Kill the Lights and Shut the DJ Down

Here you go, a little happy for your weekend: some of our favorite songs.

Which you have activate yourself, YOU'RE WELCOME. Blogs that auto-play music. That shit needs to stop. Please. Think before you auto-play stuff... you don't wanna lose readers 'cause someone's reading blogs at work and YOUR MUSIC BLOWS THEIR COVER, amirite? I am right.

Hap-hap-happy weekend to you!

You the One to Please

Took Emery to the doctor yesterday for his nine-month well-baby check (dude, he's been out for as long as he was in, weird).

Weight - 7th percentile
Height - 12th percentile
Head Circumference - 70th percentile

Baby got some smarty-smart brain up in there, yo.

We discussed a lot of things (including this horrible head cold we are all battling), even a medical issue we've been in deep, deep denial about. The doctor was convinced things would get better, but she's starting to agree that it's much more serious than previously thought.

Unfortunately, there's no known medical help we can do, which makes it all that much more serious. Yes, some people have been known to live with the condition for a long time, but typically their life is cut short.

Y'all, Emerson is a zombie.

It explains a lot, if you really think about it:

lack of sleep (the better to liquify my brains)

the odd undertone of braaaaiiinnnnnssss when he cries - bbbbBBBBbbrraaaAAAAIIIIiiiiIINNNNNSSSssssssss

his forcefulness to try to shove a spoon in my ear (you know, to eat the brains)

his inability to heal his skin ('cause, you know, HE'S A ZOMBIE and zombies are like dead and stuff and aren't known for their healthy-glow) (unless they are full of brrraaaaiiinnnnsss)


Other going-ons ('cause like I said, DENIAL ABOUT MAH ZOMBIE BAYBEE), Darwin has mastered the monkey bars:


but with MUCH trepidation. And both boys finished up spring soccer...


... which means we can focus on other things, like canning. And preserving my bbbrraaaiiinnnnssss.

And He's Watching His Reflection

My Succotash Wish

We need some normal around here.

I don't know what normal is but damn it, I want it.

The past few weeks have been marred with the mastitis (which, at this level is challenging the stupid fucking foot for ridiculousness) making its comeback, trip to the hospital, meeting with a breast surgeon, meeting with an infectious disease doctor, more antibiotics and talks of hospital stays.

To which I say, ohmyhell.

I'm much better now, but in deep, deep denial of "needing" to go back to the breast surgeon and "get somethin' on the books." I feel fine now, really. Okay, I feel better. But better is awesome and I don't wanna go to the hospital.

Now I'm figuring out how life is with three kids (heh, instead of "two kids and a nursing babe") (although, I'm still somewhat in denial that I have three kids) (Emerson is an excellent accessory, he fits nicely on the hip - baby jewelry, I like to think of him), a healthy mama and a daddy who is about to go on his first big business trip since I got sick-slash-weened.


Oh boy.

Youthful Magic Moments

I never intended to have a medical blog. Or a blog so medically-heavy. But whatever. My blog. My life. My boobs that I seriously contemplated cutting off.

Um, what?

OH YEAH, YOU HEARD ME. Cutting off my boobs seemed (heh, still seems) like a good idea.

'Cause I got Mastitis again. 'Causes someone bit the holy hell out of me and made me bleed, bleed, bleed multiple times despite workin' on weaning.

So, yes. Fever over 104 for two days. Dizziness. Big red streaks across my boob (B is for boobie, which is no longer good enough for E! Oh, boobie, boobie, boobie starts with B) and to gild the lily, non-gluten-free medicine taken for 24 hours.

'Cause you know, the Mastitis alone was simply not good enough.

Six days later and I've been fever-free for less than 24 hours but oh-so-much-better. Aaron went back to work today. I was able to carry the baby without fear of dropping him. Life is good.

In all honestly, I don't remember too much. I've been told that crazy-ass fever will do that to the brain. But my nerd-self can't help but wonder what else am I forgetting? Quantum mechanics? String theory? How to make a damn good gluten-free chocolate chip cookie?


