Six seconds...

That's the longest my mom went without talking today. Oh, well - I knew what I was getting into. Surprisingly, I don't mind - it's not like it's at all tranquil when she's not here, so the more the merrier. And since I've started losing weight, she's been pretty complementary and has backed off the comments about what I'm eating. Hopefully my weight loss will continue.

At daycare they're talking about moving Ragsy to the two-year room early. It's not really that early - he'd be considered ready in two months anyway. They said they worried he was bored. Personally, I think it's two things: he's ready to start trying on the potty and they don't have the equipment downstairs; and he's ridiculously energetic and maybe just needs a change of scenery. Either way, I'm fine with him moving as long as it's challenging for him in a good way and not frustrating. Given his past experiences, it'll probably be an appropriate continuum, so I'm not too worried, though I'd like to watch him play in the two-year room at some point. As an added bonus, it's slightly cheaper once he moves.

Anyway, the upcoming week at work is going to be a challenge. We're trying to implement a new product in three weeks when we originally had three and a half months. This will go well. Ugh. Oh, well. If it's not a complete disaster at least I can say I helped, right? Well, I'm off. Did I mention I love my new laptop??

Just when I'd forgotten what it felt like...

Yes, more ranting and raving about our son's newfound ability to sleep through the night. You have to understand - he hasn't done this so consistently since a year ago last November. That's a year and a half of waking at least three times at night. So I just can't get over that I put him in bed and leave and he stays there. Perversely, I kind of miss watching him sleep and feeling his little body cuddled up against mine.

Kids are so trusting - they just know you'll keep all the monsters away, fix anything that's broken and heal all hurts. All you have to do is be there and all is right with the world. Knowing that my son feels that way about us makes me incredibly happy and at the same time incredibly sad since it won't always be so simple. Oh, well. At least I have now.

Today is a strange day. So beautiful outside. Just perfect. But I'm in a windowless room in the bowels of our executive conference center because I couldn't get anything done at my desk. Too accessible by phone and by people dropping by just to ask a "quick question." I hate being stuck here, but at least I can think without constant interruption. This morning has been incredibly productive. Now if I could just get myself to stop yakking here and get back to work....

I'll act like a grownup now.

I realize my bout of immaturity was a bit uncalled for yesterday, so today I'll at least pretend to be an adult. Which means this will be a very short post (well, if you're lucky, anyway).

I'm looking forward to this weekend when my mom visits. Unlike last weekend's unintended fast, I'll be able to enjoy all the Easter delicacies, hopefully with limited repercussions. I'll also be able to talk to her more since I won't be running to the restroom every other minute.

We'll also be hiding eggs for Ragsy and giving him an Easter basket. I never realized how fun it is to enjoy other people's joy until I had a child. I enjoy seeing my husband, family and friends happy, but there's something different and wholly transcendant about the way a child lights up, sometimes for no reason at all. Anyway, I'm not particularly religious; when you're raised in a mixed household then marry someone from yet another religion, being devout in just one is not easy.

Still, I really enjoy the holiday. Who wouldn't want to celebrate the coming of spring?

Holy monkey.

It's beautiful. My new laptop is absolutely gorgeous and mine - all mine! Bwahahahahaha! Normally I don't get all that jazzed up about new purchases. There are certain things you need like clothing and toiletries - you know, so you don't want around naked and stinky. But I totally splurged on myself and got a new laptop to make it easier for me to write. Our previous setup was my desktop downstairs in the basement. It's right next to the cats' room which, while not a horrid place, means that you have cats constantly trying to climb on you, you can't hear anything going on upstairs (like little kids waking from sound sleep) and it's not very comfortable because we still have a card table instead of a desk.

Plus, my laptop, while certainly NOT top of the line, is the first computer I've bought since college that I haven't had to build myself. And it's pretty. I plan to play tonight. I've been too tired, what with being sick and not eating, but today is the first day I've felt nearly normal and have been able to eat stuff other than minute amounts of bread and pretzels with water. So I plan to eat moderate amounts of non-bread items and install software all night.

