Emmy's going through a phase where she likes to take off her pants and then her diaper.
The other night, she spilled water on her pants, so of course, she had to take them off. Then after dinner, off comes the diaper because "it's wet, mama."
It was almost bath time, so I suggested to her that she needed pants, but didn't pursue it further. I did ask her not to pee pee on the carpet.
A few minutes later, I smelled a familiar odor. "Tom, is that you?" I asked. He shook his head. I checked Emmy, and she was clean, so I shrugged and ignored it.
Then, a few more minutes later, Emmy gets a horrified look on her face. "Oh, oh, oh!" she cries. I look down, and my baby is pooping on the carpet. She's struggling to look over her shoulder and see what's happening.
"Honey," I say. "Don't just stand there. Go sit on your potty!"
So, she runs over to her potty and plops down.
Shaking my head, I walk over to get a paper towel to pick up the poops. As I walk back into the living room, I see my daughter stand up, pick up the bowl of her potty and dump the pee out on the wood floor.
At least she got it in the potty in the first place. Right?
So, Tom and I are trying desperately not to laugh uproariously-- and failing miserably. We pick her up and cart her upstairs for bath time.
We also want to encourage the potty use, so after she's in the bath, I ask if she remembers what happens when she pee pees in the potty. She looks up at me and says, "I get m&m's, mommy."
She got her m&ms, even though it wasn't a perfect potty experience.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Brief Emmy Updates (It ended up not being very brief)
Emmy is so adorable right now! Every single day, I think to myself, she can't possibly top this level of cute. But then she does.
And then she throws a fit and sobs for 20 minutes. Because we can't watch another episode of Mickey's Clubhouse. So it balances out.
Emmy is very excited about our plans to buy our Christmas tree and decorate this weekend. Last night I told her we would be decorating, and Emmy said, "What we going to dec-or-ate, mama?" I suppose she'd never heard the word decorate before, so she spoke very slowly and deliberately to get it out correctly. I was so amused, I couldn't even answer her because I was grinning and trying to contain my laughter.
I told her we would get a Christmas tree and she said, "With lights?"
We tried to go see Santa two weeks ago. It was an unmitigated disaster. She refused to sit on Santa's lap, and when we finally decided to just have her stand beside him, the store made the decision to dump the photos before I could decide if any of them were usable. I complained to the store manager, who essentially told me that it wasn't feasible to allow parents to review all the photos and pick the best one. So, instead the 17 year old who is running the camera "decides" which is the best/most saleable photo. Which means that the photo they chose for us was the first of 5 shots. Rage doesn't even begin to describe my feelings. I was so mad, I was shaking. I was shaking so hard I wasn't sure I could say, "I'd like to speak to a manager," clearly.
Sigh. We won't be going back to that store. Even if they do have the best looking Santa.
I decided that we won't be going to see Santa again until either a) Emmy actually wants to go see him or b) one of the grandmas decides to take the task on herself. It's just not worth the hassle and rage. Emmy doesn't get anything out of it, because she's just scared of this weird man in red. And Tom and I just get to exercise our anger management. A skill that neither of us is particularly good at when shopping malls are involved. My rage meter tends to max out MUCH more quickly in a mall than in any other location. Except the DMV. And my polling place. Oh, nevermind, my rage meter maxes out a lot.
Emmy has also gotten interested in cooking and baking. She loves to help cook. She's made cookies with both grandmas, and she helps me make dinner fairly often. We also made a "pumpkin pie" for Thanksgiving. She likes to stir, pour things into the mixing bowl, and she loves to crack the eggs. Her egg cracking is a little, ahem, inelegant at the moment, but she'll improve.
I also want to mention her vocabulary and speaking. It seems to have happened overnight, but my little girl is now speaking in full complex sentences. It's an amazing transformation. She uses the word because. Correctly. Most of her sentences have a comma in them. There are still times when I have no idea what she's talking about, but for the most part, her communication has just taken off and she talks non-stop. I don't even think I could count all the words in her vocabulary at this point.
For Christmas, she's asking Santa for a jack in the box, a dollhouse, and (according to the letter she "wrote" at school) for "Grandma to see Santa."
And then she throws a fit and sobs for 20 minutes. Because we can't watch another episode of Mickey's Clubhouse. So it balances out.
Emmy is very excited about our plans to buy our Christmas tree and decorate this weekend. Last night I told her we would be decorating, and Emmy said, "What we going to dec-or-ate, mama?" I suppose she'd never heard the word decorate before, so she spoke very slowly and deliberately to get it out correctly. I was so amused, I couldn't even answer her because I was grinning and trying to contain my laughter.
I told her we would get a Christmas tree and she said, "With lights?"
We tried to go see Santa two weeks ago. It was an unmitigated disaster. She refused to sit on Santa's lap, and when we finally decided to just have her stand beside him, the store made the decision to dump the photos before I could decide if any of them were usable. I complained to the store manager, who essentially told me that it wasn't feasible to allow parents to review all the photos and pick the best one. So, instead the 17 year old who is running the camera "decides" which is the best/most saleable photo. Which means that the photo they chose for us was the first of 5 shots. Rage doesn't even begin to describe my feelings. I was so mad, I was shaking. I was shaking so hard I wasn't sure I could say, "I'd like to speak to a manager," clearly.
Sigh. We won't be going back to that store. Even if they do have the best looking Santa.
I decided that we won't be going to see Santa again until either a) Emmy actually wants to go see him or b) one of the grandmas decides to take the task on herself. It's just not worth the hassle and rage. Emmy doesn't get anything out of it, because she's just scared of this weird man in red. And Tom and I just get to exercise our anger management. A skill that neither of us is particularly good at when shopping malls are involved. My rage meter tends to max out MUCH more quickly in a mall than in any other location. Except the DMV. And my polling place. Oh, nevermind, my rage meter maxes out a lot.
Emmy has also gotten interested in cooking and baking. She loves to help cook. She's made cookies with both grandmas, and she helps me make dinner fairly often. We also made a "pumpkin pie" for Thanksgiving. She likes to stir, pour things into the mixing bowl, and she loves to crack the eggs. Her egg cracking is a little, ahem, inelegant at the moment, but she'll improve.
I also want to mention her vocabulary and speaking. It seems to have happened overnight, but my little girl is now speaking in full complex sentences. It's an amazing transformation. She uses the word because. Correctly. Most of her sentences have a comma in them. There are still times when I have no idea what she's talking about, but for the most part, her communication has just taken off and she talks non-stop. I don't even think I could count all the words in her vocabulary at this point.
For Christmas, she's asking Santa for a jack in the box, a dollhouse, and (according to the letter she "wrote" at school) for "Grandma to see Santa."
Monday, September 17, 2012
The Beach
We took Emmy to the beach in the middle of August and she had a wonderful time. This was the second time we've taken her to the beach, and this was a much more successful trip.
The last time we went to the beach, as I think I mentioned in the post about the xray, Emmy sometimes seems to be afraid of elevators and the ocean (enclosed spaces and infinite spaces, I suppose), so we were nervous about how she would react to the ocean. And, at first, she was apprehensive.
As soon as we arrived and unloaded the perishable groceries, we headed straight down to the water. She saw the ocean and started whining, clinging to my legs. But after about 5 minutes, she got her feet wet, and realized it was just like the bath and the swimming pool. After that, she had no problem with the ocean. And it only took about an hour for her to feel comfortable enough to let go of Daddy.
She wore her swim vest, a speedo vest designed for swimming (but not boating! warns the label). And though she was happy to play with Daddy, she was also determined to swim by herself. "Leave me 'lone, mama!" quickly became her most frequent ocean phrase. She also adored "flying" with Daddy, where Tom threw her up in the air, letting her splash in the water. She liked bobbing up and down in the waves (which hopefully means she won't suffer from my inner ear problems, because that motion makes me seasick).
She got ice pops almost every day. And a lot of mac and cheese. And everyday, the only way to convince her to go back to the condo, or to go to bed, was the promise that in the morning we would go back to the beach. First thing every morning (after the requisite cartoon watching and breakfast) her first question would be, "We go beach now?"
And she would submit to putting on sunscreen and getting her hair put in a ponytail, all the while asking, "We go beach now?"
She loved hanging out with Grandma (Susan). She loved putting on her princess swimsuit. She loved snoozing on the lounger, on the couch, on the sand. "I take a snooze. (Like Daddy)." I have a great picture of the two snoozing together after a particularly long day at the beach. Tom got stuck with the short couch.
This picture is my favorite from the beach, just for the way it accurately depicts Emmy's sheer joy at the beach. It's a little washed out, and I caught her at the edge of the frame, instead of the center. You can see my shadow, and there's a kid up there photobombing. I can fix all those things, but I don't know that I will. I love everything about this picture. Emmy was having too good of a time for anything but pulling out my iphone and snapping this shot. I got lots of garbage shots too, I just kept hitting the shutter hoping that one would turn out. And this one did.
