Saturday, March 26, 2011: Hospital corners

Gavin went to the hospital yesterday. He had a bad allergic reaction after eating a couple bites of a vegan hippie bar with cashews in it. He broke out in hives, his nose started to run constantly and as soon as I finished leaving a message for his doctor his eyes started to swell shut. I took him to the emergency room. Laura went with me. After some Benadryl and prednisone the swelling started to go down and the hives went away. It was super scary, but his airway never started to close or anything so that's good. We spent several hours in the hospital and got home around 1 p.m.

This picture was taken after the medicine started to work (he is no longer hysterical at this point and the swelling has started to go down). He looks cute even with a puffy face. But I don't ever want to see this puffy version of Gavin again. The only nuts he's allowed to have for the time being are the ones in his pants. The doctor wrote him a prescription for an EpiPen should this happen again.

I'll admit I was freaked out. His face went from zero to "holy shit!" in minutes. Driving to the hospital I felt complete and utter road rage. It felt like everyone was doing 10 under the speed limit. Gavin was crying hysterically in the back seat. If I had Inspector Gadget arms I would have reached through their windows and punched them in the face. When we got to the emergency room I took Gavin in and I had to go through a metal detector like I was at the airport. Gavin's screaming and puffing up like crazy and there's a guy there asking, "Do you have any metal in your pockets? A cell phone, keys, change..." It didn't take a long time, but it did take time, which is not something I felt I had any to spare at that moment. When I took Gavin up to the desk a guy in scrubs sat up and said, "Allergic reaction?" and I said, "I think so," and he said, "I'll take him back while you get set up here with the paperwork," and he whisked Gavin away. Which I hated. Which Gavin hated even more. Since he was born at this same hospital he was already in the system, but when they first asked me his name I came really close to losing it and managed to choke out his name and how to spell it. "Hold it together, Mom," the lady said. She was nice about it, though. But what freaked me out was the look on the guy's face when he stood up and asked if Gavin was having an allergic reaction. He looked kind of freaked. Which made me feel really freaked since I'm assuming this guy works in an emergency room and has probably seen some intense stuff. So I think, "Gavin's gonna die," but thankfully (spoiler alert) he doesn't.

When the guy comes to lead me back to Gavin only a couple minutes have elapsed but I can hear Gavin screaming like a mad man. He is super scared and pissed and uncomfortable and when I get to him I have to help take his clothes off. He's wearing his footie PJs with sharks on them and a striped onesie. I have a hard time getting them off since he's not cooperating. They took a rectal temperature and I don't know how much he hated that since he was already pushing his "I hate this" levels into the red. When the doctor looked at his ears and throat he said, "All done," in the saddest way possible, as if he was begging. He was, of course, not all done. The doctor asked if he'd eaten anything new and I said, "Cashews" and he said, "Ah, cashews," in a tone that I read to mean, "You are the world's worst mother ever in the history of the universe since everyone knows you don't give cashews to a child this young." Except I didn't know. I mean, he's been eating peanut butter for a year now and he's had almond butter and has never had any problems. Until now.

After his medicine kicked in he fell asleep on my chest. That part was quite wonderful, though a far too steep price to pay to have Gavin cuddle up on me. He woke up when I had to pee and tried to transfer him over to Laura. It's much easier to wrangle a sleeping baby than a wide-awake baby inside of a children's emergency ward. Just a little tip for you.

At one point a woman with a clip board came back and asked me to sign consenting to treatment. Which I did without thinking twice. After all, I'm his mom and I want him to be treated or I wouldn't have brought him to the hospital, I would have just stayed at home and prayed over his rapidly swelling face or something. A short while later the woman came back and told me that since I wasn't really his mom my signature didn't count and they were going to need verbal consent from Stacy. She was super, super nice about it. But it still sucked. She said if we had adoption papers we should keep a copy on file. When I said, "We're not allowed to do that here," meaning I'm not allowed to legally adopt my own son in Michigan since Stacy is his biological mother. "Or guardianship papers," she added. Which we also don't have. We have some papers, but they don't establish me as his legal mom. They do communicate Stacy's desire for me to act as his legal mom when I need to, though. It's a paper Stacy has to sign every 6 months so I'm not sure how keeping it on file in the hospital would work. But I should have had it with me. Needless to say, there were a lot of things I forgot that morning including the diaper bag, which I think even has a copy of this paper in it. But like I said, the woman at the hospital was really nice about it. Still, it sucked.