Even better, our son seems to be growing into his sleep. Meaning I can take him to his room, we'll lay down and read a story, I'll turn off the lights and recite another story or sing, I kiss him, say "Go to sleep. I'm right down the hall if you need me. I love you. Night, night." And he stays there and actually goes to sleep! And even more shocking - he stays asleep, or has for two nights in a row. Two nights does not a solution make, but this has been a growing trend over the past few weeks, with stops and starts and regressions, but clear progress all the same.

I'm happy about this for two reasons:

a) The obvious reason - more sleep equals happier me, happier husband, hopefully more nookie and free time. Plus not having to stay with Ragsy for a frustrating hour and a half while he grudgingly conks out is absolutely wonderful and makes me dread bedtime far less and actually look forward to it.

b) The not-so-obvious, selfish reason (and this is going to sound absolutely horrible) - we didn't have to let him cry and all those people who said we were doing it wrong can kiss my butt and back off on commenting on my horrid parenting skills. So there!

Bad idea.

So, remember how I was so sick last week? I hadn't eaten in about two days by Friday and I was starving on my way to see my mom. So I stopped at a McDonald's. I haven't had McD's since a year ago January and, after all, having not eaten more than a bag of pretzels for two days, I wasn't too worried about the potential weight gain caused by a couple of cheeseburgers and a coke.

So I stopped. Stupid, stupid me. The ramifications didn't become fully apparent until Saturday afternoon. By Saturday evening, I thought I was going to die. Unfortunately, we had already promised my aunt and uncle that we'd meet them for dinner. I haven't had a chance to speak with them much since my son was born - every time we've seen them, my attention has been primarily focused on my son. So I really wanted to go anyway.

We had a fantastic time despite my frequent bathroom breaks. Instead of wine and lobster or filet like I looked forward to enjoying, I ate a few bites of potato and drank three glasses of club soda. I tried a tiny bite of fish but when I started gagging, managed to discreetly spit it out into my napkin before anything bad happened.

The trip back yesterday was uneventful. No fast food was involved (thank God), though as soon as I got back, my husband was asking if I would mind if we had Outback. We did have Outback, though I took a few scant bites of chicken and called it a night.

I'm kind of tired from being sick for so long. The not eating is getting to me - all I've had since that fateful evening is crackers and part of a potato and some water and sports drink - I've lost about 10 pounds over the last week. Did I mention the loathing I'm developing for crackers and bready things? I really, truly hate them now. I want some cheese with my whine. Sorry for the waaaayy too much information, but I'm really annoyed by this whole situation. Stupid body. Stay healthy for once.

I guess I'd stay healthier if I treated my body better. On the bright side, I did get tons of sleep this weekend, got to lay around and watch movies, and got to shop in E'ville, which always seems to be far more reasonably priced than St. Louis. Even better, Ragsy was very good to me yesterday, went to sleep easily (and all by himself - he even kicked me out of the room when he was ready to sleep!), then slept through the night for nearly 11 and 1/2 hours. That made my job last night much, much easier (okay, nonexistent, since it usually involves going in to soothe him once a midnight and again at 4 a.m. and sometimes once more at 5:45, if he goes back to sleep at all).

Calm before the storm.

I made it to my mom's house. It is so quiet here. I actually slept for 10 hours last night, waking only once when I heard a bunch of kids popping wheelies in their truck outside around 4 a.m. I'm probably going to take a nap later, too - I have a day to catch up on two years of missed sleep and I'm not going to waste it.


Last night was tough. I've been preparing Ragsy for the past week for my absence, mentioning every once in a while that I'd be leaving at the end of the week to visit his Nanima and that he and his Dad would have a boys' weekend together. It apparently didn't sink in until last night that I was actually going somewhere.


Initially, I didn't think he was listening. I remember stupidly calling in the car, "Sweetie, remember mommy's going to visit Nanima today. You and Daddy and going to have so much fun!" At first I just thought he was being difficult when he refused to get out of the car. He hit me and scratched me and tried to put his seatbelt back on and screamed at me to stay in the car. That didn't go over well. Eventually, I ran out of motherly understanding and hauled him inside, flailing and shrieking all the while. Once inside, he continued to scream, throwing himself on the floor.

