With a box of tissues at her side...

This morning, Reilly wasn't quite acting like herself. By that I mean, she was weepy and clingy. It was certainly not a Thumbs Up day. Still, we pressed on, getting her dressed and fed and in the car. It was about halfway between home and school that I had to pull over to the side and ask myself a few har questions in regards to the two-and-a-half year old child in the back seat that had not stopped crying since we left the house. The questions basically revolved around the responsibilities of being a parent versus the responsibilites that go along with the rest of my life.

I did a U-turn and headed back home.

It is clear that Reilly is not feeling well, she is certainly developing a cold, but more than that, I could sense her anxiety about life in general, and so, we are taking a sick day.

I took this picture of her moments ago with our new camera.

Driving, Sickness, and What Santa says

Why the lack of posting, you ask?

First, let me start with the post I had written on Tuesday, but had failed to post for reasons that are yet to be written, (though if you've read the title to this post, it might, perhaps, be obvious):

This morning, I was driving on Manhatan Avenue (oh, the irony) on the way to work, when I got stuck behind a slow driver. A slow driver that was driving a right-off-the-lot convertible Porsche. Which lead me to ponder the following conundrum, which I now leave up to you:

Which is worse, a person intentionally driving slowly in a very fast car, or
A person driving unintetionlly slowly in a very slow car?

And still, you ask, why the lack of posting?

Yes, by Tuesday afternoon, I knew that Wednesday was going to be a no-go. When you are so sore that you can hardly lift yourself out of your chair, yet you haven't done much more than lift a chicken wing and a beer, you know it's going to get ugly.

Was there fever? Yes. Was there a four hour nap in the middle of the day? Yes. Was there nausea? Yes. Was there barfing? No, I say. No.

By tonight, I was thinking, I could return to work. I don't feel awesome, but I could make it through a day. However, there is another person who spent the day by my side who was not feeling so hot.

Yes, it's Reilly (again). She's got my fever. My chills. My four hour nap.

It's hard to remember much that was worth writing about since Tuesday, but there was one exchange tonight that I think is worth mentioning:

As we were driving back from the local CVS, fully stocked with Children's Motrin (which was on sale!), Reilly asked that I drive by some Christmas lights. She loves Christmas lights, and I love that she loves Christmas lights. This particular Christmas light display had a blow-up Santa and a blow-up penguin dressed as a snowman. Here was the conversation:

Me: Reilly, there's Santa!
Reilly: Santa says, "Boo!"
Me: No, Reilly, Santa says, "Ho! Ho! Ho!"
Reilly, Exasperated at my stupidity: "No, DADDY, Santa says BOO!"

Week 126 Pictures

For all those who inquired, and for all those who are wondering, yes, Reilly is feeling much better. She had a checkup at the doctor this afternoon and though her urine test was still a bit off, she seems to be past the worst of it.

Here is the photo of the week:



For more, click here.

A new rule

Reilly has been sick on and off for the past three months. Mostly on. Three months ago she started preschool, which is well known to be the breeding ground for all things bacterial.

Our family has been through this before, has weathered the initial period where Reilly adjusts to her new daycare environment. This time, though, the initial period has seemed to stretch on longer than normal.

Being seasoned parents, we haven’t taken Reilly to the doctor much. We know that most of what she contracts simply requires a dose of rest coupled with a few shots of TLC. However, last week, when she contracted pink eye, we knew we had to take her in to see the pediatrician.

Shawn took Reilly, and it was a quick and simple visit. Later that day, I came home from work and was doing my usual afternoon potty duty. Reilly pee-peed in the potty and got up to wipe when I noticed that there were a few crimson drops diffusing in her urine. I knew right away that it was blood.

Back to the pediatrician we went, and after the drama of having Reilly give a urine sample, my fear was confirmed: Reilly had a UTI. The doctor prescribed an antibiotic and then told us he’d be calling us the next day. He was concerned about the amount of bacteria in her urine and needed to run additional tests to see if there was any damage to her bladder or kidneys. He said we might need an ultrasound.

(Here I am at this moment typing this all rather matter-of-factly, but let me just admit right now that I was really concerned and even a tad bit freaking out.)

