The spring has been a blur of burgeoning belly, bouncing weather patterns, and colds and various ailments, not to mention Matthew’s research-related travels and work. As we’re expecting Baby Baby to make an appearance sometime within the next week or two, I fear (know?) the blur will only become blurrier.
To recap: my lovely girl had a two week cold early on. She’s on her third cold since then. There was also the vomiting incident: the throwing up in the middle of the night after asking to sleep in her own bed, an anomaly that should have tipped us off. Between that night and that morning, she had at least two extra showers. The next morning, she managed to throw up orange Gatorade all over the bed, our pillows, herself, and me. This all made for a sad girl, and then she had diarrhea for days after that. Last Tuesday, the 19th, we had another sort of mishap. She’d put her Ikea fabric fruit into the glass bowl on the dining room table. (Do you already have a sense of where this is going?) When she wanted to play with it, I told her to get it – but to be careful. CRASH! She came into the room, crying. I went to clean it up, and still, she cried. I thought she’d scared herself. Turns out, a shard of glass cut a gash through her sock and her foot, about an inch long and a quarter of an inch deep. Three shots of Lydocaine, two stitches, and much crying and unhappiness later (“Stop! You’re hurting me!” and, even worse, “Ouchie! Ouchie! Can we go home now?” and clinging to her daddy, expecting us to save her from the pain and awfulness being inflicted on her), she was patched up. Our relief was mutual. The stitches came out too early, I fear, following the doctor’s directions, but nothing for it now.
It’s Easter, a good time for (re)birth and renewal, and tomorrow brings us to April. Babywatch continues…but can’t go on forever. For now, we’re trying to make the most of our time with our girl and wrap our heads around the fact that we’ll soon be a family of four. If we’re lucky, the only sniffles to come will be from the joy of a new baby and not another cold!
What, you may ask, is your secret? How can you get your daughter to be asleep by 8:45 at night, even after taking an epic three and a half hour nap today?
Waking up at 4:30 in the morning.
Snotty sleep, night three:
From the start of nighttime preparations to sleeping took twenty minutes tonight (and included all of the usuals – toothbrushing, washing up, reading – even some saline spray for the nose!), probably a record for us. She was one tired girl. I’m hoping for better sleep. We had to buy extra soft lotion tissues today to try to be good to her nose, if that puts the extent of her snottiness into perspective. Her nose is chapped.
Snotty sleep, night two:
She was restless from two to three then fretfully awake and dozy from three to four, with a little nightmare-y screaming and kicking thrown in for fun, with congestion as the cherry on top. It was not a good sleeping night for either of us.
Snotty sleep, night one:
She woke up and asked where Daddy was (never mind how many times she’d asked before or that she knew the answer – at a conference, giving a talk, in Pittsburgh). She woke up screaming and kicking at least five times, although she wasn’t so congested yet; it got worse yesterday. In the morning, I asked her the adult question, “How did you sleep?” I wondered if she’d remembered her thrashing.
She looked at me as if I were daft and said, “With my eyes closed.”
Guess I should have known the answer to that one.
1. Daffodils from February!
2. This morning, snowflakes were falling, an all-too-infrequent occurrence here this winter. We watched out the window before sitting down on the couch to read books. Then, being the sometimes silly girl she is, she leaned off my lap to feign tumbling off. “I’m falling like a snowflake!” she said. Figurative language from such a small figure.
3. While Daddy played with her before dinner, she replayed a line from a favorite episode of World World (never mind that we haven’t watched it in months). “Snug as a bug in a what?”
“Snug as a bug in a rug. That’s what people say,” said Daddy.
“People like us? We are people. We are not other people. We are just us.”
4. Again, and out of the blue, as she lay in her toddler bed, about to go to sleep:
“Why did Boo Boo die?”
“Sometimes people and animals get old or sick or both, and they die.”
“What does it mean?”
“What does what mean?”
“What does it mean?” (This followed on the heels of earlier questions, like “What does it mean to beg?” and “What does it mean to be upset?”, so I had a good idea of where this was going.)
“What does it mean to die?”
It’s surprisingly difficult to manage a proper answer on the spot. “When you die, you can’t breathe or move or talk. Your heart stops beating.”
After exploring some of this herself – we are alive, our cats Pepper and Maria are alive, our hearts are beating – she followed up with, “I hope Boo Boo gets better.”
Death, according to my toddler, does not get the final word. Either that, or my explanations of death could use some work. You decide.