The Bionic Woman

So, the next time I tell anyone I'm planning on spending an evening locked away from my precious baby, smack me upside the head. Apparently, the stars, the heavens, whatever, heard me and decided that they'd punish me for such an outlandish promise. Instead, they decided to take me away from my snuggle kid, my sweet smile-boy, my baby, my son for two nights and two full days. Yep, I was in torture-sick h-e-double-hockey-sticks.

See, I knew I was going to have to prep for the next of my tummy tests. That went without saying. What I didn't know was that on Saturday night, the night I was supposed to get to go out with my girlfriends to dinner and a movie, was that I'd have an attack of my tummy-itis that would require me to embarrassingly tell my ride that I was in dire need of a ride home. Yep, and that I'd be spending that ride home clutching my stomach and trying not to moan and instead, carry on a normal conversation. Gee, I hope they figure out what's wrong with my tummy. Oh yeah, and I had the makings of a migraine that the devil himself fashioned for me. You don't know embarrassment until you have made unladylike noises in a movie theater bathroom stall and THEN had to go tell your girlfriend that you need to go home before it gets even WORSE! And then, hope that you don't do it in her car!

By the time I got home, I pretty much thought I was dying. This was Saturday, tummy cleanse on the horizon for Sunday. I stayed in bed with ice packs around my temples, praying for relief of any kind, stocking my noggin with happy drugs and watching my go-to feel better DVDs...yes, it's the Golden Girls. There, now you know my secret lameness. And, I felt sorry for myself because I heard my sweet boy yelling "Mama! Mama?" He was looking everywhere for me. Occasionally, he'd punctuate his searching with "Night Night." Apparently, it'd been explained to him. Awwwwww.

Daddy brought him in on occasion for a quick kiss and a hug and I loved it. His smile lit up the room. But, it made him cry to have to leave. Me too! Me too! I can't believe how much I miss him when he's gone, even when I am physically unable to care for him!

Alas, Sunday rolled around and I had to start my liquid only diet. Weeee! That did not help with the migraine. Let me tell you! Soup broth and Jell-O do not fill you up unless you are Giselle or some other supermodel with one name. Anyway, By Sunday night, cleanse medicine time, I'm pretty sure that AC/DC was playing a concert just for me in my temple and I was ready to trade my life for just five minutes of relief. Alas, it was not to be. And, I was just getting started on the torture scale for my body. And, I didn't even get to be with Collin!

But, by Monday, I got to go pick up my camera and belt. I was told I would be swallowing this tiny capsule that contained a camera that would take pictures of my insides. It would transmit the pictures to a belt that I would wear for eight hours, that I would then return to the doctor's office. I was also told I'd be allowed to eat again four hours after swallowing the capsule. Apparently, I was wrong! No eating while the capsule is in! Only broth and Jell-O! WHAT!!!! Two days of broth and Jell-O! Are they trying to kill me!

The capsule is approximately the size of a Honda Civic but it's pretty cool looking. It's got it's own little flashlight in it that is actually on when you swallow it. It's kind of hard to swallow something that's lit up. Your brain is saying--NO! NO! NO! Don't swallow the Christmas light! But, you get it down. And the belt that I was told I'd be wearing, well, let's just say it was NOT a belt. It was connected to about a million leads strapped to my chest and stomach and on a vest/suspender contraption and to a large computer on my waist. I felt like a cross between the bionic woman and one of those guys who moves appliances.

I'm so glad I asked Bryon to stay home that day to help with Collin because there's no way I would've been able to deal with him with that thing. It never would've survived roving toddler hands, pulling the wires out from under my shirt. Besides, migraine plus two days of no food equals near fainting from pain. By the time I turned in the computer at four p.m. on Monday, I could barely stand. I ate an entire roll of rice cakes on the way home. I figured crackers would be the best first thing since they were mild.

But, today I get to be with Collin again. He's my little helper today. Supposedly, I'm supposed to "see" the camera capsule today. I doubt I will but we'll see. If it doesn't come out today, I'm supposed to call the doctor and they'll order an X-Ray to make sure it's not stuck somewhere in inner-space. Won't that be fun? I'm so excited for someone to go exploring for it. It's not as gross as it sounds, it'd be surgery...even less fun. But still. And, no I'm not making him help me look for the camera!

