girlfiend

1. Isaac the cat is in kidney failure and I’m heartbroken. I don’t know that there’s anything I could have done but I feel like I have failed him and wish that I’d spent more time loving him  the past few years. He’s always been my favorite cat and every time Boyfiend spent a night away I’d spend the night cuddling with my Isaac. My sweet, fat Isaac. A few weeks ago a neighbor commented about how much her boyfriend loved Isaac and I said they should keep him. At the time I was only partially joking. Having three cats is burdensome. But I wish I hadn’t said it. I wish I could take it back. He’s so sick, so uncomfortable. He’s hardly eating and he’s not moving around too well. He’s not himself and he’s not going to get better. I am so, so sad.

2. Right before getting into the tub the Fiendling ran over to the potty and peed all over it. For the first time he tried without prompting. This could be the start of something good.

3. We didn’t watch the debate. Instead I folded laundry and we watched Dexter on Netflix

4. Tomorrow is the big bike race. We’re spending the weekend at the shore. I feel guilty for leaving Isaac.

This has been going around and until I get it together to write the four month update for the baby this will have to suffice.
1. Cloth or disposable? Cloth. After using the hospital freebies it’s been all cloth all the time.

2. Breast or bottle? I like the breast milk from the source but will occasionally enjoy some in a bottle.

3. Eczema or reflux? Neither.

4. Jumparoo or play mat? Mom sticks me on the play mat a few times a day. It’s all fun and games until I’m attacked by my big brother. The exersaucer is much safer, since he can’t jump on my head when I’m in there. There’s a jumparoo under my crib, but I don’t know when that will see the light of day.

5. Mommy or Daddy?  Mommy is quick to hand me off to daddy the minute he walks in the door. He’s a good time, but I like the boob lady better.

6. Sling, front carrier, or stroller? I spend most days shoved in one carrier or another. Mom has entirely too many. Lately I’ve been in the Tentoes Click and people keep calling me a girl because it’s flowery. I’d be annoyed but I can hardly stay awake in the thing.

7. Pacifier or thumb? Dad tries to shove the pacifier in my mouth sometimes but I’m not into it. Now that I’ve got control over them I like to shove my fingers in my mouth.

8. Bumbo seat or bouncy seat? I fear for my safety in both of them. The brother insists on occupying whichever one I’m seated in.

9. White noise or silence while sleeping? The sound of Septa buses and squealing tires lulls me to sleep at night.

10. Crib, Pack’n’Play, or parents’ bed?  I sleep in the pack n play at night and the crib for naps. I hear I’ve hit the weight limit on the pack n play so I may be sleeping in my own room at night too. It’s about time. My brother’s always coming in  the room and waking me up at 2 in the morning by kicking the pack n play when he climbs into mom and dad’s bed. Can’t the kid sleep through the night yet? I’m only four months old and I’m a better sleeper than he is.

The Fiendling just woke up. I can hear that he’s upstairs playing with trains and singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. I love that kid.

Now I’d just like to finish my coffee before he comes down and demands breakfast.

I know that this is ridiculous and that I shouldn’t even bother to write about it, but I can’t help myself.

Early in the summer I was on a parenting website I frequent and came across a comment by someone with “Philly Mama” as a user name. Since I always assume I’ll know everyone from Philly I followed the link to her website, a Philly-centric parenting guide.

The writer obviously lives in Center City and obviously works full time. The content was sparse since it’s a newish blog and the writer only has one child, an infant, so many of the posts are specific to eating out with an infant, which isn’t really helpful to me since eating out with an infant is easy compared to eating out with a toddler. Aside from the restaurant posts much of the content was a little too focused on shopping with an infant, as opposed to activities with kids, which doesn’t really help me since shopping with a toddler is a total pain in the ass. And she writes a lot about her ability to maneuver her $800 stroller into and around stores, a problem I’ve not experienced since I don’t have an $800 stroller. But otherwise the blog seemed okay with info about playgrounds, toys, the zoo, etc., and I’m a sucker for any blogs about Philly. One post in particular was titled “having a kid has turned me into a hippie.” I’ve verbalized and written a similar phrase on my many blogs in the past year, so I added the blog to my feed reader.

A recent post on her site linked to an article I’d already read on the parenting site that led me to her blog to begin with. The Philly Mama was now contributing to Safe Mama. Okay. But then, yesterday, there was a new post on Safe Mama. A post written by someone with a name other than the names of the regular contributors. A name that still reflexively makes me shudder. I clicked on the about page on the site and saw that ACK! The Philly Mama was Boyfiend’s ex-girlfriend or friend or whatever they used to call themselves. The one who inadvertently named this blog by calling me his crazy ex-girlfiend.

Fuck. Now I’m back to reading her blog all over again. At least it’s not a personal website where she’ll drunkenly wax poetic over how my husband is her soulmate and post old journal entries about him only to remove them the next day before her own spouse reads them, but this is just another example of how Philadelphia is entirely too small of a city. All I did was click on a hyperlink and now I’ve got her stuck in my head all over again.