Tom and I bought an intervalometer before the trip, so we played around with that some. I set it up on our balcony to take time lapse shots of the beachfront. Tom edited them into a video, which you can watch here: Time Lapse Video of Beach.
The last time we went to the beach, as I think I mentioned in the post about the xray, Emmy sometimes seems to be afraid of elevators and the ocean (enclosed spaces and infinite spaces, I suppose), so we were nervous about how she would react to the ocean. And, at first, she was apprehensive.
As soon as we arrived and unloaded the perishable groceries, we headed straight down to the water. She saw the ocean and started whining, clinging to my legs. But after about 5 minutes, she got her feet wet, and realized it was just like the bath and the swimming pool. After that, she had no problem with the ocean. And it only took about an hour for her to feel comfortable enough to let go of Daddy.
She wore her swim vest, a speedo vest designed for swimming (but not boating! warns the label). And though she was happy to play with Daddy, she was also determined to swim by herself. "Leave me 'lone, mama!" quickly became her most frequent ocean phrase. She also adored "flying" with Daddy, where Tom threw her up in the air, letting her splash in the water. She liked bobbing up and down in the waves (which hopefully means she won't suffer from my inner ear problems, because that motion makes me seasick).
She got ice pops almost every day. And a lot of mac and cheese. And everyday, the only way to convince her to go back to the condo, or to go to bed, was the promise that in the morning we would go back to the beach. First thing every morning (after the requisite cartoon watching and breakfast) her first question would be, "We go beach now?"
And she would submit to putting on sunscreen and getting her hair put in a ponytail, all the while asking, "We go beach now?"
She loved hanging out with Grandma (Susan). She loved putting on her princess swimsuit. She loved snoozing on the lounger, on the couch, on the sand. "I take a snooze. (Like Daddy)." I have a great picture of the two snoozing together after a particularly long day at the beach. Tom got stuck with the short couch.
 |
| Emmy Loves the Beach! |
Tom and I bought an intervalometer before the trip, so we played around with that some. I set it up on our balcony to take time lapse shots of the beachfront. Tom edited them into a video, which you can watch here: Time Lapse Video of Beach.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Emmy's First ER trip (or Emmy and the Croup)
This weekend was frustrating. Exhausting. But it was also indicative of many of the things that I think Tom and I are doing right in our parenting. Or maybe it's indicative of how lucky we are to have the support that we do. Regardless, I am very tired, and I can't guarantee that any of this will make any sense. Or be coherent. That sentence and sentence fragment mean the same thing, Pamela. Yes, I know.
(I also clearly can't guarantee that I'll refrain from conversing with myself within the post.)
On Thursday night, Tom and I went out for my birthday dinner. Patricia came over to babysit, and took Emmy for a walk up the hill behind the house. Somewhere in the tall grass, they encountered some nettles (or so we assume). Emmy got some welts on her legs, but Patricia dealt with it admirably, washing her off and applying some cortisone for the itching.
Friday, when she got home from school, Emmy was hoarse, but she seemed fine, no fever, and Grandma Susan was in town for my birthday, so Tom and I went out to a movie. (The Dark Knight Rises was fantastic, by the way). Later that night, Emmy woke us up (I think) and her breathing sounded a little rough. We gave her some medication for congestion and set up the humidifier. After getting her back in the bed, I started looking up her symptoms (breathing difficulty, dry cough, hives) on the ol' iPad. I decided that her hoarseness, cough and the hives on her legs meant she was having a delayed allergic reaction to the nettles. Mayoclinic agreed with my assessment. I told Tom my hypothesis, and he was... dismissive. To put it mildly. He believed she was experiencing drainage from a summer cold.
When we got up around 8:30-ish, Emmy was still having some problems. Convinced that it was an allergic reaction, I gave her benadryl and put some caladryl on her hives. We went about the business of the day, which involved some shopping and prep for my birthday dinner (with my parents, Susan, Patricia and JP).
In hindsight, we should have taken advantage of our pediatrician's Saturday hours and taken her in. But, again, she didn't seem that bad, and I was convinced it would get better.
Everyone came over around 4:30, and besides her lack of voice, Emmy was in a good mood, and we had a nice time. Emmy was allowed to stay up a little late, but we got her into bed around 8:30 or 9:00. Then Tom, Patricia, JP and I headed out to watch Batman again. (It was really good, you guys.)
About halfway through the almost three hour movie, I got a text message from Susan. She asked me where Emmy's medications were and what she could give her for a fever. Her temperature was 101.8. I told Susan where the meds were and the proper dosages, and I decided that I didn't need to ask everyone to leave because I trusted Susan to take care of Emmy.
When the movie was over, we all headed home. I called Susan to see how Emmy was doing. She told me that Emmy was awake, and very uncomfortable. We got home and Emmy was clearly breathing hard. I decided it was time to call the after hours nurse at the pediatrician. I called the office and had to wait through the nearly five minute messages before getting routed to the answering service. I left my number and waited for the nurse to call. After describing what Emmy sounded like to the nurse, she said it sounded like stridor, and I needed to have Emmy sit in the bathroom while the shower steamed the room up for thirty minutes. Emmy and I watched the care bears movie while the room filled up with steam.
After that, she sounded much better, so I put her back in bed and called the answering service again and told the nurse that she sounded better. It was now somewhere between 2 and 2:30 am, and I was exhausted. I hadn't slept well Friday because Emmy had woken us up in the wee hours, and I hadn't yet been able to sleep on Saturday (in large part because we had gone to the movie, yes, but did I mention how good it was?) So, the nurse told me to monitor her breathing and if she experienced the stridor again, to repeat the steam treatment.
I made the decision that a) she wouldn't sleep if I was lying on the floor by her bed and b) I would be useless on Sunday if I didn't at least get some sleep, so I went to bed.
On Sunday, she sounded okay, but was still breathing hard. So, I called the answering service again and talked to my second on-call nurse. I tried to describe Emmy's breathing, but apparently, the sound I was making was "gasping" even though I thought it sounded like wheezing and that phone call was pretty much useless. This nurse suggested another steam treatment and then I could call back.
So, I took her into the bathroom (but I used the larger bathroom, and I don't think the steam was able to accumulate as well), and it didn't help. I didn't think the situation was urgent enough for the emergency room, because Emmy was able to talk in full sentences (despite the hoarseness, which just meant you couldn't hear her very well) and not blue, or pale, or anything else that would indicate that she wasn't getting enough oxygen. Her breathing was just loud and rapid. By now, obviously, I had heard the seal bark cough and looked up croup along with a helpful youtube video, and was fairly convinced that she had croup. But nothing I read, and neither of the nurses had given me any indication that her situation was emergent or dangerous. Everything and everyone just said to watch her, which we were definitely doing.
Since her pediatrician wasn't open and the Vanderbilt clinic didn't have any hours, Tom suggested a minute clinic, and I thought that was a wonderful idea, because then, at least, I could have a real nurse listen to her breathing and tell us how serious it was. We took her to a CVS minute clinic, and by the time we got there, she was sounding pretty rough. Her breathing was very loud and she was coughing occasionally (that harsh seal bark).
The minute clinic nurse listened to her chest, asked a few questions and stuck a pulse oxygen meter on her finger. I watched the digital readout and asked (what I thought was a perfectly reasonable question), "Is that acceptable?" (Meaning, is that an acceptable pulse-ox reading).
The nurse just stared at me. (And this is a thing you definitely want to do with concerned parents who are just trying to make the right treatment decision and not clog up the ER unless they have to-- *sarcasm*)
Then she told us she was going to close out the record and send us to the ER. Or we could go to a clinic depending on what our insurance would cover, but I had pretty much stopped listening. Since I had no idea where a clinic (urgent care, I guess) was, but I knew exactly how to get to the ER (which is on the campus where I WORK) we decided to go to the ER.
So, after an interminable amount of time where the nurse was closing out the stupid record that I didn't care about, we loaded Emmy up in her seat and drove across town to the ER. Did I mention that the interstate is closed every weekend this summer and I had to take a non-interstate route to avoid the traffic as people unfamiliar with the detour try to figure out the route? No? Well, there was that to deal with too.
By the time we got to the hospital, Emmy's latest bout of stridor had stopped. When we checked in, she sounded pretty normal, but the nurse was able to hear it with the stethoscope, so we got checked in and assigned a room.
The doctor (who legitimately looked younger than both Tom and myself), listened to her, and then Emmy experienced a well-timed cough and he said, "Yup, it's definitely croup. We'll give her a dose of steroids and she should be fine."
And about an hour later, we were able to go home. I would like to mention one additional thing. The doctor asked if her immunizations were up to date, and I proudly told him that, yes, they were indeed up to date. And he told us that if they weren't, they would have had to admit her because one of the underlying infections that causes croup is bacterial (covered by immunizations) and they would have to monitor to determine which infection was the cause and if it was the bacteria, treat it with antibiotics.