All in all though, all I can say is that this whole thing has made me fantastically in love with my husband who has brought me all of my medicine spot on time, brought me soup and made me Jell-O. He hooked a walkie-talkie to his belt so I could ask him for refills of water and ginger-ale without having to shout from upstairs, or I could even ask him to come switch the DVDs without getting out of bed! It has made me realize how much I adore my son because in two days of seeing him for seconds at a time, I missed him so much that it physically hurt. And, I love my friends because they didn't laugh at me when I had to leave the theater and instead felt sorry for me for having to be uncomfortable. I have a pretty great life, even if it seems to be located in the pooper every once in a while.

Why I'm Locking Myself In the Bathroom Tomorrow

I declare tomorrow night "Mommy Depression Day." My son has decided he's a "big boy." It's my fault really. I'm the one always trying to tell him, "Yaaay!" and "You're such a big boy!" for doing various things, like coming to me when I ask to put his shoes on, or putting his own clothes int he hamper. Most of the time, when he does these things, he gives himself his own standing ovation, very un-big boy like.

Anyway, having to telling someone they are a big boy is pretty baby-ish so I'm kind of okay with letting him think he's a big boy, so long as I'm the one having to provide him with that information, right? I guess that makes sense in my own screwed up logic way. Hey, I'm a Mom and he's my baby, the reasons why this is so, don't have to make sense to anyone but me, okay! But, he went and screwed the whole thing up the other day.

We went to the Getty Center in L.A. In case anyone has never been there, it's pretty awesome and you have to ride a tram up the mountain to get there. It's gorgeous. But, I digress. I thought, of course Collin would want to sit on my lap to be able to see out the windows of the tram. Nope. Laps are for babies, of course!

He squirmed and arched and even yelled! My sweet, quiet, calm man yelled! He plopped his little tooshie on a seat and clapped and then babbled what very clearly sounded like, "big boy!" then craned to see out the window across the aisle. Apparently, that's what he is: A BIG BOY! Waaaaa! Waaaaa! Waaaaa! When did that happen! I did not say that was allowed.

I blame Disneyland! He sits by himself next to us on all the rides. We don't put him on our laps and I think that's the culprit in all this. Darn that big boy encouragement. We even let him ride all the "scary" rides that the other parents tell us are too much, like supposedly "Snow White" and "Pinocchio." Mr. Collin gets off and signs "more! more!" Big Boy! Big Boy!

So, I officially declare tomorrow Mommy Sad Day for all this. Okay, since Mommy has another one of her "special" tummy tests on Monday, so she officially has to spend Sunday night in the bathroom "preparing" for her test, it is a sad day anyway!

Should I Buy Stock in Aquanet?

I know I've joked about Collin loving to help Mommy with her lotion and how he sort of likes to imitate me with the hairdryer. And, I know I just recently put up pictures of his cute little curls adorned with barrettes. I stopped short of allowing him to leave the house like that even though he said he wanted to, insomuch as he can say such things. When I asked if he wanted to wear them to the park, he said "yesh." Considering when 99 times out of 100 times I ask him anything he says "no," I took that as a pretty strong opinion.

Still, I decided that I ought to put my foot down on the whole girl versus boy thing and take the darn adornments out and explain that he's a boy and those are girl things. So, out they came and thankfully, he didn't cry about it. Off we went. But, lately, he's been pulling my headbands right off my head and insisting that he wear them.

I don't make a big deal out of it because why bother? Most of the time he doesn't get them ON his head, he wraps them around his neck or dangles them from his chin, beard-style. Or, he drags them to me and signs "help," because he knows he's doing it wrong. So, I help a brother out and plop them where they belong. I help him check his look in the mirror and we get on with our lives.

Well, it's making Daddy a little uncomfortable. I figure he's going to get over it. I figure it's a phase. I figure that it's just a boy who spends most of his day with Mommy doing what kids do: imitate grownups. Since I don't spend my day scratching myself and shaving, he's going to do what I do instead. He's going to wear headbands and lip gloss. It's pretty cute, really.