I was in the middle of writing this when my brother-in-law called to ask if I could let out his dog. I went downstairs to see if I had the keys to his house. I found keys on the back of the door but they weren’t labeled. I called boyfiend to see if they were the right keys, went to the basement to empty the dehumidifier then came back upstairs to find the Fiendling on the couch with my laptop keys spread around him. Several were bent in half dimpled with teethmarks. G, h and w, which is the worst of the three, are disfigured. V is a goner. It’s totally destroyed and there’s a big empty spot in its place.

I was stunned. I stood staring for a minute then I said, “you broke it.” He agreed, and said, yes, I broke it. I took them all off. I asked him to leave the room. He did not; instead he went to the bookshelf and pulled down a stack of books. I took him upstairs and locked the door so I could locate the keys and reassemble the keyboard.

Today the Fiendling is two and a half years old. He is smart and funny and a huge pain in the ass sometimes. (see above.)

He’s very verbal and can clearly state his needs. This morning he pointed to his diaper and said, “I have a rash mommy, put cream on it.”

He’s also very physical. He loves to tackle people and tells you where and how he wants to tackle. “I am going to tackle you forwards on the couch.”

The love for trains shows no signs of fading but he’s been less interested in watching Thomas videos which is a bonus.

He just took my tortilla, removed the cheese and replaced it with his hot dog. I would like my lunch back but I’m so glad he’s eating I’ll let it slide.

He wants to do things all by himself. He puts the baby tub in the big tub (I know he’s too big for it, but our stopper is broken so we stick with it) turns on the water, squirts in the soap, takes off his shorts, diaper and gets his shirt over his head before he asks for help getting his arms out of the sleeves.

He’s beginning to like his brother and tries to make him smile and laugh. He still screams at him, jumps on him and tackles him, but it’s more about being two than it is about being vicious.

The memory really is spectacular. We’ve established that he can actually remember events that happened a year ago, events that he must remember since there are no pictures of them. He also still remembers the givers of gifts.

He loves to jump. Up and down and off of things. He also requests, “Jump with me, mama.”

This is where I left off before the keyboard debacle. I am still annoyed and can’t think of any nice things to report at the moment.

We packed up the kids into assorted carriers and walked down to the soapbox derby in a light rain. The crowds were thick, and aside from the enormous TV set up at the top of the hill we couldn’t see much. By the time we stopped at the side of the market at the corner the rains had begun in earnest. The building provided some shelter so we weren’t too affected by the crazy wind. The Fiendling was content on his dad’s back, clutching his newest yellow train Molly (who sadly does not fit on the track and will have to be returned. Seriously, can’t the Thomas people tell you on the packaging that a train that looks like it’s the exact same size as the others is non-compatible?) and his baby brother was snuggled up in the front carrier on me. The boys’ cousin was less content on her father’s back, struggling to escape the confines of the Mei Tai. Despite the rules about alcohol, it was an open container event. We were no exception, enjoying beers in the rain in the early afternoon.

The people behind us were annoyed that we set up right in front of them since we partially obstructed their view. I would have felt badly about it had the guy not been such a dick, but I tried to accommodate them by raising and lowering my umbrella to their specifications. We were able to see the stage at the top of the giant ramp where the soapbox teams performed their skits before each run, but we got there shortly after a nasty crash and saw the ambulance going down the hill to collect the injured racer.

Our city’s fair mayor braved the torrents to race down the hill and a car soon after crashed, almost in slow motion. Several of the soapboxes fell apart on the way down, wheels bending and falling off, causing drivers to roll and the crowds to cheer. I would have liked to stay for a while longer, but after an hour we were all soaked through and the kids needed some food. We slogged home, passed out towels to our friends, and ordered hoagies for lunch.

I wanted to go back down to the race and one of our friends volunteered to stay behind with the kids so they wouldn’t have to get wet again. Only a few teams remained and the crowds had thinned considerably. We walked down the hill this time, through the drunken crowd that remained. About a quarter of the way down, a few houses away from a guy I know who used to own a skate shop in Ardmore, I witnessed something depressing and pathetic.

The houses on the hill are elevated with a dozen or more steps up to the porches. On the grass next to the top of one home’s stairs, a woman in her mid to late thirties (perhaps she was younger and just looked older) crouched with her arms around her little girl who was three or four years old. The woman was holding a can of lager in one hand and begging, yes begging, a stranger on the sidewalk below for a beer. The stranger, a guy who was also walking with a child, was pulling a cooler behind him.  The woman pleaded for one. “Please,”she said, “please, I’m begging you, I just need a beer. Just one. Please, I need one.”