Did I mention I already felt terrible? Although Laura assured me that I wasn't a bad mom. As did Lisa. As did Jamie. As did Stacy. But you don't have to really stretch your imagination to wonder how shitty it feels to watch your kid's face swell up like Shrek knowing that it's all because of something you did. I mean, I suppose I could blame Gavin for accepting the little bites of LÄRABAR I gave him, but I am pretty sure those under two count as minors in most states.

I'm happy to report that his face is not swollen at all any more and he's doing really well and is almost 100% back to his happy Gavin self. I say "almost" because he had a rough nap today. He's still on the prednisone and Stacy said one of the possible side effects was trouble sleeping (she read the info from the pharmacy, I didn't). So who knows, maybe that's why. Or maybe it's just because yesterday was such a fucked up day. I know I was exhausted but still not able to sleep easily.

Gavin loves medication. I'm afraid he's kind of a child junkie. He actually requests Tylenol by name ("Ty") and after he gets a dose he always says, "Mas." Granted, the only meds he's ever had aside from shots have been sickly sweet grape (yuck), cherry (double yuck,) or bubblegum (yuck to infinity) flavors. He's never had candy and we don't feed him many super sweet things. I'd say the sweetest thing he has on a regular basis is fruit. He's had cake before but it's been a long time (his first birthday may even be the last time). So while it isn't difficult to give Gavin medicine, it is a little disconcerting how eagerly he gulps it down. Definitely going to have to hide that stuff.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011: Slumber party

I rarely get to see Gavin sleeping. Sometimes he nods off in his carseat, but watching him while he's in his crib is usually out of the question. We've tried before, tiptoeing into his room at night only to wake him up and end up with a tired and pissed off baby. But yesterday morning Gavin was still snoozing dangerously close to the time Stacy has to leave for work and she nurses him in the morning. "I'm going to have to wake him up," Stacy said to me. I was not 100% behind this plan. As I said, it's been my experience that you never wake up a sleeping baby, you just thank a god you may or may not even believe in that the baby is sleeping at all. But since he's been sick it was especially important that he nurse this morning since we've been trying to pump him full of liquids (I am happy to report that as of today he's doing much better and is back at daycare after missing a week). She Stacy opened his bedroom door and crept in. I followed. The only light was that from the hallway. He did not wake up. He kept snoozing away, on his side, legs crossed at the ankles (he was in one of those sleep sacks with feet), his head at the end of the bed (we'd propped the head of his mattress up a little bit to elevate his sick head, but he'd apparently spun around some time in the night), his arms jutting out from his body toward up, little hands curled into fists. And his little chest rising and falling with his slightly rattling inhales and exhales. It was dreamy, in the most literal and furative way. "Do you have to wake him up?" I asked Stacy. He just looked so peaceful, but she said yes and started to stroke his back and hair. He did not stir. She then gently plucked him from his crib, his eyes popped open and still he didn't cry. He was perfectly amiable about being yanked out of slumberland. He didn't even fuss when Stacy changed his diaper (which was mostly dry, hence the need to get as much liquid in him as possible). So clearly there are exceptions to the don't wake a sleeping baby rule. But I still wouldn't press my luck.

Lisa and Brenden left to go back to California on Sunday. Sad for us. I think Gavin dug having a little playmate around. At one point he wanted to get into his crib and then indicated that he also wanted Brenden in his crib. After they were zipped in (he has a crib tent to keep out the cat who actually never goes in his crib. We should have gotten a tent for the changing table, which is where the cat is almost always lounging) Gavin started to jump around like they were in a moon-bounce house. Granted, Gavin's jumping is not very advanced yet so he doesn't really leave the ground with both feet at the same time. Still, he had a good time knocking around in there until Brenden stepped on him. I would have loved to take them to Pump It Up but their open bounce didn't coincide with Gavin and Brenden together time. Alas.