Finally he stopped and calmed down enough to actually talk to me and play for a few minutes. He asked nicely to watch some Fraggle Rock and I decided that I'd let him have a few minutes before dinner. Big mistake. Once dinner was ready, I gave him warning and after a few minutes, turned off the TV. Another tantrum. He tried to take his plate to the couch and got crumbs and food all over the place, so I told him he'd have to move back to the kitchen. He began to throw food. I bodily took him back to the kitchen, where he threw more food. Dinner was over.

Finally, his dad got home and a few minutes later, the tantrum stopped unless I was in view. He waited until I was watching, then threw himself on the floor in front of me, screaming. This happened about five or six times. After about 20 minutes of this, it was time for me to leave. I tried to say goodbye to him, but he ignored me completely, finally walking away from me, head in the air, as though to make it crystal clear he was ignoring me.

I'm totally going to pay for this little reverie when I get home. But I'll make it worth it.

Denial

I'm in denial. I'm really not sick. Or at least, really not ready to admit it. I've got too much to do at work and home to be sick, plus I have a weekend at Mom's to look forward to. I'm not sick. No.

I didn't really have a fever of 103 yesterday. Nor did I want to throw up all day. I didn't spend most of the day in the bathroom. Really.

I also didn't have the shakes last night and I didn't go to bed at 6 p.m. only to wake up, exhausted, 12 hours later, drenched in sweat from my fever breaking.

Really, I do feel a heck of a lot better than yesterday, though. I'm functional, and I think I'll be able to get to Evansville tonight without too many problems. I plan to try anyway.

A woman on the edge.

Of getting sick, that is. I've been oscillating since about 5:30 (when Ragsy woke up - thank you, new teeth) between severe illness involving cramping and frequent bathroom trips and extreme hunger, thanks to the aforementioned trips to the toilet. I decided to go to work because I figured a shower, some movement and purpose would get my mind off my illness. And, dammit, I don't want to admit that I'm sick because that might mean I'd have to stay home from mom's tomorrow. And that'll happen only in an extreme circumstance, which may be fast approaching.

My stomach is starting to churn and I'm thanking God that there's a bag in my car because I might need it. Yes, too much information.

When did that start happening?

Remember how I once said that every time my child got sick, he also started doing something new? I was playing with him outside today (what? he's stopped barfing finally and has no fever - he's also very bored) and all of a sudden, he started counting. He didn't count to a hundred or anything - just to nine. I thought it was a fluke, so I started throwing out numbers out of sequence, but he counted correctly up from each. So if I said three instead of one, he'd say "four, five, six..." He's been doing it all day. The thing is, just yesterday he would only count to two.

I know he's only repeating stuff he's heard, and I get that he likely doesn't entirely grasp what he's doing, but it was really weird hearing him do it all correctly. The only one he has trouble with is eight - he usually skips right over it.

Then I was putting him to bed and he asked me to read the genie book (which can mean either Alladin and the Forty Thieves or Arabian Nights - both come from a set of books we got in India), then when I asked him which one, he sat up and said in this big, booming voice, "Open the door! Open Sesame!" I almost wet myself. But at least I know which one he wants. He's speaking in full sentences almost half the time now, which is amazing to me. I can't believe that even five or six months ago I was exclaiming when he was able to let me know he wanted to "Go Door." Now he's telling me "Open Sesame!" and "Ragha lost the stick. Mommy should help." Now if I could just get him to stop trying to kiss or sit on the cats, who are remarkably patient with him.

He also asked to pee in the toilet, though when I put him on it, he got nervous - he wanted to big person's toilet, not the little potty and we don't yet have a seat he can use, so it was me holding him over a big hole. So he understandably got not precisely stage fright - maybe hole fright? I'd probably be worried, too.

I just realized the all my posts for the last week have been dedicated to my son's GI tract. Sorry 'bout that. If you're still reading, I'm very impressed.

