Signs

Signs that Bry is feeling better:

• Eating breakfast (bananas) this morning
• Enthusiastic cup banging at breakfast this morning
• Keeping breakfast inside his stomach this morning
  
• Covering the living room floor with toys, flinging books about, etc.
  

Signs that Bry is still feeling sick:

• Nose running like a faucet
• Coughing, sneezing
• Putting his head down on my shoulder and falling asleep at nap time within 2 minutes with no fussing, protesting, or general flailing of his limbs hither and yon

Bry and I are having pajama day (for him) and stay home from work day (for me) today. So far our morning has been filled with much playing. Don't tell daddy that he's missing out on the fun.

If You Don't Want to Hear about Puke or Vomit, Skip This Entry

No new news about Bry meeting whatever developmental milestone is currently in queue. However, I've now reached a new parenting milestone: being puked upon.

Tonight Steve, Bry, and I were out at Noodles for a lovely dinner. Bry wasn't so keen on his rice and lentils, but I figured it was just because he had had a big lunch. He turned down the tofu that we ordered for him too, but again, that was a long shot, given his hot and cold relationship with certain foods. Bry seemed tired, intermittently resting his head on the table, as if the act of holding his head up was really tiring his neck out. In retrospect, the fact that he wasn't pounding the table with his cup also should have signaled that something was amiss.

Midway through our meal, we (and at least 4 or 5 other diners in close vicinity) were treated to the sight of Bry projectile vomiting all over himself, the table, and the floor. He's never thrown up with quite that ferocity or volume before. There were occasions back in the early days when Bry would spit up what seemed like an impressive amount of milk and I'd wonder whether he had truly vomited, or just spit up. Now I know the answer.

After the event, both Steve and I just kind of sat there, dumbfounded. I can't speak for Steve, but I imagine he shared thoughts similar to my own, namely: "Uhhhh, what exactly just happened there?" Bry was crying, I think because he startled himself as well. I plucked his puke-covered self up out of the highchair all the while wondering about how to (a) keep the vomit from touching me, (b) clean up enough to get home, and (c) get all the other restaurant patrons to stop staring at us. OK, I really don't know if they were staring at us, but it certainly felt like they were, what with the bewildered, crying child and giant puddle of vomit on the floor directly under our table.

I took Bry back to the restroom to try to clean both of us up while Steve did damage control around the table. He put Bry's soiled bib in a takeout box (clever, if not disgusting) and mopped up what he could with a stack of napkins. He then alerted one of the employees who looked at the mess on the floor and then reached down to touch it for unknown reasons. The employee then shrugged his shoulders, said, "It's fine," and continued to bus our table, without washing his hands. I'm not sure the italics do justice to the grossness of this action, so take it from me: gross.

Somehow we managed to all make it home without further incident, but that's when the puking really started in earnest. Steve bathed Bry, after which I nursed him, per our usual bedtime routine. Bry then deviated from the bedtime routine when he pulled away mid-nurse and heaved the contents of his stomach all over me, the rocking chair, the floor, etc., etc.

Mostly undaunted by this turn of events (or perhaps just in shock), I called for Steve to help. We changed Bry's pajamas, swapped out the rocking chair cushions for couch pillows, and tried to resume the process of putting Bry to bed. I changed my clothes and somewhat naively, or perhaps stupidly, continued to try to nurse Bry. Not sure what I was thinking there. I had even brought out a stack of old towels with the thought that I should probably cover myself and/or Bry up, but failed to do so. Bry was quite sleepy, though still cheery, and I put him down in the crib without any problems. At some point after that, this whole crazy dance started over again and Bry threw up all over his crib. Cue in the second PJ change and add on a change of the crib sheet and mattress pad.

All together, Bry has puked about half a dozen times (thus far) tonight. Somehow, after each time, he has managed to smile at Steve or I when we go to retrieve him and clean him up. We've done 3 loads of laundry and I've washed my hands so many times that I think I'm starting to rub the skin off. Two worried calls to the pediatrician have revealed that we are, indeed, neurotic parents. I imagine the nurse was rolling her eyes while more or less telling Steve, "He's fine," and making the "first-time parents" sign to whoever was sitting close by.

At least we've wised up and wrapped a towel around Bry's mattress for easier clean-up. Here's hoping that Bry feels better soon. Because we're starting to run out of towels.

Baby, It's Cold Outside

Brrrr!

The temperature was 5 degrees Fahrenheit with wind chills to -14 degrees this morning when I trundled Bry out to the car for the ride to daycare. He refuses to wear mittens thus far because they cover his HANDS! that he needs for PLAYING! So I threw a blanket over his head and hoped for the best. Too bad no one makes an infant car seat warmer. So Bry can travel in style with toasty buns.

I'm not sure that I'm ready for the Minnesota winter to begin in earnest. I was lamenting to Steve recently that I miss summer when dressing Bryson consisted of pulling a romper over his head and leaving him barefoot. And at that time he was mostly content to sit still while we dressed him. Now there's the t-shirt or onesie, pants, sweater, socks, shoes, hat, coat, etc., not to mention the extra challenge of placing all of these items on a force of nature who can't be troubled to slow down enough to comply with the act of getting dressed. I imagine Bry's internal dialogue while we're trying to dress him goes something like this: "You want me to wear socks and shoes so my toes don't get frostbitten? I laugh at your frostbite. I can stay warm through the sheer power of kinetic energy alone. Now I must go pull all of those books out of that basket over there. STAT!"