This morning, Emmy is much better. She had two bowls of cereal, and her hoarseness is mostly gone. Susan is staying with her today, and I will stay home with her tomorrow and until she can go back to daycare.
One other note. I have been very careful not to refer to Emmy's hoarseness as laryngitis. This is because the first nurse informed me (as I had been describing her loss of voice as laryngitis) that babies don't get laryngitis. Small children's larynxes (I don't know the plural of larynx obviously) are softer, or something, and what is laryngitis in an adult, is a narrowed throat in a baby. That's why they need to be monitored closely, because it's much harder for them to breathe. Like I said, I'm tired, and I don't actually remember what the nurse said except that "Babies don't get laryngitis."
I don't know what we could have done differently. Yes, it was kind of dumb to think it was an allergic reaction, especially since I googled allergic reaction and looked for an entry that matched what I was looking for. But she didn't have a fever until late Saturday night, and nothing else indicated that it was viral. I was also influenced by the fact that we had just finished a round of antibiotics for strep, so she couldn't possibly be sick again. It's extremely difficult to try to determine when it's serious and on the weekend, it's even worse, because while I would have gone straight to the doctor for these symptoms, it was hard to make the decision to go to the emergency room. It never felt like an emergency, even after the nurse at the minute clinic tried to scare the crap out of us (and yes, I'm super pissed about that). I'm also upset at the thought that the on-call nurses at my pediatrician's office were trying to put us off until we could come in Monday morning, instead of telling us to go to the ER and get it checked and get the steroid treatment. Maybe that's not why they advised us the way they did, but that's the reason that makes the most business sense and it's the standard practice I would dictate if I ran a pediatrician's office.
That was a long post, and I apologize, but it was a long weekend. I'm trying not to feel like I ignored my daughter's illness because I had birthday plans, but every time I say that in my head, there's a mean voice that tells me that's exactly what happened. So, Em, I'm sorry. We should have taken you to the doctor on Saturday, but at least with the ER trip, you got an extra ice-pop. Mommy loves you.
(I also clearly can't guarantee that I'll refrain from conversing with myself within the post.)
On Thursday night, Tom and I went out for my birthday dinner. Patricia came over to babysit, and took Emmy for a walk up the hill behind the house. Somewhere in the tall grass, they encountered some nettles (or so we assume). Emmy got some welts on her legs, but Patricia dealt with it admirably, washing her off and applying some cortisone for the itching.
Friday, when she got home from school, Emmy was hoarse, but she seemed fine, no fever, and Grandma Susan was in town for my birthday, so Tom and I went out to a movie. (The Dark Knight Rises was fantastic, by the way). Later that night, Emmy woke us up (I think) and her breathing sounded a little rough. We gave her some medication for congestion and set up the humidifier. After getting her back in the bed, I started looking up her symptoms (breathing difficulty, dry cough, hives) on the ol' iPad. I decided that her hoarseness, cough and the hives on her legs meant she was having a delayed allergic reaction to the nettles. Mayoclinic agreed with my assessment. I told Tom my hypothesis, and he was... dismissive. To put it mildly. He believed she was experiencing drainage from a summer cold.
When we got up around 8:30-ish, Emmy was still having some problems. Convinced that it was an allergic reaction, I gave her benadryl and put some caladryl on her hives. We went about the business of the day, which involved some shopping and prep for my birthday dinner (with my parents, Susan, Patricia and JP).
In hindsight, we should have taken advantage of our pediatrician's Saturday hours and taken her in. But, again, she didn't seem that bad, and I was convinced it would get better.
Everyone came over around 4:30, and besides her lack of voice, Emmy was in a good mood, and we had a nice time. Emmy was allowed to stay up a little late, but we got her into bed around 8:30 or 9:00. Then Tom, Patricia, JP and I headed out to watch Batman again. (It was really good, you guys.)
About halfway through the almost three hour movie, I got a text message from Susan. She asked me where Emmy's medications were and what she could give her for a fever. Her temperature was 101.8. I told Susan where the meds were and the proper dosages, and I decided that I didn't need to ask everyone to leave because I trusted Susan to take care of Emmy.
When the movie was over, we all headed home. I called Susan to see how Emmy was doing. She told me that Emmy was awake, and very uncomfortable. We got home and Emmy was clearly breathing hard. I decided it was time to call the after hours nurse at the pediatrician. I called the office and had to wait through the nearly five minute messages before getting routed to the answering service. I left my number and waited for the nurse to call. After describing what Emmy sounded like to the nurse, she said it sounded like stridor, and I needed to have Emmy sit in the bathroom while the shower steamed the room up for thirty minutes. Emmy and I watched the care bears movie while the room filled up with steam.
After that, she sounded much better, so I put her back in bed and called the answering service again and told the nurse that she sounded better. It was now somewhere between 2 and 2:30 am, and I was exhausted. I hadn't slept well Friday because Emmy had woken us up in the wee hours, and I hadn't yet been able to sleep on Saturday (in large part because we had gone to the movie, yes, but did I mention how good it was?) So, the nurse told me to monitor her breathing and if she experienced the stridor again, to repeat the steam treatment.
I made the decision that a) she wouldn't sleep if I was lying on the floor by her bed and b) I would be useless on Sunday if I didn't at least get some sleep, so I went to bed.
On Sunday, she sounded okay, but was still breathing hard. So, I called the answering service again and talked to my second on-call nurse. I tried to describe Emmy's breathing, but apparently, the sound I was making was "gasping" even though I thought it sounded like wheezing and that phone call was pretty much useless. This nurse suggested another steam treatment and then I could call back.
So, I took her into the bathroom (but I used the larger bathroom, and I don't think the steam was able to accumulate as well), and it didn't help. I didn't think the situation was urgent enough for the emergency room, because Emmy was able to talk in full sentences (despite the hoarseness, which just meant you couldn't hear her very well) and not blue, or pale, or anything else that would indicate that she wasn't getting enough oxygen. Her breathing was just loud and rapid. By now, obviously, I had heard the seal bark cough and looked up croup along with a helpful youtube video, and was fairly convinced that she had croup. But nothing I read, and neither of the nurses had given me any indication that her situation was emergent or dangerous. Everything and everyone just said to watch her, which we were definitely doing.
Since her pediatrician wasn't open and the Vanderbilt clinic didn't have any hours, Tom suggested a minute clinic, and I thought that was a wonderful idea, because then, at least, I could have a real nurse listen to her breathing and tell us how serious it was. We took her to a CVS minute clinic, and by the time we got there, she was sounding pretty rough. Her breathing was very loud and she was coughing occasionally (that harsh seal bark).
The minute clinic nurse listened to her chest, asked a few questions and stuck a pulse oxygen meter on her finger. I watched the digital readout and asked (what I thought was a perfectly reasonable question), "Is that acceptable?" (Meaning, is that an acceptable pulse-ox reading).
The nurse just stared at me. (And this is a thing you definitely want to do with concerned parents who are just trying to make the right treatment decision and not clog up the ER unless they have to-- *sarcasm*)
Then she told us she was going to close out the record and send us to the ER. Or we could go to a clinic depending on what our insurance would cover, but I had pretty much stopped listening. Since I had no idea where a clinic (urgent care, I guess) was, but I knew exactly how to get to the ER (which is on the campus where I WORK) we decided to go to the ER.
So, after an interminable amount of time where the nurse was closing out the stupid record that I didn't care about, we loaded Emmy up in her seat and drove across town to the ER. Did I mention that the interstate is closed every weekend this summer and I had to take a non-interstate route to avoid the traffic as people unfamiliar with the detour try to figure out the route? No? Well, there was that to deal with too.
By the time we got to the hospital, Emmy's latest bout of stridor had stopped. When we checked in, she sounded pretty normal, but the nurse was able to hear it with the stethoscope, so we got checked in and assigned a room.
The doctor (who legitimately looked younger than both Tom and myself), listened to her, and then Emmy experienced a well-timed cough and he said, "Yup, it's definitely croup. We'll give her a dose of steroids and she should be fine."
And about an hour later, we were able to go home. I would like to mention one additional thing. The doctor asked if her immunizations were up to date, and I proudly told him that, yes, they were indeed up to date. And he told us that if they weren't, they would have had to admit her because one of the underlying infections that causes croup is bacterial (covered by immunizations) and they would have to monitor to determine which infection was the cause and if it was the bacteria, treat it with antibiotics.
This morning, Emmy is much better. She had two bowls of cereal, and her hoarseness is mostly gone. Susan is staying with her today, and I will stay home with her tomorrow and until she can go back to daycare.
One other note. I have been very careful not to refer to Emmy's hoarseness as laryngitis. This is because the first nurse informed me (as I had been describing her loss of voice as laryngitis) that babies don't get laryngitis. Small children's larynxes (I don't know the plural of larynx obviously) are softer, or something, and what is laryngitis in an adult, is a narrowed throat in a baby. That's why they need to be monitored closely, because it's much harder for them to breathe. Like I said, I'm tired, and I don't actually remember what the nurse said except that "Babies don't get laryngitis."