We did go to Play in Rochester. The boys had lots of fun. We'd taken Gavin there once before and he really liked it then, too. This time he was even more daring and confident. He totally owned the toddler play section. Lisa and I took the boys to the big kid section and crawled around up there with them. The boys loved it but Lisa and I got very hot. I took Gavin down the big slide and we cralwed through tubes and little passage ways, Gavin right in front of me. I was scared that he'd end up tumbling down an opening or something, though he probably would have been fine. I was likely more freaked out than he was. Actually, he wasn't freaked out at all, so I definitely was. While we were there the fire alarm in the kitchen went off (they serve cafe type food there and something that was being made was burning). Gavin did not like this. It was about the same volume as a home smoke detector and since it was in a much larger area it wasn't ear splitting or anything, but he kept saying, "Loud," and was very concerned. Thankfully the alarm didn't last long. While on the toddler play area an older girl (maybe 4) was goading a younger girl (maybe a two) to say, "Poop." "Say poop," she said. The younger girl twisted her torso and face away as if in shyness. Gavin was behind them waiting to climb up the structure. He turned to me and gave me a look like, "Mom, they're in my way." "Say poop," her older companion said again. Gavin turned and looked right at me and said, "Poop," with a look on his face like, "See? I can say it. What's this little girl's problem? It's not like it's hard."

Lisa took some really good pictures at Play and I am hoping she uploads them soon and sends them to me so I can post some. I miss her and Brenden very much and really wish our boys lived closer.

Friday, March 11, 2011: Bear and Monkey

"Dirt." That's my name. When Gavin sees a photo of me or I ask him who I am, the answer is, "Dirt." It is, my best guess anyway, short for Mama D. He calls Stacy "Mom," short for Mommy, of course. Emma he calls "Em." Jota he calls "Meow." Henri, well, he doesn't refer to Henri by name, though Stacy said he has called Henri "Em" before. He has started to say his own name, too, but like Mama D becomes "Dirt," Gavin becomes "Gay." Don't tell DHS. I can't even really begin to express how much I love being called "Dirt," especially since today, for the first time, Gavin actually requested me over Stacy. He wanted help putting his socks on because they were falling off (a common occurrence. If they aren't falling off then he's usually already pulled them off. The kid just prefers to be barefoot, even in the winter. It is not something I can relate to. Thankfully I love his feet). Stacy went to help him and he said, "No. Dirt." "Do you want Mama D to help you?" Stacy asked. And he nodded. "Dirt." Aww...

Gavin's best friend Brenden has been over to play for the past two days. Brenden is Gavin's best friend because he is Lisa's son and she's my best friend, so Gavin doesn't get a lot of say in it. Brenden is six weeks older than Gavin. He and Lisa live in California, which is sad because that is very far away. Gavin's been battling a cold these past few days so he hasn't been feeling his best, but he's still having fun with Brenden. I love watching them play together, even if most of their play consists of looking at the other and thinking, "Hey, what's that? I must have whatever is in your hands in my hands immediately." Sometimes this involves tears. Sometimes this involves a nearby adult to say, "Hands are not for hitting." Talk about "sharing" is also bandied about. "Oh, Sharing," the kids say, "you suck."

Since Gavin has been a coughing, snotty mess his appetite is all off. He's not interested in food or drink. He's fasting. For Lent. Although I don't know how he even knows about Lent. We're giving him watered down apple juice, really pulling out the big guns (that's not sarcasm. We never give him anything besides water and milk to drink). It works, but only a little. Yesterday he didn't wake up in the morning until 9:30, which alarmed us all. I actually slept in that day since Stacy took the day off of work since she, too, was sick. When I got up at about 8:30 when Henri ran into the room and put his paws up on the side of the mattress, apparently the only one who was worried about me potentially being late for work (including me. I was very much unconscious). When I came out into the living room and saw Stacy on the computer and Gavin's door closed I said, "Where's Gavin?" I was so confused. But he was still snoozing. He usually is up by 6, 6:30. Stacy said she would be afraid he was dead except she'd heard him coughing. When he woke up he was so out of it and he was soaked, as Stacy put it, "From toenail to armpit" in pee. His night time diapers have served us well, but three extra hours were too much to handle. He slept for three hours at nap yesterday, too. By the time he woke up, Lisa and Brenden were already here. He was very shy and clingy at first having just woken up, but eventually he warmed to having Brenden here and was in a really good mood in spite of his coughing and snot.