At least he's still in diapers and we don't have to worry about the inevitable, cross-legged cries of, "I have to GO!" after we've layered the kid up with more winter insulation than a yeti has fur. (Work with me on that one.) Parenthood - it just keeps getting harder, huh?

Why Have You Not Introduced Me to Turkey Before?

Bry had a spectacular Thanksgiving at Grandpa and Grandma E's house. In between getting a new tooth, and not wanting to sleep very much he discovered the joys of turkey and cranberry mousse, both of which got an enthusiastic high chair tray pounding and a wide open mouth for more. He also learned about the existence of mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, stuffing, and a bite or two of jello. All of which earned a "Yes, more please" response. I'm not sure we'll be able to go back to his usual pureed peas and yogurt without protest.

Two minutes before Bry pulled the tablecloth off the table.
OK, not really.
But that would have been funny, no?
After the tragedy had died down.

Thanksgiving buffet.

Me likes turkey!

Bry was also introduced to Thanksgiving day football (the TV is in the distance):

Is my fantasy team winning?

And a toothbrush (I know, bad parents for not brushing his teeth sooner!):

Am I opening wide enough?

We all thought that Bry would be walking before the weekend was out, but he contented himself with doing about 900 laps around the coffee table. He would stand unassisted for long periods, but seemed determined not to take more than a step before crumpling to his knees and crawling off wherever he wanted to go. When we cheered at him to walk he gave us a withering look as if to say, "People, I've figured out the most efficient way to get around, and let me tell you, it ain't walking on my own. Why would I do such a silly thing when I've got you to ferry me about?"

Can't you go any faster, mama?

What Happens at the Doctor's Office...

Bryson seems to be mostly on the mend, though he managed to wake himself up by coughing last night. Daddy stepped up to the plate and stayed up with him for an hour while mama dreamed about sleep. You know you're sleep deprived when the best your addled, dreaming brain can come up with is visions of lying in a soft bed, which you're already doing.

I mention Steve staying up with Bry to counter another recent daddy anecdote that I was recently informed about. Last week Steve took Bry to the pediatrician by himself. The "boys" were on their own that day and didn't have mama there to watch (and possibly correct) their every move. Steve became painfully aware that he had forgotten the diaper bag when, en route to the doctor's office, a particularly pungent aroma wafted in from the back seat. And, as Steve put it, he knew he wasn't the responsible party. Arriving at the doctor's office, he sheepishly asked a nurse if she had a spare diaper. She assured him that forgetting the supplies has happened to many other parents (many other dads?). Steve thanked her and then asked whether doctor-patient confidentiality extended to such circumstances so that his wife wouldn't find out.

Darth Bry*

Bry, sporting his nebulizer get-up:

Don't I look sad?

Send cheese ASAP. Cheese makes everything better.

*Guess who named this post?**
**Yep, Steve.

Bry's Food Pyramid

As we've added more and more solid foods to Bry's diet, he's become more and more clear about his preferences. His list of favorites seems to change on a daily basis however, making mealtime a challenging game of "What will Bry eat today?" Rejected foods get vigorous hand waving and attempts to fish the mushy contents out of his mouth with his fingers. Even though he seems to change his mind often about what is good and what is not, there has been one clear, consistent winner: cheese. I'm pretty sure Bry could eat 3 meals a day of nothing but cheese with a side of cheese and some melted cheese to wash it all down. We try not to fight him on food choices, but that doesn't necessarily preclude acting craftily. Tonight at dinner after Bry refused avocado and sweet potatoes, two of his former favorites, Steve switched to pears (fruit is usually a good bet). After a few spoonfuls, he loaded the spoon with sweet potatoes and then pretended to dip the spoon in the jar of pears. Bry gobbled up the potatoes with gusto. Score one for the parents!

I'll eat your peas. But I'm not gonna like it.

Faking It

Does this look like the face of a kid who's sick?

Not too sick to wear a bowl on your head.

Not too sick to show off your new tooth.
(Bottom right, really.)

Not too sick to play in the wastepaper basket.
(Note: This is a recycling basket - we don't routinely let Bry play in the trash. Only on special occasions.)

Not too sick to, um, wave papers around.

Not too sick to unroll the toilet paper.

Not too sick to drop your cup from the high chair.

I think it's off to school for you, mister. And put that bowl back where it belongs. In the cupboard that you opened! and closed! and opened! and closed!

Heard back from the pediatrician today: Bry does not have RSV, which would have been cause for greater concern. Just an average, run of the mill virus doing its virusy thang. I think you've overstayed your welcome, virus. Time to be moving along now.