We did it wrong.

I was talking to my pediatrician's office to confirm that we could start letting Ragsy eat normally now. Their advice was to start with things like toast and crackers, moving up slowly through soups and only then into milk, then if he keeps that down, let him eat normally. Unfortunately, we did it a little backwards starting with milk, then crackers, etc. Oh, well. He hasn't barfed since last night, though if he goes to daycare tomorrow, he should probably have his milk cut with water just in case.

Strange thing is that his fever disappeared almost immediately after he barfed and the only thing he'd had all day was milk. Hopefully he's not allergic to it, but I guess we'll find out, probably the hard way.

Anyway, I hope he stops getting sick because:

A) Most importantly, I feel really bad for him.

B) Yuck.

C) I don't want to worry anymore (for a few weeks would be nice, anyway).

D) I have a chance to go to my mom's house - all by myself - this weekend and really want to take it. I know it's selfish, but the thought of as many hours of sleep as I desire on my very own bed that I don't have to share with anyone is almost enough to make me drool. Even better, I can stay up late if I want, watch movies, play on the computer and drink a glass of wine without worrying about being groggy in the morning. And I'll be able to drink coffee without having to protect my cup. And even though my mom talks almost non-stop, I'll be able to find some quiet and time to work out (again, whenever I want), which sounds just about like heaven. I don't know if I can smoosh all this into a full day and half a day Sunday, but I'll certainly try.

The only thing that's going to be missing is Ragsy and my husband. Silly - I'm always complaining about how I have absolutely no time to myself, yet when thinking of a whole weekend I'll have to myself, it seems incomplete without them. Oh, well - I'm sure I'll manage.

Stop with the barfing already!

Another call from daycare - despite being healthy all weekend, with the exception of one last regurgitation Friday night and a mild fever Saturday morning that was gone by the afternoon, our son is barfing once more, this time with diarrhea. Delightful.

He'll be going to the pediatrician today, along with my husband whose turn it is to pick him up. Yes, we take turns picking him up. Unfortunately, there's no taking turns with the night-time barfing. He always wants me, then promptly attempts to go to sleep on me even while we're both covered in sick and I have to wake him up to change his pants, shirt, diaper, clean his hair, face, hands, etc.

Poor kid. I feel bad for him, mostly because even though he feels much better after his stomach is emptied, it scares the crap out of him to get sick like that. Then there's the standard parental worry that has me panicking every time I see daycare's number pop up on my caller ID. I guess that'll never go away.

Hopefully he'll be bouncing off the walls tomorrow while we try to keep him calm and quiet at home. That's usually what happens, but I always get paranoid that this time it'll be different. I love it when he's energetic because that's him normal. He's also generally in a really good mood, which makes him upset even scarier. Last night he even laughed at me - laughed! - when I said it was night-night time. Then came running out a half hour later giggling to pull me in to bed with him.

I wish I could leave early to be with him at the doctor's office, but I have meetings until 4:30. Blech.

Just when you thought he was healthy...

He wakes up from a long nap and spews all over himself at daycare. By the time I got there, his temperature was up to 103. I hate that. Having had a temperature over 102 only two or three times since I was in middle school (if not longer), I'll never get used to babies' and toddlers' ridiculously high temperatures every time they get sick. And they speed with which they bounce back.

So daycare called me to let me know that he had vomited - big time. By the time I got there, despite his high fever and the bright pink spots on his cheeks from said fever, he was running around the multipurpose room like he'd been fed rocket fuel. I got him home and tried to lure him into at least sitting for a few minutes with some Fraggle Rock, and that worked just long enough to get some Tylenol into him and clean off his feet - yes, he'd managed to get barf in his shoes somehow.

After that, he promptly drank a cup of water, a cup of diluted juice and ate half a sleeve of whole wheat crackers. Guess he was hungry after loosing all that food. Then, well fueled, he was off like a rocket through the house, getting out the broom to play with it, bashing things with his sticks and generally being the Ragsy I know and love, only a fraction more tired.