Besides, he doesn't exactly look girly. He looks a bit more like a eighties hair band wannabe with one of those skinny leather hairbands instead of a bandanna. Besides, Bryon says that even if Collin decided to become a dancing girl in a Vegas show, he'd love him just as much as if he wanted to be a doctor or lawyer or whatever. So, who knows...dancing girl maybe?

Shhh...Mommy's Sleeping

Okay, she's not; but she could be. She should be. We all should be at six thirty. Mom really doesn't sleep at six thirty. This mom gets her butt out of bed and rolls it onto the treadmill to work out before her peanut gets up. She likes to have that "her time" before her life's joy graces her with his presence every day. Not sure why she needs any personal space, but whatever.

Anyway, she's grumpy the last few days because little peanut has decided because either due to his cold this week or because of daylight savings time, to get his adorable butt up at six thirty a.m. So, we have a number of options now:

1. Move and leave the kid to fend for himself, allowing him to get up at whatever time he pleases

2. Purchase blackout curtains so he has no clue that the sun is rising and thus he should STAY in bed

3. Move Mommy's get-up time back to five thirty...wait that's INSANE. Let's revisit option one

4. Move baby into a bubble to avoid any more germs allowing invasion into his system

I think a combination of options two and four might be in order since I think abandonment laws come into play and bubbles are impractical. Oh yeah, and I do love my kid, thus making it terrible impossible to leave him and terribly horrible to envision having to touch him through plastic Ziploc baggies.

Anyway, I sound disjointed, don't I...maybe that's because I also have the hacking cough that he's got and the half sleep that comes with it. Gee, combine that with the fact that he's eliminating my last few hours of sleep in the morning and I can become almost drunk. They do say that lack of sleep is equivalent to being drunk on the road. No wonder I ran over that elk today on the 405. I think it was an elk anyway; either that or an emu. Okay, it was probably an In-N-Out cup.

The Hit Parade

Collin has a new hobby. I wish it were a cool one, like crochet or Wilton cake decorating. Okay, it could be slightly less gay; maybe he could take up soapbox derby cars or starting fires with sticks. Boys do that kind of crap, right?

Well, instead he's taken up an all too familiar and equally boy-like hobby: hitting. It's his fave! He hits me. He hits Daddy. He's hitting his visiting grandma. He hits poor, defenseless, wussy Eddie. He hits his monkey. Poor monkey just sits there and takes it. What's he going to do really; he's stuffed!

We're putting him in time out more times a day than I can count. It's pitiful. We do the microwave timer to let him know when he can come out. But, we have to strap him into his booster seat to make him stay anyway. The whole thing is really quite pitiful. He waits for the beep and tries to create it himself. To hear your kid wailing, then pausing to say "beep, beep," in this meek, miniature voice, it's almost a heart breaker. Then, when it does go off and he beeps back at it, you pretty much forget that he almost gave you a black eye with the truck he whacked you with a second ago.

He's spending three quarters of his day there right now. Kidding, but it feels that way. Yesterday, I picked him up after three time outs in a row and felt particularly bad because he was sucking wind from crying so hard and I said, "I love you, buddy." He looked right into my eyes and said, "I wuv wu," Awwwwwww. Then, he socked me in the eye. Do you KNOW how hard that next time out was for Mommy? Seriously, I spent it wrapped up in Daddy's arms almost sobbing.

I'm wondering when this stage will end. He's sick right now, so I'm blaming the smack down on his invading toxins. Mostly, I'm doing this because I can't believe that my sweet boy could actually be doing something so vile for so many days in a row of his own free will. He must be being controlled by some vile force. That must be it. It simply must be. I'm ready for it to be over now. When will the timer for this stage go "beep beep."

And no, this isn't me, imagining him in prison for violent crime or domestic abuse, years down the line should this behavior continue. This is just Mommy, admiring her gorgeous son, and realizing that he's pretty special anyway, even if he does spend a lot of his day these days, in "the chair." And okay, maybe I'm being dramatic...it's been three days of hitting. I wuv wu too, Peanut.

Sick! Sick! Sick!