I don't know what we could have done differently. Yes, it was kind of dumb to think it was an allergic reaction, especially since I googled allergic reaction and looked for an entry that matched what I was looking for. But she didn't have a fever until late Saturday night, and nothing else indicated that it was viral. I was also influenced by the fact that we had just finished a round of antibiotics for strep, so she couldn't possibly be sick again. It's extremely difficult to try to determine when it's serious and on the weekend, it's even worse, because while I would have gone straight to the doctor for these symptoms, it was hard to make the decision to go to the emergency room. It never felt like an emergency, even after the nurse at the minute clinic tried to scare the crap out of us (and yes, I'm super pissed about that). I'm also upset at the thought that the on-call nurses at my pediatrician's office were trying to put us off until we could come in Monday morning, instead of telling us to go to the ER and get it checked and get the steroid treatment. Maybe that's not why they advised us the way they did, but that's the reason that makes the most business sense and it's the standard practice I would dictate if I ran a pediatrician's office.
That was a long post, and I apologize, but it was a long weekend. I'm trying not to feel like I ignored my daughter's illness because I had birthday plans, but every time I say that in my head, there's a mean voice that tells me that's exactly what happened. So, Em, I'm sorry. We should have taken you to the doctor on Saturday, but at least with the ER trip, you got an extra ice-pop. Mommy loves you.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Toast!?!
My daughter really loves toast. Like, a lot. In the morning, she is occasionally grouchy, as she tells us that she doesn't want to "go schoo,'" she doesn't want us to "go work," and she would rather sit and watch "monkey george," all day. Some days, we just have to remind her that she is going to see her friends at daycare. "Do you want to go see Ms. Debbie? What about 'Kenzie?" Sometimes, that's enough. Sometimes, to coax her downstairs, we have to offer her breakfast. "Emmy, would you like some toast?"
And no matter what mood she is in, cinnamon toast (cinnamon and raisin swirled bread, toasted with a light spread of butter) cheers her right up. "Okay, daddy."
After one particularly rough morning, where she wrestled me as I got her dressed, then again while I put her hair in a ponytail, I was beseeching Tom to take over (he makes breakfast while I get Emmy dressed and ready), because Emmy was wailing at me about how she didn't want a ponytail, or shoes, or that shirt (Want pink, mama!)-- and he asked her if she wanted toast.
And just like that, the tears disappeared. "Toast?" she asked, her interest peaked. So, she took her seat at the table and Daddy handed her the toast, which she exclaimed over and started eating. Then, she looked at Tom and said, "I happy, Daddy."
And Tom, in his ever-present wisdom, sighed. "I wish there was something in this world I loved enough that it could turn my mornings around like that."
Me too, honey. Me too.
It must be her age, but when Emmy loves something, she LOVES it. There are certain activities that we really have to gear ourselves up for because Emmy loves them so much that she doesn't ever want to stop doing them. And when she is forced to stop, there will be tears. There will be SOBS. (And for mom and dad? There will be guilt.)
Here is the list of things that my daughter LOVES:
Winnie the Pooh (the movie is only 62 minutes long, and as soon as the credits roll, she bursts into tears until you start it over)
Elmo and "Grober" ("Another monster at the end of the book" interactive storybook on the iPad, which she has read over and over and over)
Painting (finger paints, tempera paints, watercolors, etc)
Riding horses/ponies
Toast
Chocolate milk
Watermelon, blueberries, tomatoes, strawberries (she can eat her weight in each of these foods)
In fact, she loves watermelon so much, that when we bring it home from the store (wrapped in plastic) she can't wait to get at it. You can see in the photo above, she took two bites while it was in the shopping bag, before I could get it put away after the shopping trip.
I know this level of loving things won't last forever, but I wish it could.
And no matter what mood she is in, cinnamon toast (cinnamon and raisin swirled bread, toasted with a light spread of butter) cheers her right up. "Okay, daddy."
After one particularly rough morning, where she wrestled me as I got her dressed, then again while I put her hair in a ponytail, I was beseeching Tom to take over (he makes breakfast while I get Emmy dressed and ready), because Emmy was wailing at me about how she didn't want a ponytail, or shoes, or that shirt (Want pink, mama!)-- and he asked her if she wanted toast.
And just like that, the tears disappeared. "Toast?" she asked, her interest peaked. So, she took her seat at the table and Daddy handed her the toast, which she exclaimed over and started eating. Then, she looked at Tom and said, "I happy, Daddy."
And Tom, in his ever-present wisdom, sighed. "I wish there was something in this world I loved enough that it could turn my mornings around like that."
Me too, honey. Me too.
It must be her age, but when Emmy loves something, she LOVES it. There are certain activities that we really have to gear ourselves up for because Emmy loves them so much that she doesn't ever want to stop doing them. And when she is forced to stop, there will be tears. There will be SOBS. (And for mom and dad? There will be guilt.)
Here is the list of things that my daughter LOVES:
Winnie the Pooh (the movie is only 62 minutes long, and as soon as the credits roll, she bursts into tears until you start it over)
Elmo and "Grober" ("Another monster at the end of the book" interactive storybook on the iPad, which she has read over and over and over)
Painting (finger paints, tempera paints, watercolors, etc)
Riding horses/ponies
Toast
Chocolate milk
Watermelon, blueberries, tomatoes, strawberries (she can eat her weight in each of these foods)
I know this level of loving things won't last forever, but I wish it could.
Monday, June 11, 2012
Swimming
Emmy seems to really enjoy water, though when we took her to the beach at 8 months, she also seemed utterly terrified of the ocean. She loved the sand, but she wasn't fond of the ocean. She didn't want me to hold her in the waves, and she certainly didn't want to let the water wash over her at the edge.
So, remembering that, we were concerned that she would fear the ocean again when we go to the beach in August this year. Well... are concerned, would probably be more correct, I suppose.
So, we've been playing in the wading pool, practicing putting our faces in the water, and trying to blow bubbles. So far, we've not had a lot of success with that. She'll drop her face really really close to the water, but not really in. And the bubble blowing is not happening at all. She just blows at the surface of the water, the same way she blows to cool off hot food.
But we also wanted to get some experience in a real pool, with water that would be over her head. Tom and I are having some fundamental disagreements about floatation devices, but I finally agreed to a speedo swim vest (NOT FOR USE IN BOATS, says the label).
Vandy offers swim lessons for toddlers, but they are... inconveniently scheduled (weekdays? weeknights?!? Come on, guys.) But, of course, Grandma and Grandpa Smith have a community pool in their subdivision, so this weekend, we headed down and gave it a try.
Emmy loved the pool! She desperately wanted to try it by herself... not to mention the deep end. "Lea' me 'lone, mama!" She called out as I held her in my arms. We compromised with me holding on to her swimsuit as she flopped and paddled around the shallow end. Whenever she got a couple mouthfuls of water, I would pick her up and put her back on my hip and let her breathe for a moment. She's absolutely fearless.
She was jumping off the side of the pool into Tom's arms, which was clearly resulting in full submersion head dunking, and she kept climbing out of the pool and going right back to jump in again. Fearless.
When she saw some older kids jump off the diving board into the deep end, she decided she wanted to do that too. But, alas, that dream could not be achieved on this trip. She was also obsessed with getting to the "other side" (the other side of the blue rope that separates the shallow and deep ends of the pool) but refused to hold onto a parent when she got to go on the other side of the rope, so that foray didn't last long.
We're definitely looking forward to another trip to the big pool.
So, remembering that, we were concerned that she would fear the ocean again when we go to the beach in August this year. Well... are concerned, would probably be more correct, I suppose.
So, we've been playing in the wading pool, practicing putting our faces in the water, and trying to blow bubbles. So far, we've not had a lot of success with that. She'll drop her face really really close to the water, but not really in. And the bubble blowing is not happening at all. She just blows at the surface of the water, the same way she blows to cool off hot food.
But we also wanted to get some experience in a real pool, with water that would be over her head. Tom and I are having some fundamental disagreements about floatation devices, but I finally agreed to a speedo swim vest (NOT FOR USE IN BOATS, says the label).
Vandy offers swim lessons for toddlers, but they are... inconveniently scheduled (weekdays? weeknights?!? Come on, guys.) But, of course, Grandma and Grandpa Smith have a community pool in their subdivision, so this weekend, we headed down and gave it a try.
Emmy loved the pool! She desperately wanted to try it by herself... not to mention the deep end. "Lea' me 'lone, mama!" She called out as I held her in my arms. We compromised with me holding on to her swimsuit as she flopped and paddled around the shallow end. Whenever she got a couple mouthfuls of water, I would pick her up and put her back on my hip and let her breathe for a moment. She's absolutely fearless.
She was jumping off the side of the pool into Tom's arms, which was clearly resulting in full submersion head dunking, and she kept climbing out of the pool and going right back to jump in again. Fearless.
