Patience, and more patience....(Deep breaths; trying not to hyperventilate.)
Oooooommmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Oooooommmmmmmmmmmmmmm
That's all today. Sorry, no pictures. You really wouldn't want to see where my lense was aimed, anyway.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Friday, January 13, 2006
Thursday, January 12, 2006
A Picture and a Thousand Words
This photo is quite revealing about Life with Andrew* these days.
First, note the smile. He is feeling MUCH better today! We've all had a full night's sleep, which is cause for celebration.
With closer inspection, I invite you to notice a few more things. Check out those nasal passages. No more flowing tubes of flourescent yellow mucous! (OK, so he's still a little snotty, but that's to be expected for a few more days.)
Check out his bottom teeth. A little blueish tint to them, you say? They may in fact be rotting, since he won't allow us to brush them, but that's not why they're discolored. No, the little man had a blue crayon for breakfast! And see if you can spot the lone molar that broke through his gums a few days ago--yahoo! (Three more molars are on their way...)
Grandma Carol, he LOVES the cloth books he can carry on his wrists around the house.
And finally....Andrew is wearing the latest in Haven't Left the House Today toddler fashion: the onesie he slept in, unsnapped (because exposing ones underwear is the trendy thing to do), and a pair of sweats, so he won't freeze, cuz it's a chilly 60 degrees in the house.
*I've taken a liking to "Andrew". Is it because he's growing so quickly, and Andrew seems more appropriate than Andy for a man of his stature?
More photos--thanks for looking:
First, note the smile. He is feeling MUCH better today! We've all had a full night's sleep, which is cause for celebration.
With closer inspection, I invite you to notice a few more things. Check out those nasal passages. No more flowing tubes of flourescent yellow mucous! (OK, so he's still a little snotty, but that's to be expected for a few more days.)
Check out his bottom teeth. A little blueish tint to them, you say? They may in fact be rotting, since he won't allow us to brush them, but that's not why they're discolored. No, the little man had a blue crayon for breakfast! And see if you can spot the lone molar that broke through his gums a few days ago--yahoo! (Three more molars are on their way...)
Grandma Carol, he LOVES the cloth books he can carry on his wrists around the house.
And finally....Andrew is wearing the latest in Haven't Left the House Today toddler fashion: the onesie he slept in, unsnapped (because exposing ones underwear is the trendy thing to do), and a pair of sweats, so he won't freeze, cuz it's a chilly 60 degrees in the house.
*I've taken a liking to "Andrew". Is it because he's growing so quickly, and Andrew seems more appropriate than Andy for a man of his stature?
More photos--thanks for looking:
Friday, January 06, 2006
After the Storm
Felton, like other parts of the Santa Cruz mountains, was heavy hit by last week's storms. Fallen trees and branches, power outages, floods and slides are common here in the winter time. Luckily, so are the sunny 60 degree days, like today, that warm us and restore our spirits. We were fortunate not to suffer any storm damage, and neither did my parents.
Now that Andy is on the mend, we've been out enjoying the sunshine. Uncle Karl and Lucy came by this morning, and played with Andy in the backyard. Uncle Karl is fabulous at letting Andy get down and dirty in the mud, investigating the tanbark, twigs and earthworms. If Andy happens to get a little wet while splashing in the firepit full of rain water? Karl simply removes his shirt and lets him splash some more. All this I'm keeping appraised of from the window like a Nervous Nelly. Hmmm... maybe he's too cold out there without a shirt on, and he's sick after all. Oh, good, now he's in the sun. But wait: sun exposure! Skin damage! Cancer!
Lucky for Andy, he has an uncle who doesn't worry about those things.
Signing "more" chocolate chip cookies, Daddy!
Now that Andy is on the mend, we've been out enjoying the sunshine. Uncle Karl and Lucy came by this morning, and played with Andy in the backyard. Uncle Karl is fabulous at letting Andy get down and dirty in the mud, investigating the tanbark, twigs and earthworms. If Andy happens to get a little wet while splashing in the firepit full of rain water? Karl simply removes his shirt and lets him splash some more. All this I'm keeping appraised of from the window like a Nervous Nelly. Hmmm... maybe he's too cold out there without a shirt on, and he's sick after all. Oh, good, now he's in the sun. But wait: sun exposure! Skin damage! Cancer!
Lucky for Andy, he has an uncle who doesn't worry about those things.
Signing "more" chocolate chip cookies, Daddy!
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
In Sickness and in Health
I feel a little guilty when I use this blog to rant about the trials of parenthood, but there are times when a woman just has to vent! This is one of those times.