So they call us the next day and tell us that Reilly also has e-coli in her urine.

(More freaking out by me.)

Over the last week, the antibiotic has done its job, and Reilly has returned to her happy, active self. Shawn and I permitted ourselves to relax and give a sigh of relief that this whole thing was over.

Then today, Shawn called me at work to say that Mrs. A had asked that she pick Reilly up from preschool. Reilly had just thrown up. Twice.

Shawn and I babied Reilly all afternoon, playing gently, bathing gently, eating gently. No matter, she barfed two more times, all over Shawn. So here I am, typing up a blog while Shawn reads a book to our mellow and bellyaching baby. Next, I’ll do the dishes from dinner tonight because honestly—there should be a rule that if you get barfed on, you don’t have to do the dishes, right?

Sicky-wicky

In the life of every car, there is a moment where the car goes from being a “new” car to a used car. At that moment, you can actually hear the sucking sound of wind as the car begins its rapid descent of depreciation.

The moment is different for every car—it could be your first door ding, or the first chip on your bumper as the gravel truck in front of you rains down tiny rocks on your car.

The moment my car lost its newness was this morning, when Reilly projectile vomited curdled milk all over the backseat of our car. Friends of the internet, I wish that I could properly describe the smell that is now imbedded in the upholstery of the Camry. It is foul.

Many of you are probably thinking, but what about poor Reilly? Who cares about the stupid car when wonderful baby-waby Reilly is sicky-wicky? I’ll have you know that I did not panic or curse when Reilly barfed in the backseat, but rather calmly removed her from the car, soothing her all the way back to the house, where I handed her off to grandma while I quickly returned to the car with towel in hand.

The worst part, and the part I feel truly bad about, was that I had to put her back in the car seat that she had just thrown up in. Yes, I put down a towel, and no, she did not get any additional barf on her. But the stench of the car was almost enough to make my eyes tear up, and I imagine it’s not pleasant to be sitting on the source of that smell.

Ah, the joys of being a parent. There’s just nothing like it.

The Things She Carried

A few days ago, we went over to Papa Bear and Granny's house for Reilly's fourth celebration of her first birthday. (Spoiled much?) While we were there, Reilly had a fantastic time playing with her Aunt Morgan's doll stroller. So, in keeping with our rule to never buy pink plastic crappy toys for our daughter, I ran right out to Target and bought Reilly her own doll stroller.

Self-loathing aside, Reilly loves the thing. Though the stroller is not exactly a development toy, at least she walks around a lot with it and gets her exercise, which should help our daughter (who is already in the 4th percentile for weight) keep from getting fat.

First thing every morning, Reilly will wheel the empty stroller around the house, looking for items to add to the seat. It always interests me to see what she chooses to carry with her. In the photo below, you'll the results of Reilly's day-long process of filling the stroller. In the seat, you will find: a sippy cup, Harrison the teddy bear, a purple bath cup, two rubber ducks, 1/2 of a page from Parenting Magazine, a yellow plastic stacking ring, a spray nozzle for the hose outside, a magnet for the local pizzeria, and a black and silver pair of her mother's sandals.



She's a funny kid.



(For those astute readers who closely analyzed the photo below, yes--that is a rash on Reilly's face, most likely caused by the hummus I had given her for lunch.)

Taking a Sick Day

Reilly’s sick today with a high fever. Her illness is either a reaction to the chickenpox vaccine she had on Tuesday, or “Hand, Foot, and Mouth” disease. I wish I was joking about that last one, but apparently, the HFM disease is going around daycare, and since Reilly catches everything that goes around daycare, my money is on that.

It’s been a pretty terrible Thursday. The problem is not just the fever, but also the fact that my once docile medicine-loving daughter now thinks it is best to spit out the liquid Tylenol/Motrin that I have been trying to give her. Just a few minutes ago, I finally got a full dose in her. For the first time today, she is not alternating between crying and lying lethargically on the bed watching Barney. Instead, she is standing in the middle of the room and crying. It’s an improvement.

Back to my nursing duties…

Shouldn't "Relax" be Step 5?