Mr. Peanut had his first (well, second if you count the fact that his parents are morons and took him there his first night home from the hospital) trip to the E.R. last night. He had a cold yesterday and the poor little man woke up from his nap the equivalent temperature of an Easter Ham. He was also as snuggly as my cat who thinks my lap is his own personal lounge chair and pretty much pushes me down regularly on the insistence that I should be in a recline position for his sleeping pleasure. Considering that Collin is your typical on-the-go toddler, this was unusual to say the least.

When the thermometer reaches 103 and he wants, actually wants to not only sit on my lap, but lay on my lap, I am not only concerned but FREAKED out. He didn't whine, complain or cry, but just laid on me like a dishtowel that had been boiled. So, I called the doctor, who was pretty much unconcerned but said, sure go to the hospital. Wheee! Permission! Anyone with Tricare knows my feelings. Alas, urgent care was closed by now, so E.R. here we come. Too bad we didn't know urgent care was closed...a fact we learned as we pulled up to the door. Pooh!

So we went to the E.R. where we sat behind no less than three other babies with scalding hot foreheads. Apparently, we weren't the only parents freaking out that day. The best part of our visit was the gender-ambiguous triage nurse who gave Collin his first dose of Tylenol and took his vitals. I'm so used to talking to Collin about what other people are doing or saying to him, like "Oh look, she's putting a magic bracelet on your ankle," or, "Be still while she measures your super temperature. Yeah!" You know how stupid we are when we talk to our kids, right, trying to make everything sound fun so they are still and cooperative.

Well, filling in those gender identifiers, like she/he became very sticky. I kept switching between she and he and feeling very embarrassed. After the first time, I thought I'd better not say anything again that forced me to refer to this she-he's sex. But blast if I didn't keep doing it. It was so freaking obvious. I felt like such a boob. So much so, that I kept looking at she-he's entire personage for ANY clear sign, including she-he's boobage area for that sign. But darn if she-he wasn't probably wearing the best smush-down sports bra ever if she even had boobs. Grrr.

Bryon saw her later and he insists that it was indeed a her. Where was he during the whole triage thing! Oh yeah, parking the car. Thanks, Dada. Alas, we were in and out quick thanks to our friend Pat the ambiguously gendered triage nurse who "fast-tracked" us to a special area for sniffly kids.

Ear infection. Thanks Collin, for making it totally unclear what was wrong with you by not pulling your ear or screaming in pain, just for nearly boiling your brain and freaking your mother out to the point that she ate about thirty Maalox last night by the time she went to bed. Hope you enjoy your two weeks of antibiotics. He feels better now, tylenol, motrin and the first dose of antibiotics will do that for kids. They are like magic, aren't they?

I Love You Too!! I Really, Really Do!!

A marker of verbal apraxia is that kids who have it can suddenly, seemingly randomly say things that they could never say before and with perfect clarity. It's maddening because they won't be able to repeat it and these are moments of clarity that are spontaneous and out of the blue. They are usually when the kid least expects it too, when they aren't stressed or being asked to say something or repeat, but just relaxed and at ease, when their brain isn't "trying" to talk.

This morning, I was taking a shower and, as per usual, Collin was chilling in the bathroom waiting for me to get out. He has many activities that keep him entertained while I take a shower. He likes to dump out all the Q-tips and take them one by one to Eddie's bed, thereby annoying the dog; he likes to play with my hair accessories and ask me to do his hair for later (hee hee); he likes to play with his barrel of monkeys; and most, recently, he likes to open the shower door and play peek-a-boo.

So, today the game got more interesting because he's getting taller and he can almost climb into the tub, something he's strangely eager to do. It was so cute to watch him try that I just blurted out "I love you!" to him while watching him do it. It was probably the twentieth time I said it already that morning because he does a million things a day that elicit that response from me. But this one was different apparently because he looked up at me and said, "I love you too."

It was plain as day, clear as a bell. Oh, how it melted me, just wrecked me. I'm glad he couldn't say it again because I was home alone and I would've been rendered incapable of function for the rest of the day, as I would've turned to a puddle of goo and goo can't care for a child. It almost made me feel guilty for taking the incriminating photos of him below.