When she saw some older kids jump off the diving board into the deep end, she decided she wanted to do that too. But, alas, that dream could not be achieved on this trip. She was also obsessed with getting to the "other side" (the other side of the blue rope that separates the shallow and deep ends of the pool) but refused to hold onto a parent when she got to go on the other side of the rope, so that foray didn't last long.
We're definitely looking forward to another trip to the big pool.
Mother's Day (Late and out of order, whoops)
The week of Mother's Day, I went to pick Emmy up at daycare on Friday, as usual, and was pleased to see a bag on the counter labeled "To Mama." I picked up the bag and the rest of Emmy's things and then went to get her from the playground. I showed her the bag and asked her who it was for. She told me it was her present. I asked if maybe it wasn't for mama, and she said, "No, mama, it's Emmy's present."
Then she told me she wanted to show it to Daddy, so we got in the car and went home. I had to work pretty hard to keep her from ripping the bag open to get to "her" gift.
Once we got home, we went up to Tom's office and showed him the present. Tom told her how nice it was that she brought Mama a present, and Emmy informed him that, no, it was Emmy's present. Tom tried to convince her that it was for Mama, and asked her if they had talked about mother's day at school. "No, Daddy. This Emmy's present." As she started to open it, poor Tom had to take it away from her (I wouldn't have cared if she had opened it, but, c'est la vie) and that lead to tears.
By Sunday, however, she had forgotten all about it, and I was able to open my gift and see what I got. (A potholder with a handprint).
Then she told me she wanted to show it to Daddy, so we got in the car and went home. I had to work pretty hard to keep her from ripping the bag open to get to "her" gift.
Once we got home, we went up to Tom's office and showed him the present. Tom told her how nice it was that she brought Mama a present, and Emmy informed him that, no, it was Emmy's present. Tom tried to convince her that it was for Mama, and asked her if they had talked about mother's day at school. "No, Daddy. This Emmy's present." As she started to open it, poor Tom had to take it away from her (I wouldn't have cared if she had opened it, but, c'est la vie) and that lead to tears.
By Sunday, however, she had forgotten all about it, and I was able to open my gift and see what I got. (A potholder with a handprint).
Toddler Bed
This post was originally started on 5/23, but I guess I got busy. Emmy switched to a toddler bed. I wasn't sure we were ready, but Tom wanted to transition well before our scheduled trip to the beach in August, so that we didn't have to take the pack and play with us.
The first week was a little rough. Emmy seemed to have some trouble adjusting. She kept waking up in the middle of the night and crying until we came and talked to her. She would stick out her tongue and tell us her "mouf hurts," and ask for medicine. Since this coincided with a sinus/eye infection and antibiotics, I'll admit that we fell for it for the first couple of nights. But it became clear rather quickly that the tears would stop long before any medicine could have kicked in. This will also mark the second time I've been convinced that her second molars were coming in, and as yet, we have seen no additional teeth beyond the first set. (One might think that I actually have no idea what I'm talking about...)
Before I agreed to the switch, we had to install a gate at the top of the stairs, which, so far, has been great. We actually put it in the hallway perpendicular to the stairs, and it's working really well. We only use it at night, when we leave her door open, so she can come visit us if she needs to, but can't get to the stairs.
Since she can get to us now, she comes to see us every morning on the weekends, as soon as she wakes up. Then she climbs into bed and we watch Sesame Street or whatever other show she requests. So far, (and knock wood) she hasn't come to visit us during the night. She will occasionally wake up and cry, but she hasn't ventured out of bed yet. We know that she has gotten up because we'll often find her in the morning with toys and books she didn't have when she went to bed, but, so far, no night time visits.
I have lots more things to post, but if I tried to put them all in one post, it would run dangerously close to novella length, so....
The first week was a little rough. Emmy seemed to have some trouble adjusting. She kept waking up in the middle of the night and crying until we came and talked to her. She would stick out her tongue and tell us her "mouf hurts," and ask for medicine. Since this coincided with a sinus/eye infection and antibiotics, I'll admit that we fell for it for the first couple of nights. But it became clear rather quickly that the tears would stop long before any medicine could have kicked in. This will also mark the second time I've been convinced that her second molars were coming in, and as yet, we have seen no additional teeth beyond the first set. (One might think that I actually have no idea what I'm talking about...)
Before I agreed to the switch, we had to install a gate at the top of the stairs, which, so far, has been great. We actually put it in the hallway perpendicular to the stairs, and it's working really well. We only use it at night, when we leave her door open, so she can come visit us if she needs to, but can't get to the stairs.
Since she can get to us now, she comes to see us every morning on the weekends, as soon as she wakes up. Then she climbs into bed and we watch Sesame Street or whatever other show she requests. So far, (and knock wood) she hasn't come to visit us during the night. She will occasionally wake up and cry, but she hasn't ventured out of bed yet. We know that she has gotten up because we'll often find her in the morning with toys and books she didn't have when she went to bed, but, so far, no night time visits.
I have lots more things to post, but if I tried to put them all in one post, it would run dangerously close to novella length, so....
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Emmy Lou's Favorite Phrases
Emmy has several phrases she's using right now.
"That's a promise." (We have no idea what this means to her, but she said it to us about 15 times last night, while "helping" Daddy clean up the kitchen.-- which basically entailed running back and forth with her toy vacuum).
"That's my body." This is said any time someone touches her when she doesn't want them to. It's mainly said when we're talking about school.
For example:
"Emmy, did you play with William today?"
"No, William." (she says, while pointing her finger) (William is pronounced Wih-yum)
"Did you tell William no?"
She'll nod and say, "That's my body, William."
She also uses this one if Tom or I are bothering her, especially if she doesn't want to be tickled anymore.
Another phrase is: "Go Timeout." This one, obviously, is when someone does something she doesn't like. She'll often recount transgressions at daycare, telling us "'Riah, Go timeout."
Emmy often blames her boo boos on other kids at school. Those conversations go like this:
"Emmy, did you get a boo boo?"
She'll nod and say, "William." (with a distinctive whine)
"William gave you the boo boo?"
She'll nod with a pouty face and repeat, "William."
If Mommy or Daddy upset her, she'll tell us to go to timeout too. "You go timeout, mama!" This is generally after taking a toy or book away, and it's generally followed by a meltdown shortly afterward.
And the last one I can remember at the moment is, "I can't fly."
Emmy loves to watch planes fly overhead. When she first started pointing them out, she would say, "Look, Mama! Plane!" We would watch it for a moment and then she would tell me, shaking her head, sadly, "I can't fly, mama." She would occasionally even try to jump up to show me. "I can't fly."
"That's a promise." (We have no idea what this means to her, but she said it to us about 15 times last night, while "helping" Daddy clean up the kitchen.-- which basically entailed running back and forth with her toy vacuum).
"That's my body." This is said any time someone touches her when she doesn't want them to. It's mainly said when we're talking about school.
For example:
"Emmy, did you play with William today?"
"No, William." (she says, while pointing her finger) (William is pronounced Wih-yum)
"Did you tell William no?"
She'll nod and say, "That's my body, William."
She also uses this one if Tom or I are bothering her, especially if she doesn't want to be tickled anymore.
Another phrase is: "Go Timeout." This one, obviously, is when someone does something she doesn't like. She'll often recount transgressions at daycare, telling us "'Riah, Go timeout."
Emmy often blames her boo boos on other kids at school. Those conversations go like this:
"Emmy, did you get a boo boo?"
She'll nod and say, "William." (with a distinctive whine)
"William gave you the boo boo?"
She'll nod with a pouty face and repeat, "William."
If Mommy or Daddy upset her, she'll tell us to go to timeout too. "You go timeout, mama!" This is generally after taking a toy or book away, and it's generally followed by a meltdown shortly afterward.
And the last one I can remember at the moment is, "I can't fly."
Emmy loves to watch planes fly overhead. When she first started pointing them out, she would say, "Look, Mama! Plane!" We would watch it for a moment and then she would tell me, shaking her head, sadly, "I can't fly, mama." She would occasionally even try to jump up to show me. "I can't fly."
Friday, April 13, 2012
The X-ray
About a week ago, Emmy closed her finger in a door at daycare. (It's pretty important to me that you know it didn't happen on my watch. I've been hyper-alert about doors and other household dangers, and I was pretty upset when they called me at work to tell me it happened at daycare.)
It looked pretty rough at first. It was black and blue, swollen, and very tender. But she was able to bend it, and after the first day, she didn't complain about unless you squeezed it by accident. So, Tom and I shrugged our shoulders and waited for it to get better.
It looks much better now, but it's still swollen, and she still won't let you squeeze the middle joint, so we decided to call the doctor and see if we should come in.
So yesterday, I took her to the pediatrician's office, to get their professional opinion. Emmy was fine, until it was time to go back to the doctor's office, then she started crying and told me she wanted to go home. She even went to the door and tried to open it so she could leave. (She's still about one inch too short to get a good grasp on door knobs)
She calmed down in the exam room, and we read a book until her doctor came in. Emmy fussed, but let Dr. P. look at her finger, and feel the bone. Then we got an order for an x-ray.