The guy looked horrified and just kept shaking his head no. I think he wanted to ignore her completely but he was too horrified not to stare. The guy’s kid seemed upset by it too, and looked to his dad, waiting as the woman continued to beg. I’m not sure who moved on first- the guy with the cooler or us, but once we’d moved on I couldn’t get the image of the little girl out of my head. The little girl, who leaned against her mom’s legs in the rain while her mother, can in hand, begged a stranger on the street for just one beer. What will become of her?

We were at the shore for labor day weekend and one day over the weekend I missed a call from a friend. Boyfiend said that she was probably calling to invite us to a barbecue but when I listened to her message she was really just calling to warn me that her daughter, who the Fiendling played with at the playground earlier in the week, had contracted Coxsackie Virus, commonly known as Hand Foot and Mouth disease.I wasn’t sure of the symptoms so I called her back but didn’t get her, left a message and promptly forgot about it.

That night the Fiendling woke up crying and unusually upset. Eventually I got him back to sleep but it took a long time and he was really sad, not his usual angry, unreasonable self. In the morning it occurred to me that maybe he had gotten the virus but then I saw that his toe had become infected. The Fiendling has an unfortunate habit of biting his toenails. It’s disgusting and I’ve always considered the habit an infection waiting to happen. Well, we had to wait no longer, on Labor Day it was filled with pus and clearly causing him a lot of discomfort. It was most likely the cause of his wake up. I dismissed my concerns about Coxsackie and focused on the toe.

It looked like he had an ingrown toenail that had grown infected. I called our pediatrician and the message on her machine said that her office will not open until October. I had to call the pediatrician who took over her last practice, the guy I hate. The on call doctor returned my call and told me to promptly take him to the emergency room. It was an ingrown toenail, not a gunshot wound, so the idea of dropping $100 to sit in an emergency room for 5 hours so they could drain his toe did not appeal to me. But the longer I waited the more nervous I became. What if the infection spread to his brain? I started looking for urgent care clinics but it turns out the Philadelphia area really doesn’t have any. Some CVS pharmacies have clinics, but according to the website we would have missed the holiday hours.

I was near tears and starting to panic. I called another local pediatrician. The doctor called me back and asked who I was. I apologized and told him my kid wasn’t a patient but I needed to know what to do for an infected toenail. I was slightly hysterical and must have sounded like a lunatic. He told me to soak it in hot water three times a day for twenty minutes. I did. The infection was gone by the next morning.

The following night, infection gone, the Fiendling woke in the night again after a miserable bedtime. He’s taken to refusing to go to sleep, crying, screaming, yelling, hitting, and kicking to the point of insanity. He works himself into such a frenzy that bed time can take hours. He’s learned how to open the gate we use to keep him in his room which means he’ll come downstairs repeatedly, Our latest trick, one that I feel awful about, is to lock him in until he calms down. Once he stops his screaming we can read him a story and he’ll go to sleep. I feel like a monster locking him in, but it’s the only way to get him to stop a tantrum so he can get some sleep.

Anyway, starting around 1 am he was up for hours. He’d doze off, only to wake again and cry. He showed up in our bedroom twice. Wanting to get some sleep I just brought him into our bed hoping it would help. It didn’t. After tossing, turning and kicking for an hour he started whimpering and saying, “It hurts mommy, it hurts.” I asked him to tell me what hurt and he just kept repeating that it hurt. Eventually I got him to point to what hurt and he pointed to his diaper. I asked if he needed a new one, he said yes, and we went into the bathroom. I put the shower light on so it wouldn’t be so jarring, but even in the dim light I could see that he was bright red. I warned him to keep his eyes closed so I could turn on the big light and examined the rash more closely. It didn’t look like a regular diaper rash as it was only on his scrotum and penis. Freaked out, I slathered him with diaper cream upon his request and noticed two sores on his hands, one on each middle finger. He fell asleep on the changing table and I carried him back into my bed.

The sores on his hand reminded me of the Coxsackie virus. I couldn’t sleep. I got up (at this point it was 5 am) and started googling signs and symptoms. The internet told me to call the doctor immediately if I noticed sores or if he complained of pain in the testicles. Fuck. Then I started to worry that the baby would get the virus. The doctor’s office (I hated to call the douchebag pediatrician again, but what could I do) wasn’t scheduled to open until noon. I got back into bed and fell asleep. The baby was up and smiling around 7. The Fiendling slept until close to 9. When he got up I changed his diaper and the rash looked fine. Gone, actually. I asked him about the booboos on his hand. He corrected me and said, “No, on my fingers. I get them from the doorknob.” I asked him to explain. He said, “I try to get out. Dada lock the door. I get booboos from the doorknob.”

I was overcome with relief. My kid did not have a highly contagious (though not life threatening, it is contagious) virus that would keep us house bound; he simply had battle scars from being locked in his room and struggling to open it. The diaper rash was coincidental. You can go ahead and just give me my award for Mother of the Year right now.