Thankfully Gavin seems to be feeling much better today. In fact, he was so much better after his nap today. Brenden and Lisa came over this morning before his nap so they didn't see this miraculous recovery, but before I put him to bed I must have been wiping his nose every 10 minutes at least. After his nap I didn't have to wipe his nose for almost an hour. He's still sick, no doubt, but he's getting better all the time.

Tomorrow we have dinner with Lisa and Brenden and then they go home on Sunday, which is much too soon and quite unfair. I am hoping we can get a good picture of the boys together. I did take some cute ones of them sitting together on Lisa's lap reading a book together. Some day when I have time (around the time Gavin goes to college, I think) I will upload them. Until then, just imagine something so cute it makes you smile so hard your face gets sprained.

Saturday, Feb. 26, 2011: Nothing compares to Gavin

Gavin has eaten "dinner in a fancy restaurant," as Sinead O'Connor would sing, two nights in a row. Gavin, Stacy, and I went with my mom to Anita's Kitchen last night. Falafel was a hit with Gavin, as was the carrot smoothie. The rest, not so much. Oh, wait. He liked the pita bread, especially when he had ketchup to dip it in. He's obviously not some kind of toddler gourmet. Tonight we went to Taste of Ethiopia and he really liked the sambosas, but when it got to the main dish his enthusiasm and interest waned far faster than ours did. Actually, that isn't correct. My enthusiasm and interest did not wane, which meant I had to eat a lot faster than I'd planned to. Mental note: bring puffs or some other kind of kiddie crack to all restaurant meals to tide Gavin over until we are finished. Until we want to be finished, that is.

So that bin of maternity clothes is still sitting on the floor of our living room. Gavin tries to climb on top of it. He also likes to take the lid off and wants to take everything out -- which would be tragic because it's all perfectly packed in there and I don't want to have to refold everything and put it back. Then again, I am a master of suitcase packing, so I suppose my skills could come in handy here. But I'd like to not add one more thing to do on my ever lengthening list of things to do these days. Whether Stacy keeps it or gives it to her coworker, I don't really care. I just hope it doesn't stay in our living room forever.

I've been asked why I don't want to have another baby many times. And I never know how to answer that, exactly, because I feel a little defensive about it. You never hear someone say to a parent, "Why do you want to have another baby?" It's just kind of assumed that people will have more than one. In any case, I've been thinking about it and I've come up with a good answer to why I don't want to have another baby: Because I don't want to. I realize this sounds an awful lot like the age-old parental answer, "Because I said so." But I've actually thought a lot about it. I mean, shouldn't having a baby be something one should have a lot of enthusiasm about? I wouldn't adopt another cat or even another dog if I didn't really, really want another cat or dog, so why would I have another child if I don't really, really want another child? There are a lot of things we have to do in life that we don't get a choice about. Parenting, for the most part, isn't one of them. I watch enough Teen Mom to know that having a baby is really best left to people who plan on and want one. I'm not saying I'm going to become like Amber or something and start hitting Stacy and screaming obscenities at her in front of Gavin. Nor am I saying I am basing my decision on Teen Mom. I have friends who say they knew they wanted to have more than one child from the get-go. I have friends who speak of an all-encompassing desire to have another baby. Another babies, even. I do not share this desire. At all. I love Gavin. I love being his mom. But there is zero desire for another child. As Amanda said, I would, certainly, love Gavin's little brother or sister. I wouldn't cast them out and be all, "Nope, sorry. You weren't invited." But there isn't going to be another baby here by accident. It's not something that we are going to create by accident Teen Mom style. It would take a lot of work and planning and money. And if I wanted to do that then there wouldn't be enough work or planning or money that could stop me. That's how Gavin came into this world, after all. So it's not that I'm lazy or that I hate being a mom or that I hate kids (though I don't know about some kids, like the one who purposefully pushed Gavin's head into the playpit alligator at the mall -- picture trying to press a tight-fitting lid onto a Tupperware container, then imagine that Tupperware container is my son's head. You get the idea). It just means that I feel what I feel, and a one-kid household is perfectly fine with me. I don't have a biological clock ticking out of control here. I don't have a need to breed. I have Gavin. And Gavin has his Mama D. And to me that feels quite perfect and very complete.

Thursday, Feb. 14, 2011: Limey

Stacy packed up a bin of maternity clothes to give away to a coworker this evening. It made her sad but that she said she couldn't think of a better thing to do with them. It makes her sad to give them away not because of the tens of dollars she could probably get for them at a maternity resale store, but because she will not need them again. Because I am mean and won't let her have another baby. At least that's the way my sister Amanda sees it. We went to the gym tonight and she gave me a hard time about not giving Gavin a sibling and about not wanting to get pregnant. It's very difficult to try to defend your desire to not get knocked up while walking briskly on a treadmill. But the fact remains that I have no desire for another baby. I love, love, love Gavin and am perfectly happy with him, thank you. Yes, I feel bad that he won't have a sibling. But that doesn't make me change my mind about having another kid. People keep telling me I might change my mind. And that's true. I might. But it's a very, very distant might right now.

"Ow. Eye." That's what Gavin said in between bouts of scream-crying when Stacy squirt him in the eye with lime juice at dinner. I was not home so I didn't witness this. She had made him some banana avocado smash and decided to put a splash of lime juice in it to help it keep longer or some Hints from Heloise kind of thing. She presented the lime juice container, one of those plastic lime replicas with the yellow cap, to Gavin so he could smell it. And while she held it under his nose she squeezed it ever so slightly to let some of the scent out, only she squeezed too hard and a spurt of juice went directly into Gavin's eyeball. Oh how he screamed, she said. Stacy took his cup of water and poured that into his eye, which he also didn't like, and then she just let him cry it out since the tears were helping to wash it away. He is now afraid of the lime juice container. Hopefully he is not blind when he wakes up tomorrow.

So many new words. It's hard to keep track any more. "No" is still one of his favorites. The other day Stacy asked him if "no" was his favorite word and he said, "No." He's using words to tell stories now, even if it's only one or two words. Like if you ask him if he had fun at Kids' Klub at the gym, he'll say, "Ball," because he played with a ball there. If you ask him where Aunt Laura is he'll say, "Down" because her bedroom is in the basement. He's also started "calling" Laura. He'll stand at the gate at the top of the stairs and he'll imitate my call to her, which is kind of high pitched and sing song. He doesn't have the consonants down, but he makes the sound quite well. It is pretty adorable.

Dude busted his lip open the other day playing in a laundry basket with Stacy (she was not in the basket, he was). He looked like he'd been sucking on a purple marker. It had just started to heal a little when he tripped into a chair at daycare and split it open again. Shelly wrote on his daycare report something along the line of, "These aren't good days for his lippers."

Speaking of Shelly, she's leaving the infant room at daycare. She'll be right next door in the toddler room, but this still makes me said. Gavin and Shelly get along really well together. But he'll still see her frequently and then next year when he's in the toddler room he'll get to have her again. So it shouldn't be too much of a shake-up for Gavin, but I am sure he will notice. Okay, I'm not sure he'll notice, but I think he will.

I'm on Winter break right now (otherwise known as Spring Break, but that's delusional. It is so clearly not Spring). Much needed. As is sleep. Which I must do now. Because Gavin will be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow as usual. I didn't get to see him before he went to bed tonight so I am looking forward to seeing him. Hopefully he's in a good mood tomorrow morning. That's the best. When he's happy it's damn near impossible to be unhappy.

Speaking of happy vs. unhappy, Gavin went to my Grandma Helen's funeral. He was really very good all things considered. And having him there helped me a lot. He was a handful, to be sure, but he was also a good distraction. I think babies at funerals are a good thing. Maybe we should start renting him out.

Saturday, Feb. 19, 2011: Peace out, Grandma Helen

My Grandma Helen passed away today. Although she was not in great health, it was unexpected.

I've got this great photo of her and Gavin from Christmas 2009. They both look a little smug.

He went to visit her for Christmas 2010, too, but no photos were taken. This is due, in large part, to the fact that I had a ragin' cold at the time and did not make the trip. Stacy and Gavin went, though. Alas, on many levels.

I'm really glad that Grandma got to meet Gavin and that she didn't freak out about the fact that he has two mommies. Not all grandparents are capable of that, it seems. Then again, both of Stacy's grandmas, Ina in her 90s and Mary at 100, love Gavin, too. Sadly my Grandma Bea passed away before Gavin was born, though I have no doubt she would have loved him, too.

One day I'll show this photo to Gavin and tell him some Grandma Helen stories. She was, to say the least, a character. Very funny and very sweet and one of the most generous people I've known.

Gavin will be 19 months old tomorrow, by the way. So, you know, celebrate or something by doing something nice for your grandma.

Thursday, Feb. 17, 2011: Hulkster

One week ago Gavin said his first sentence: "All done." He's a talking machine now. There's no stopping him. He's starting to repeat stuff when prompted and he'll even surprise me with things I had no idea he knew (like "thanks").

Two days ago he said "no" for the first time. It is now one of his favorite words. Well, when he says it, anyway. He does not like it when we say it. He's a pretty contrary little dude these days. He's livin' large, toddler style, all fits and fury. He's got the toddler rage thing down, that's for sure. Shelly told me on Tuesday when I went to pick him up at daycare, "He's getting a little temper." It's true. He crumples his face up and folds his arms if he doesn't get what he wants. Sometimes he lashes out. More than once he's turned around and hit Emma in the face. Or he'll grab a handful of Jota's fur and yank. I don't even know where this comes from because it's not like he sees Stacy and I do this (we only hit Emma in the face in private). At daycare last week he got pissed off because, as Shelly told Stacy, he was playing with a toy in a way that was unsafe, and when Shelly told him he couldn't do that he stopped for a second but started right up again. When she called him out for the second time he threw the toy and hit another kid.

So, basically, my son is a burgeoning sociopath.

Just kidding. I hope. As my mom said, all toddlers are sociopaths. But it's hard when he freaks out. Because there's no logic involved. I can't reason with him. And I can't yell at him either. Mind you, I don't want to yell at him. But when he's, say, thrashing like a maniac on the changing table while I'm trying to wrestle him out of a poo-filled diaper and into some fresh clothes for daycare so he can get out of the house on time and not make Stacy late for work, it's like, "Dude, your reaction is really out of proportion with what's happening right now. And also you're about to get poo everywhere. And I am hardly awake right now." That was this morning. Good times.

Granted, his little angry-face is adorable. The way he wrinkles his nose and narrows his eyes and purses his lips. And then there's this little thing he does where it's kind of like he's wringing his hands. Seriously very cute. But also, well, bratty.

My M.O. remains the same whenever he's having a freak out: remain calm. Be "chill" as my students would say. So far the, "Gavin I'm going to sit here on the floor and read books while I wait for you to calm down" thing has worked beautifully several times. Granted that's not something I could do if he toddler-raged in a store or something, but so far so good in that department. I know it's only a matter of time.

He really wants to dress himself these days and, I have to say, he is just not very good at it. We've had some magical moments where he'll get a foot through a pant leg, but most of the time he ends up with both legs in one if he even gets that far. It's adorable, let's be clear, but it can be a problem when I'm in any kind of hurry. Mr. I Can Do It Myself has no respect for anyone's schedule besides his own.

Grunting is a new parlor trick. He likes to try to pick up heavy things -- or at least things that are heavy for him, like a gallon of milk -- and he totally grunts Hulk-style in a very exaggerated way. Stacy said that today he was trying to shovel snow using the grown-up sized snow shovel and he'd push it and grunt and then look at her to tell him how strong he was. He's a little brute. And cute to boot.