So, this morning, Emmy and I headed to the children's hospital, which is convenient, since I work on campus. When we pulled into the parking garage, she got very upset. She told me she wanted her daddy, that she wanted to go home, and that she was "scared."
I don't know what bothered her about the parking garage. She's had some trouble before with elevators (she cries the entire time we're in them) but she's never gotten upset like that anywhere else (except the ocean, but we don't make it there very often to test her reaction). When she was very small, we saw a pediatrician at the children's hospital clinic, but I can't imagine that she remembers that. So, if she can't remember seeing doctors after we park in that garage, the only thing that leaves is claustrophobia.
Can toddlers be claustrophobic?
Anyway, to relieve the suspense, her finger is fine. It's still swollen, but there's no fracture, so we'll just have to wait a little longer for it to heal.
Emmy got two stickers and a bracelet for being a brave girl on the x-ray table. She cried the entire time, but I guess we should be grateful that she didn't resort to biting, kicking or scratching (like a certain cat that shall remain nameless, every time we have to take her to the vet).
I tried to prepare her for the x-ray, by telling her that we were going to the doctor to take a picture of her hand. I told her that she would say "cheese," (which she says anytime a camera is pointed at her). I told her that if she was good she would get a sticker. I brought both stickers and candy with me to reward her. And I think, logically, she had wrapped her mind around getting her "picture" taken. But it was a big scary, dark room, with a large white table that she had to lie on. And mommy had to put on a big vest to stay with her, and I think it was just overwhelming. No amount of telling her it was just a picture could overcome all of that. So, I had to hold her down, while the x-ray tech tried to position her hand, and I tried to bribe her with stickers and candy, and tried to convince her it was just a picture.
But it's done now. And somebody is probably going to get some ice cream tonight. I might even share it with Emmy.
It looked pretty rough at first. It was black and blue, swollen, and very tender. But she was able to bend it, and after the first day, she didn't complain about unless you squeezed it by accident. So, Tom and I shrugged our shoulders and waited for it to get better.
It looks much better now, but it's still swollen, and she still won't let you squeeze the middle joint, so we decided to call the doctor and see if we should come in.
So yesterday, I took her to the pediatrician's office, to get their professional opinion. Emmy was fine, until it was time to go back to the doctor's office, then she started crying and told me she wanted to go home. She even went to the door and tried to open it so she could leave. (She's still about one inch too short to get a good grasp on door knobs)
She calmed down in the exam room, and we read a book until her doctor came in. Emmy fussed, but let Dr. P. look at her finger, and feel the bone. Then we got an order for an x-ray.
So, this morning, Emmy and I headed to the children's hospital, which is convenient, since I work on campus. When we pulled into the parking garage, she got very upset. She told me she wanted her daddy, that she wanted to go home, and that she was "scared."
I don't know what bothered her about the parking garage. She's had some trouble before with elevators (she cries the entire time we're in them) but she's never gotten upset like that anywhere else (except the ocean, but we don't make it there very often to test her reaction). When she was very small, we saw a pediatrician at the children's hospital clinic, but I can't imagine that she remembers that. So, if she can't remember seeing doctors after we park in that garage, the only thing that leaves is claustrophobia.
Can toddlers be claustrophobic?
Anyway, to relieve the suspense, her finger is fine. It's still swollen, but there's no fracture, so we'll just have to wait a little longer for it to heal.
Emmy got two stickers and a bracelet for being a brave girl on the x-ray table. She cried the entire time, but I guess we should be grateful that she didn't resort to biting, kicking or scratching (like a certain cat that shall remain nameless, every time we have to take her to the vet).
I tried to prepare her for the x-ray, by telling her that we were going to the doctor to take a picture of her hand. I told her that she would say "cheese," (which she says anytime a camera is pointed at her). I told her that if she was good she would get a sticker. I brought both stickers and candy with me to reward her. And I think, logically, she had wrapped her mind around getting her "picture" taken. But it was a big scary, dark room, with a large white table that she had to lie on. And mommy had to put on a big vest to stay with her, and I think it was just overwhelming. No amount of telling her it was just a picture could overcome all of that. So, I had to hold her down, while the x-ray tech tried to position her hand, and I tried to bribe her with stickers and candy, and tried to convince her it was just a picture.
But it's done now. And somebody is probably going to get some ice cream tonight. I might even share it with Emmy.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
I Emmy.
I don't know why this amuses/amazes me as much as it does, but I thought I'd share anyway.
Emmy's vocabulary and speaking is getting pretty good. She knows her name, (Emmy) and she knows that "Emily" and "Emmy Lou" are also her names.
She's also out-grown being called a baby, but she's not ready to be called a big girl yet.
"Emmy, are you a big girl?"
"No, I not big girl. I Emmy."
Emmy's vocabulary and speaking is getting pretty good. She knows her name, (Emmy) and she knows that "Emily" and "Emmy Lou" are also her names.
She's also out-grown being called a baby, but she's not ready to be called a big girl yet.
"Emmy, are you a big girl?"
"No, I not big girl. I Emmy."
Monday, March 26, 2012
"I scared, Mama."
This weekend, we went to the zoo. That's a fairly frequent occurrence for us. The zoo has animals, which Emmy loves, and it provides an opportunity for exercise, and it isn't nearly as muddy as our backyard (which is a whole different topic).
This, however, was the first time we were able to try out the new dinosaur exhibit. We were pretty excited about this. Emmy knows about dinosaurs, from books and TV. She knows they say "rawr," and she seemed interested in seeing them.
So, we bought our tickets for the "Dinosaur Trek," and got in line. Emmy was sitting in her red wagon, and we pulled up to the first dinosaur and stopped to let her look.
"See the dinosaur, Emmy?"
"Emmy, look at the dinosaur. What does the dinosaur say?"
And right about that moment, the dinosaur (I don't remember what it was called) spit water right in Emmy's face. I imagine it is supposed to hit around people's waists, or maybe the chest, but poor Emmy in the wagon got it in the head. She squealed and started crying.
I grabbed her out of the wagon and lifted her up and turned away from the offending dinosaur, Emmy clutching my shirt with both legs and fingers for dear life. And I turned right into the second spitting dinosaur, which got both of us.
We moved away from that one, and Emmy told me, "I not like it, Mommy."
"But Emmy, you like dinosaurs."
"I scared."
Emmy clutched my shirt for the rest of the Dino trek. The animatronic dinosaurs terrified her. The only ones she did like were the tiny duck-billed ones coming out of their eggs. She didn't like the mother, though.
We walked through as fast as we could, but the walkway was fairly narrow, and we often had to wait for the kids in front of us to get done oohing and aahhing at the "awesome" dinosaurs. Which meant that we could hear all the dinosaurs, even if we couldn't see them.
We finally got to the end, where the largest dinosaur, the T-Rex, was waiting. I tried to shield Emmy's eyes, as I darted by, but she wouldn't let me, and just as we passed by, it roared.
On the way out, we got our hands stamped, so we could re-enter. The lady asked us, "Would you guys like to go back in?" as she held out the stamp.
I laughed, mirthlessly. "No," I said, gesturing to the barnacle-child still clutching my chest. "But, Thank you."
Later, Tom asked her what she thought of the dinosaurs. She whimpered and said, "I scared, Daddy."
Tom said, "You don't have to be scared, Emmy. Daddy's here."
So, she patted him on the back and said, "Don't worry, Daddy."
This, however, was the first time we were able to try out the new dinosaur exhibit. We were pretty excited about this. Emmy knows about dinosaurs, from books and TV. She knows they say "rawr," and she seemed interested in seeing them.
So, we bought our tickets for the "Dinosaur Trek," and got in line. Emmy was sitting in her red wagon, and we pulled up to the first dinosaur and stopped to let her look.
"See the dinosaur, Emmy?"
"Emmy, look at the dinosaur. What does the dinosaur say?"
And right about that moment, the dinosaur (I don't remember what it was called) spit water right in Emmy's face. I imagine it is supposed to hit around people's waists, or maybe the chest, but poor Emmy in the wagon got it in the head. She squealed and started crying.
I grabbed her out of the wagon and lifted her up and turned away from the offending dinosaur, Emmy clutching my shirt with both legs and fingers for dear life. And I turned right into the second spitting dinosaur, which got both of us.
We moved away from that one, and Emmy told me, "I not like it, Mommy."
"But Emmy, you like dinosaurs."
"I scared."
Emmy clutched my shirt for the rest of the Dino trek. The animatronic dinosaurs terrified her. The only ones she did like were the tiny duck-billed ones coming out of their eggs. She didn't like the mother, though.
We walked through as fast as we could, but the walkway was fairly narrow, and we often had to wait for the kids in front of us to get done oohing and aahhing at the "awesome" dinosaurs. Which meant that we could hear all the dinosaurs, even if we couldn't see them.
We finally got to the end, where the largest dinosaur, the T-Rex, was waiting. I tried to shield Emmy's eyes, as I darted by, but she wouldn't let me, and just as we passed by, it roared.
On the way out, we got our hands stamped, so we could re-enter. The lady asked us, "Would you guys like to go back in?" as she held out the stamp.
I laughed, mirthlessly. "No," I said, gesturing to the barnacle-child still clutching my chest. "But, Thank you."
Later, Tom asked her what she thought of the dinosaurs. She whimpered and said, "I scared, Daddy."
Tom said, "You don't have to be scared, Emmy. Daddy's here."
So, she patted him on the back and said, "Don't worry, Daddy."
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Tom's Birthday (slightly out of order)
I forgot a really cute thing that Emmy did on Tom's birthday.
Let me start by explaining my (and Tom's) philosophy about birthdays. We don't really care about surprise parties (well, one of us doesn't... ahem, Tom), what we care about is cake. Birthdays are the only time that no one makes you feel guilty about cake. I've always loved cake, especially the frosting part.
When I graduated from high school, mom and I bought cakes from every grocery store bakery to decide which (frosting) tasted the best. I believe, at that point, Walmart won. That's because we didn't have a Publix in 2001.
So, anyway, for Tom's birthday, he requested a cheesecake, which Susan made for us. (Using her recipe, instead of mine, which makes the cake much taller than the one my mom taught me to make-- New York style, I think?)
And I made a gluten free cake (my favorite S'more cake), mostly so that I would have cake to eat. And, on top of that, I ordered a cake from Publix-- Tom's favorite, vanilla cake, raspberry filling, and buttercream icing.
So, on the night of Tom's birthday, we took him out to eat, which was a disaster. We tried several restaurants, which each had almost an hour long wait, and ended up at Tom's LEAST favorite restaurant (Cracker Barrel), which had NO wait. (Apparently, it's everyone's least favorite).
But, this was all okay, because waiting for us at home, we had THREE cakes to eat. So, when we got home I set them all out on the kitchen table, one candle in each (one for each decade) and sang Happy Birthday.
While Emmy waited for someone to cut the cake, she pointed at the Publix cake and said, "That's Emmy's." Then she pointed at the gluten free cake, and said, "That's mommy's." Last, she pointed at the cheesecake, and said, "That's Daddy's."
We all stopped and goggled at her for a moment. Then I asked her if Grandma could have a cake. Sadly, since there were only three, Grandma was left cakeless. But Emmy was willing to let her have a slice of any of the cakes she wanted. She pointed out which cake belonged to whom a few more times, then proceeded with eating her slice (she requested the publix cake).
Let me start by explaining my (and Tom's) philosophy about birthdays. We don't really care about surprise parties (well, one of us doesn't... ahem, Tom), what we care about is cake. Birthdays are the only time that no one makes you feel guilty about cake. I've always loved cake, especially the frosting part.
When I graduated from high school, mom and I bought cakes from every grocery store bakery to decide which (frosting) tasted the best. I believe, at that point, Walmart won. That's because we didn't have a Publix in 2001.
So, anyway, for Tom's birthday, he requested a cheesecake, which Susan made for us. (Using her recipe, instead of mine, which makes the cake much taller than the one my mom taught me to make-- New York style, I think?)
And I made a gluten free cake (my favorite S'more cake), mostly so that I would have cake to eat. And, on top of that, I ordered a cake from Publix-- Tom's favorite, vanilla cake, raspberry filling, and buttercream icing.
So, on the night of Tom's birthday, we took him out to eat, which was a disaster. We tried several restaurants, which each had almost an hour long wait, and ended up at Tom's LEAST favorite restaurant (Cracker Barrel), which had NO wait. (Apparently, it's everyone's least favorite).
But, this was all okay, because waiting for us at home, we had THREE cakes to eat. So, when we got home I set them all out on the kitchen table, one candle in each (one for each decade) and sang Happy Birthday.
While Emmy waited for someone to cut the cake, she pointed at the Publix cake and said, "That's Emmy's." Then she pointed at the gluten free cake, and said, "That's mommy's." Last, she pointed at the cheesecake, and said, "That's Daddy's."
We all stopped and goggled at her for a moment. Then I asked her if Grandma could have a cake. Sadly, since there were only three, Grandma was left cakeless. But Emmy was willing to let her have a slice of any of the cakes she wanted. She pointed out which cake belonged to whom a few more times, then proceeded with eating her slice (she requested the publix cake).
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
My Incredibly Considerate Child
In February, Emmy got sick two weekends in a row. We think she must have just been coughing so hard that she threw up, but we'll never know for sure.
On Saturdays, she usually lets us sleep in a bit, and when I hear her talking to herself, I go check on her and get her out of the crib. Both these days, I walked in, got her out of bed, got her diaper changed, and then noticed that something was amiss.
Both Saturdays, everything was piled up on the far side of the crib away from Emmy.
I looked at Emmy and I asked her, "Emmy, did you throw up?" She nodded at me. "Well, sweetie, why didn't you call me?"
To which she, understandably, had no answer. Her vocabulary is steadily increasing, but I didn't really expect her to answer my question.
But it's the oddest thing. I know that when I was a kid, if I threw up, I screamed for my mom until she came and cleaned it all up. (By the way, thanks for that, mom.) It wasn't even that I needed someone to clean it up, I probably could have pushed everything aside until the morning-- but when I threw up, I wanted sympathy. Right then.
But not my daughter. She just moves it out of her way and moves on with her night. (There's no way to tell when she's throwing up. It might be happening first thing in the morning anyway. All I know is, it's not there when we check on her before Tom and I go to bed.) It's just another in the catalog of ways that she is different from me.
On Saturdays, she usually lets us sleep in a bit, and when I hear her talking to herself, I go check on her and get her out of the crib. Both these days, I walked in, got her out of bed, got her diaper changed, and then noticed that something was amiss.
Both Saturdays, everything was piled up on the far side of the crib away from Emmy.
I looked at Emmy and I asked her, "Emmy, did you throw up?" She nodded at me. "Well, sweetie, why didn't you call me?"
To which she, understandably, had no answer. Her vocabulary is steadily increasing, but I didn't really expect her to answer my question.
But it's the oddest thing. I know that when I was a kid, if I threw up, I screamed for my mom until she came and cleaned it all up. (By the way, thanks for that, mom.) It wasn't even that I needed someone to clean it up, I probably could have pushed everything aside until the morning-- but when I threw up, I wanted sympathy. Right then.
But not my daughter. She just moves it out of her way and moves on with her night. (There's no way to tell when she's throwing up. It might be happening first thing in the morning anyway. All I know is, it's not there when we check on her before Tom and I go to bed.) It's just another in the catalog of ways that she is different from me.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Singing
Emmy Singing
Here's a video of Emmy singing in the bath last night. I asked her to sing "itsy bitsy spider."
We're not sure what song she's singing at the end, (about a snowman?) but it must be something they sing at preschool.
Here's a video of Emmy singing in the bath last night. I asked her to sing "itsy bitsy spider."
We're not sure what song she's singing at the end, (about a snowman?) but it must be something they sing at preschool.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Alphabetically speaking
The last time I went to McKay's, a used bookstore here in town, I picked up a really cute book to read with Emmy. The reason I picked it up is because it was clearly all the words to a song I learned long at Girl Scout camp, called "A You're an Antelope." (Found the lyrics- here: Girl Scout Songbook-- scroll to bottom)
Anyway, in this version, the lyrics were much nicer. Here's a video, though apparently, we've been singing it wrong: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wkgi0arlSFo
So, most nights, Emmy asks us to read the "a-book." Some nights, she prefers to read the books herself, so last week, she climbed up in the rocking chair with her book and proceeded to sing us almost the entire song.
It wasn't perfect, but Tom and I just sat there, mouths agape, as our daughter sang this silly song we've sung so many nights-- especially when she sang this part:
M-N-O-P, I could go on all day
Q-R-S-T, alphabetically speaking (pause for effect) You're Okay!
Now, granted her "alphabetically" was a little garbled, but we knew what she meant.
Yesterday, I caught her singing the Itsy Bitsy Spider, all by herself, but she refused to sing it again for Tom when I called him into the room.
She also sings Twinkle, twinkle and baa baa black sheep.
And she loves "this little piggy," although all of the piggies, at the moment, go to the market, until she announces that one goes "wee wee wee wee allthewayhome," complete with tiptoeing fingers up your leg.
Her other favorite book is "Uh-Libbit," which translates to Olivia by Ian Falconer. She points to all the dresses that Olivia wears in the book and calls them "princess dresses." (She likes to wear a tutu and dance-- sticking her leg in the air behind her, but don't ask her to do the ballerina dance-- you have to call it the princess dance)
And, last but not least, every night we say good night and tell her we love her, and sometimes she says I love you. Sometimes, I love you, too. But last night, she said, (for the first time that I've ever heard it), "I love you very much."
Oh, and on a different note, she also says "dammit." But at least she says it appropriately. Like when she can't get her sock on by herself, you'll hear her mutter, "damm-it." (Whoops.)
Anyway, in this version, the lyrics were much nicer. Here's a video, though apparently, we've been singing it wrong: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wkgi0arlSFo
So, most nights, Emmy asks us to read the "a-book." Some nights, she prefers to read the books herself, so last week, she climbed up in the rocking chair with her book and proceeded to sing us almost the entire song.
It wasn't perfect, but Tom and I just sat there, mouths agape, as our daughter sang this silly song we've sung so many nights-- especially when she sang this part:
M-N-O-P, I could go on all day
Q-R-S-T, alphabetically speaking (pause for effect) You're Okay!
Now, granted her "alphabetically" was a little garbled, but we knew what she meant.
Yesterday, I caught her singing the Itsy Bitsy Spider, all by herself, but she refused to sing it again for Tom when I called him into the room.
She also sings Twinkle, twinkle and baa baa black sheep.
And she loves "this little piggy," although all of the piggies, at the moment, go to the market, until she announces that one goes "wee wee wee wee allthewayhome," complete with tiptoeing fingers up your leg.
Her other favorite book is "Uh-Libbit," which translates to Olivia by Ian Falconer. She points to all the dresses that Olivia wears in the book and calls them "princess dresses." (She likes to wear a tutu and dance-- sticking her leg in the air behind her, but don't ask her to do the ballerina dance-- you have to call it the princess dance)
And, last but not least, every night we say good night and tell her we love her, and sometimes she says I love you. Sometimes, I love you, too. But last night, she said, (for the first time that I've ever heard it), "I love you very much."
Oh, and on a different note, she also says "dammit." But at least she says it appropriately. Like when she can't get her sock on by herself, you'll hear her mutter, "damm-it." (Whoops.)
Friday, January 13, 2012
Please and Thank You
The other day, I went to pick up Emmy from daycare. Her teacher was handing out little cups of water, and she asked Emmy if she would like some before we left.
Emmy got a cup and said, "Thank you."
When she finished, she walked back over to hand her cup back and the teacher asked if she would like some more. Emmy nodded and said, "Please."
The teacher then mentioned that earlier in the day, she had said thank you to Emmy for doing something and Emmy had responded with "you're welcome."
I'm very proud of Emmy for being so polite, and for using each of these words appropriately and without (much) prompting.
But the interesting thing that I noticed was that, while the other kids in her classroom (and there were a few who were younger, so I take that into consideration) have a similar level of vocabulary, none of them said please or thank you.
I don't really have any conclusions to draw from that, but I did think it was interesting, and whatever the reason, I was very proud of my polite little girl.
Emmy got a cup and said, "Thank you."
When she finished, she walked back over to hand her cup back and the teacher asked if she would like some more. Emmy nodded and said, "Please."
The teacher then mentioned that earlier in the day, she had said thank you to Emmy for doing something and Emmy had responded with "you're welcome."
I'm very proud of Emmy for being so polite, and for using each of these words appropriately and without (much) prompting.
But the interesting thing that I noticed was that, while the other kids in her classroom (and there were a few who were younger, so I take that into consideration) have a similar level of vocabulary, none of them said please or thank you.
I don't really have any conclusions to draw from that, but I did think it was interesting, and whatever the reason, I was very proud of my polite little girl.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
She's Got the Idea
Last night, Emmy finished her dinner and was ready to get down. She was grunting for my attention and I asked her if she wanted to get down, to which she vigorously nodded.
So, I told her, "Ask Daddy, 'May I be excused?'"
And she understood what I was saying, but didn't really have those words yet, so this is what we got:
"Jabber jabber (exact same tone and inflection as me), get down, Daddy?"
And Tom laughed and said, "Yes, honey, you can get down."
So, I told her, "Ask Daddy, 'May I be excused?'"
And she understood what I was saying, but didn't really have those words yet, so this is what we got:
"Jabber jabber (exact same tone and inflection as me), get down, Daddy?"
And Tom laughed and said, "Yes, honey, you can get down."
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Resolutions vs. Goals
I've said in the past that I don't like resolutions, and that's true, to a point. I think that to bring about healthy changes in our lives, we need to set goals and make plans to achieve those goals. I believe that to make these changes, we need to commit to them and commit to making good choices, year-round. Resolutions always seem to be BIG things that we struggle to stick to. I resolve to lose weight. I resolve to quit (bad habit). I think it's easier to make that your goal, and map out some smaller steps to get there. If you want to lose weight, then you resolve to work out several times a week. Or you resolve to make better food choices.
But despite my wariness of big new year's resolutions, I do like the idea of starting fresh each year-- of setting goals and working toward them. I like the idea of a clean slate.
Tom and I talked about our goals for the upcoming year, so here are a few:
Tom's goal is to run a full marathon. I don't think there's a timeline attached, so let's say maybe April of 2013 (the Country Music Marathon is each year in April). Tom will work on adding mileage and building to a full 26.2.
He also wants to "de-clutter." We have a house full of stuff, and we'd like to whittle it down a bit. Now that we both have kindles, and devices with access to the "cloud," we should both be able to reduce our paper. We also have lots of toys and clothes that aren't getting much use anymore-- and would probably make other households very happy.
I have lots of goals (more of a five-year plan, really). I want to become a runner, so I resolve to run three times a week. Mileage doesn't really matter to me, so long as I am actually running every week. I want to complete a writing project. I've realized that although getting a master's degree is important to me in the long run, it's not particularly high on the list at the moment, so (although I have not definitely decided) I plan to take this semester off from school and use the time I would be spending on schoolwork to work on writing. I like my job, so I'm not pushing to make a big change any time soon. I'd love to be making more money, but I'm content to sit still for a little while. I can re-assess in a year or two.
So, those are my goals. I've mapped out some steps that I can take to make some progress towards them.
But this year, I do have a resolution. This is not a goal, because it is not something with an identifiable end-goal. I don't know that I can map out steps.
I resolve to be happier. I resolve to live in the moment-- to stop worrying and planning for the future, to stop thinking ahead-- and enjoy my amazing little girl and my wonderful husband.
I'm a planner- and a worrier. I'm usually several steps ahead of myself, planning how to get to where I want to be. But, if I'm not careful, I'm going to worry myself to an early grave. And that is not a place I'm looking forward to getting to.
So, my resolution this year is to enjoy where I'm at. No, I'm not where I want to be in the long term. But for a 28 year old? I'm in a pretty great place. And now, I'm going to (TRY to) slow down and enjoy it. In fact, every day, I'm going to tweet one thing that I am happy about/grateful for. So, at the end of the year, I should have 365 things to demonstrate how happy I am to be where I am. (I'll tweet three things today to catch up). You can follow me on twitter: @hamco
But despite my wariness of big new year's resolutions, I do like the idea of starting fresh each year-- of setting goals and working toward them. I like the idea of a clean slate.
Tom and I talked about our goals for the upcoming year, so here are a few:
Tom's goal is to run a full marathon. I don't think there's a timeline attached, so let's say maybe April of 2013 (the Country Music Marathon is each year in April). Tom will work on adding mileage and building to a full 26.2.
He also wants to "de-clutter." We have a house full of stuff, and we'd like to whittle it down a bit. Now that we both have kindles, and devices with access to the "cloud," we should both be able to reduce our paper. We also have lots of toys and clothes that aren't getting much use anymore-- and would probably make other households very happy.
I have lots of goals (more of a five-year plan, really). I want to become a runner, so I resolve to run three times a week. Mileage doesn't really matter to me, so long as I am actually running every week. I want to complete a writing project. I've realized that although getting a master's degree is important to me in the long run, it's not particularly high on the list at the moment, so (although I have not definitely decided) I plan to take this semester off from school and use the time I would be spending on schoolwork to work on writing. I like my job, so I'm not pushing to make a big change any time soon. I'd love to be making more money, but I'm content to sit still for a little while. I can re-assess in a year or two.
So, those are my goals. I've mapped out some steps that I can take to make some progress towards them.
But this year, I do have a resolution. This is not a goal, because it is not something with an identifiable end-goal. I don't know that I can map out steps.
I resolve to be happier. I resolve to live in the moment-- to stop worrying and planning for the future, to stop thinking ahead-- and enjoy my amazing little girl and my wonderful husband.
I'm a planner- and a worrier. I'm usually several steps ahead of myself, planning how to get to where I want to be. But, if I'm not careful, I'm going to worry myself to an early grave. And that is not a place I'm looking forward to getting to.
So, my resolution this year is to enjoy where I'm at. No, I'm not where I want to be in the long term. But for a 28 year old? I'm in a pretty great place. And now, I'm going to (TRY to) slow down and enjoy it. In fact, every day, I'm going to tweet one thing that I am happy about/grateful for. So, at the end of the year, I should have 365 things to demonstrate how happy I am to be where I am. (I'll tweet three things today to catch up). You can follow me on twitter: @hamco
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