One time, Shawn tried to make meringue cookies. The recipe essentially calls for a ton of egg whites which you whip into firm peaks, and then bake. I remember Shawn in the kitchen, whipping away with a whisk, and those egg whites would not rise. Shawn called her mom for advice, and found that even if the slightest tiny bit of egg yolk got into the mix, that the batch would be ruined.

Shawn rinsed out the mixing bowl and then started anew, making sure to keep every speck of egg yolk out of the mixture. This time when Shawn started in with the whisk, the egg whites rose out of the bowl like a mountain of fluff, and the cookies were a great success.

Yesterday, Shawn made Reilly some egg yolks for lunch. Reilly LOVES egg yolks, it is by far her favorite food, as evidenced by the way she literally dives forward for the spoon, mouth stretched wide. Unfortunately, we came to learn that even the smallest amount of egg white is an allergen for Reilly.

Our baby got hives, and I mean BAD. She was covered in the itchy little suckers, and Reilly was beside herself trying to scratch them away. Shawn was beside herself with worry and guilt. I was rapidly leafing through our Baby 411 book, looking for advice.

From page 329:

Step 1: Relax. If your child is not having any trouble breathing, this can be managed at home.

Shawn and I skip over the relax part and start focusing on Reilly’s breathing. Is she breathing okay? I don’t know, what do you think? I can’t hear her. Can we normally hear her? Okay, I guess she’s fine. Yeah. Okay.

Step 2: Try to figure out what caused the hives.

That one was easy. Next step!

Step 3: Stop any medications until seeing the doctor.

Another easy one, Reilly isn’t on any medications.

Step 4: Give Benadryl to the baby.

See Brian bolt to bedroom. See him locate Benadryl and pause while recalling proper dosage for a 15 pound baby. See Shawn enter room with Hive Baby. See Brian administer Benadryl in one quick squirt, while Hive Baby writhes in itchiness. See Shawn and Brian expect instant relief.

See Brian and Shawn panic when baby resumes frantic itching and crying.

Eventually, of course, the Benadryl kicked in, and though it took about 8 hours, the hives eventually started to recede, and Reilly returned to her normal, happy self, as if nothing ever happened.

It wasn’t so easy for us, especially Shawn, who took to repeating the following phrase to me about every fifteen minutes for the rest of the day, her face twisted up and contrite: “I poisoned my baby!”

Bounce Back Baby

It all started at 4:30 pm yesterday with a phone call from Joyce at the daycare center. “Hi Brian, I just wanted you to know that it seems that Reilly has a fever, and she is really cranky and unhappy.” My primary reaction to this message was annoyance. Since the daycare workers are not allowed to take the baby’s temperature, I had no way of knowing if “it seems Reilly has a fever” meant that her temperature was 100 degrees or 104 degrees. Since I always fear the worst, I ran out of work assuming that Reilly was suffering from a 104 degree fever.

Of course, just as I got down into the subway station the W train pulled away, so I had ten minutes to sit there and stew. I stood on the platform, watching a rat drink the water from the floor of the subway tracks, and thought about what drinking that water would do to me, and respected the rat for somehow evolving the ability to drink the dirtiest water in America.

When the W train finally came I hopped on, and after what felt like the slowest commute ever, made it to the City Hall stop. I then sped past all the slow walkers and sprinted against the flashing hand of two intersections to make it to FedKids in less than 20 minutes. The security guys must have seen the my-baby-has-a-fever look in my eye, because they let me go with only a cursory screening and without having to show my ID.

When I burst into the daycare room, Jenya (Reilly’s primary caregiver), was sitting in the rocking chair with Reilly all wrapped up in a pink blanket. As soon as I got Reilly into my arms, I knew that she had a high fever. I packed her up as quickly as I could and rushed out the door, then called Shawn on the way to apprise her of the situation. When I got to the subway station, the train was just pulling away.

#$%@^@^$*&#$#*@!

Another 30 minutes later we arrived home, stripped down the baby, and took her temperature. Rectally. Which she didn’t appreciate one bit. The verdict? 103.6 degrees. Imagine worried shadows invading Shawn’s face. See father gulping down lump in his throat while rushing for the baby Tylenol. Shawn started cuddling our very quiet and burning hot baby and asked me in the meantime to get a cool towel for her forehead.

One hour later, Reilly was back in action: