly) too excited to take a nap. He usually sleeps after lunch, napping for an hour or two, but yesterday that was a no-go. I gave it two attempts and my mom made an effort too, but alas, no nap.

Harry did finally succumb just before 5 o'clock, which sent me into a panic. Falling asleep that late could not bode well for a normal bedtime. I put dinner in the oven, set the table, and wrote the check for my car payment, and then woke Harry up just as Kevin was getting home from work. I picked him up, gave him a squeeze, and turned on Blue's Clues, thinking he might be so excited about the show that he wouldn't mind being woken up: BIG mistake. Harry cried, whined, screamed, cried, squirmed, cried, rinse, repeat. He wanted nothing to do with me, and Harry eventually got so worked up that he vomited.

Happily, Harry returned to his normal, happy self and we had a pretty uneventful evening. We did the normal bedtime wind-down routine, and Kevin rocked Harry until he was sleepy. Usually at this point one of us puts Harry down in his crib, he rolls around to get comfortable, and we exit stage left. This time, though, Harry immediately started crying, standing up, reaching for Kevin, etc. We let Harry cry for 10 minutes or so, hoping he'd work it out himself, which he did.

Kevin and I went to bed as usual only to be awakened by crying/screaming at 12:30. Harry had vomited again, all over his crib, which meant that I did a rush job on the bedclothes while Kevin dipped Harry in the tub. We repeated his normal bedtime routine, stories and cuddling and rocking and singing, and again Harry refused his crib. I couldn't blame the kid: I mean, he had just thrown up in said crib and I can understand not wanting to get back in. Our bed, which I'm sure was his first choice, was not an option in my opinion (or Kevin's) so we decided that Harry sleeping in his room, even if it was on the floor, was more appropriate than Harry sleeping in our room. So Kevin and I split the remainder of the night into two shifts, each of us taking our turn sleeping on the floor with Harry, who slept like, well, someone else's baby who sleeps well.

Dear Reader, I am not willing to do this sleep training thing again.