Andy's newest accomplishment is not one I'm particularly proud of. He has figured out how to seal off the back of his throat, gargle, and purse his lips in order to spew medicine across the living room. The fact that he can coordinate this effort without breathing is, in fact, remarkable. At the same time, he is wildly flailing his arms and legs, thrusting his head from side to side, and turning different shades of purple. At just one year old, he requires a small army to be administered antibiotics.
We took Andy to the pediatrican again yesterday. It was almost 5:00, and we didn't get the usual peppy greetings from the office staff. Probably because, from the moment he entered the building, he began shreaking continuously.
The doctor, surprisingly, was her usual cheerful self. "My goodness, he does seem to be a bit angry, doesn't he?" (Mike and I looked at each other, thinking that was the understatement of the year.)
"Would you like to give him some Tylenol with Codeine?" she asked. The clouds parted overhead, and halleluiahs were sung by a chorus of angels from on high.
"Yes, please," one of us finally answered. Tylenol with Codeine sounded much better than sedative or tranquelizer, some of the words I had been thinking of during our long, unhappy drive to the Capitola office.
The trick was getting the magic elixer down the throat of our spirited boy. Mike and I tried giving him a dose in the waiting room. (See second paragraph to see how well that went.)
Our pediatrican came in to help upon hearing Mike's cussing. "Try giving him a little bit on each side of his mouth," she suggested.
"Oh, you are a tricky one!" she remarked when Andy spit out half of the dose she gave him. Mike and I felt a glimmer of satisfaction that the professional had little more success administering medicine than we had. How the doctor could remain so cheerful after a full day with screaming babies and their frustrated parents, however, was beyond me.
Andy slept well last night, whether it was because of the Codeine or the new strain of antibiotics. The night before was too hideous to relive in writing. Let me just mention it involved Baby Einstien at midnight, and the Teletubbies at 3 am.
Many of my ideals have gone by the wayside during this illness. I am now that parent who has cookie crumbs between the couch cushions. This is payback for all the times when I'd babysit as a carefree teenager, and be mortified--absolutely aghast--to find a half-eaten moldy hotdog and bun by the couch in the living room. Or a melted icecream cone on a different three year old's pillow. Payback for casting judgement on the moral characters of the mothers (never the fathers) for their serious lapses in cleanliness and common sense.
Now I understand the pitfalls of living with a toddler travelling the house with food. And I'm just too tired to care. Very soon, I won't even notice anymore.
Andy's newest accomplishment is not one I'm particularly proud of. He has figured out how to seal off the back of his throat, gargle, and purse his lips in order to spew medicine across the living room. The fact that he can coordinate this effort without breathing is, in fact, remarkable. At the same time, he is wildly flailing his arms and legs, thrusting his head from side to side, and turning different shades of purple. At just one year old, he requires a small army to be administered antibiotics.
We took Andy to the pediatrican again yesterday. It was almost 5:00, and we didn't get the usual peppy greetings from the office staff. Probably because, from the moment he entered the building, he began shreaking continuously.
The doctor, surprisingly, was her usual cheerful self. "My goodness, he does seem to be a bit angry, doesn't he?" (Mike and I looked at each other, thinking that was the understatement of the year.)
"Would you like to give him some Tylenol with Codeine?" she asked. The clouds parted overhead, and halleluiahs were sung by a chorus of angels from on high.
"Yes, please," one of us finally answered. Tylenol with Codeine sounded much better than sedative or tranquelizer, some of the words I had been thinking of during our long, unhappy drive to the Capitola office.
The trick was getting the magic elixer down the throat of our spirited boy. Mike and I tried giving him a dose in the waiting room. (See second paragraph to see how well that went.)
Our pediatrican came in to help upon hearing Mike's cussing. "Try giving him a little bit on each side of his mouth," she suggested.
"Oh, you are a tricky one!" she remarked when Andy spit out half of the dose she gave him. Mike and I felt a glimmer of satisfaction that the professional had little more success administering medicine than we had. How the doctor could remain so cheerful after a full day with screaming babies and their frustrated parents, however, was beyond me.
Andy slept well last night, whether it was because of the Codeine or the new strain of antibiotics. The night before was too hideous to relive in writing. Let me just mention it involved Baby Einstien at midnight, and the Teletubbies at 3 am.
Many of my ideals have gone by the wayside during this illness. I am now that parent who has cookie crumbs between the couch cushions. This is payback for all the times when I'd babysit as a carefree teenager, and be mortified--absolutely aghast--to find a half-eaten moldy hotdog and bun by the couch in the living room. Or a melted icecream cone on a different three year old's pillow. Payback for casting judgement on the moral characters of the mothers (never the fathers) for their serious lapses in cleanliness and common sense.
Now I understand the pitfalls of living with a toddler travelling the house with food. And I'm just too tired to care. Very soon, I won't even notice anymore.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)