Proceeding Undaunted

Second trip to the pediatrician today. If you think you're having a good time, try taking your 10-month-old son to the doctor's office. Sit in a 7 x 7 room for 40 minutes before the doctor comes in. Try not to let your son lick every gross, gross surface in the office. Entertain him with a tongue depressor. Let him crawl from one end of the exam table to the other. Over and over. Have him open and close the door and peek outside adorably. Flirt with the nurses (your son, not you). You don't know good times until you've tried it.

Bryson's oxygen saturation was still low today, making the doctor nervous and me nervouser (it's totally a word). But, after another nebulizer treatment, it skyrocketed back up to normal. The poor little guy was all limp in my arms afterwards. Like it was finally so good just to get some air. Whew. Now we just watch and wait, while using the nebulizer every four hours. Since his numbers looked so good at the end of today's visit, we're off the hook for using it every four hours around the clock. Bry finally slept through last night, after at least a month of waking up 1-6 times during the night. He took a two-hour nap yesterday and an hour and a half nap this morning. I know this is "normal" for kids his age, but compared with his previous sleep habits, this is a godsend.

Other than being a little fussier than usual, Bry is powering it through. He beat his personal best this morning after opening and closing the kitchen cabinet doors about 8000 times. It's hard work, but somebody's got to do it. He's a trouper.

I'm just gonna test the hinges on this door for you.

Hmm, under the table inspection looks OK too.

Little Sickie

Ever since Bry caught his first cold, he's had a perpetual runny nose. We just chalked it up to the combination of daycare, crummy weather, and an immature immune system. Three weeks later, he added a cough on top of his runny nose. Quick trip to the pediatrician, who confirmed that we were indeed neurotic parents giving too much concern to the sniffles. He had a mild ear infection, but only enough to warrant an "in case" prescription for antibiotics. In other words, we had it "in case" he started to get more irritable, pulled at his ears more, got feverish, etc. We never filled it. In all likelihood, the doc gave it to us "in case" we were to accuse him of not doing anything for our child! Who was sick! But, being responsible and not wanting to promote any antibiotic resistant superbugs, we figured we would save Bry the introduction to amoxicillan until later in life.

One week later, Bry's cough got upgraded to a regular smoker's hack, and well, he just didn't sound good. I convinced Steve to stay home with Bry since I don't get any sick leave. There was only minor eye-rolling on his part and he managed to refrain from telling me, "He's fine!" Steve dragged him back to the pediatrician who, one chest x-ray later, told Steve that Bry had bronchiolitis, a more serious lower respiratory infection. Poor little Bry got sent home with a prescription for albuterol and a baby-sized nebulizer. So we're home for the week while Bry's immune system mounts an attack on the virus. I'm still deciding whether Bry is too young to implement the no TV while you're sick rule. Of course, for him it would be more like the no stacking cups while you're sick rule since he doesn't watch too much TV yet. Except Cops. He really likes those stupid criminals.

Oh No She Di'int

A brief hiatus from the chronicling of Bry's life to bring you this:

The scene: A salon; me meeting with a new stylist for a haircut.

The action: The stylist asks what I'd like. She washes my hair. We chatter about Bryson, grad school, and Minnesota winters as she snips away. She finishes up and dries my hair. As she's demonstrating options for different ways to style my new cut, she casually drops this bomb: "And you could kind of piece this out here, you know, for a younger, fun look." I nodded while gasping inwardly. I didn't know I was in need of a younger look. I don't feel quite ready for the mom jeans, but apparently I now officially have mom hair.

Sunday at the Zoo

Bry took his first trip to the zoo today. Even though we saw a puma, baboons, giant man-eating fish, red pandas, tri-colored squirrels (really), a wolverine, and a slew of other animals I didn't even know existed, this was the only one that caught Bry's attention:

I'm black and white and weigh 800 pounds. I'm a ______?

Don't let it eat me!

Steve (who's got a degree in "animals," aka, zoology, according to his friend Amy) identified it as a tapir. I'm not sure what Bry thought of it, though he was captivated by its movement for about 10 seconds, which is about 9.5 seconds longer than anything else he laid eyes on today. OK, that's not entirely true. There was something else that held his attention for a long time:

That would be the stroller handle.

There was a lot of holding Bry up to the exhibits and saying, "Look Bry! See the _____ (insert animal of your choice here)!" To which Bry would give us this look:

Super.

Guess we'll need to revisit the zoo when Bry's old enough to recognize that species outside of people and KITTIES! exist.

All in a Day's Work

Bry spent Friday kicking a bunch of developmental processes into high gear. He used his first baby sign (for "more"), clearly said "mama" (about time, kid), broke the gum with his first tooth, and took about 8-9 steps in a row (OK, he "walked" while holding onto his walking toy, but it was the first time he showed much interest in actually using it for its intended purpose, rather than playing with the shiny toys attached to it). He must have gotten word from the top that productivity was down at the end of the week, so he hustled to make his performance goals before close of business. He's already a procrastinator, just like his mama.

This thing is no monkey business.

Baby's First Halloween

Bryson celebrated his first Halloween last night by barreling around the crowd of babies and toys at his playgroup's Halloween party. He did not get any candy, but he did get a toy frog and a can of Cheerios to put in his treat bag. Awesome. Being at a party meant that Steve and I got to avoid the barrage of trick-or-treaters at our own house. Also awesome.