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).
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