One thing is for certain: Emerson is weaned. No more boobies for you!

I've Got a Tight Grip on Reality

The Tour de Doctors is never ending. And unlike the Tour de France, there's no trophy or metal at the end.

Hopefully, health.

So back to the doctor we went Monday. This time, the family doctor.


She thought another round of oral steroids would help. Cut back on the prescription allergy medicine a bit, but add a daily dose of Benadryl. Go off the topical steroid (he became immune), and add (after my request) the prescription lotion the big boys take.

Boy howdy we know how to party over here.

We're also trying to wean, but Stubborn McFussyPants has no use for anything in his mouth except the boob. Of course. This morning I fed him a new (fourth!) formula in a sippy that didn't have the stopper. I think he got half of it on him, but even so - that's the most he's had of anything that didn't come out of a boob. So, I say WIN!

The steroids are an interesting, horrible life experiment. Let's take a baby who obviously doesn't feel well, but has a stellar disposition and turn him into MEAN ANGRY HULK BABY CRASH BOOM SMACK. New favorite pastime? Whacking Mama with a very hard rattle. Screaming non-stop. Giving big brothers dirty looks instead of laughing when they dare to make him giggle.

At least he's not turning green and ripping all his clothes off.


One dose in him and he's already better. And he's be even more better if he hadn't mastered the fine art of scratching his face into everything including the couch, carpet, blankets, his own shirt, our shirts and anything he can possibly get his face on.

Oh boy. Such a party.

Postscript: I just got a call from the doctor's office, when they swabbed his cheeks on Monday, the sample grew a Staph infection. Not MRSA, thankfully, but still: fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

When You're Down There's Just One Way to Go

We're on Spring Break here- no, wait. The boys are on Spring Break. I don't get a Spring Break. 'Cause I'm a Mom. A Responsible Mom. A Responsible Mom who doesn't drink rum in the middle of the day even though she really wants to. Especially when the boys are on Spring Break.

So. The boys are on Spring Break from school. Aaron's still out of town (hello, day 13: you suck).

Because I'm a Responsible Mom, I'm making the boys clean the playroom over Spring Break. Which means, according to them, I'm a rotten, awful mother who will be sent to the grossiest of gross nursing homes as soon as they can falsify my records and make me sound like I'm incapable of making Responsible decisions.

Which means at the rate that Griffin and his lawyer-ness is going, two years?

And I will par-tay.

ANYWAY. The cleaning. Yes. See?


Please note: yes, Emerson has "tiny" legos in his hands, but they are impossible-to-choke-on-legos. And I'm only helping Griffin find me the rottenest of nursing homes, yes?

Emerson's test results came back last week: dog and egg

Which totally stumped me. "What do you mean only dog and egg?" "Isn't that enough?" "Have you not looked at my other boys' files? He's got to be allergic to more than that!"

I got the paper copy of his test results Monday and yes. Turns out he's way more allergic than "just" eggs and dog. But whatever(s) it is, it's not testable yet. His general-allergic-to-the-world IgE was through the roof. Which means, most likely, he's allergic to me. Like Darwin was. Why the children's hospital can't test that is beyond me, but there it is.

And I've tried weaning him onto the Elecare (that wonderful hypoallergenic formula) and he isn't going for it. On Monday, the allergist gave us vanilla-flavored Elecare. And I got a little excited on Facebook and Twitter and posted this with a WIN! and yeah. That WIN! lasted about two minutes.

I'm an overzealous person, internets.

My new plan is to ditch this place and go away this weekend when Aaron gets home, so Aaron could get him to take a damn bottle and I could sleep.

I really think not-getting-two-straight-hours-of-sleep-at-any-time is really screwing with my brain.

But? HA. Like that's really gonna happen. Please. I'm a Responsible Mom, remember?


Internet, meet The Incisors of Death. You realize I'm still nursing, right?

Clowns to the Left of Me, Jokers to the Right

In case you don't follow me on Twitter or Facebook, we've had a couple of really awful shitty weeks over here. After the oozy incident, Emerson got tons better on the steroids, new antibiotic and antihistamine.

Three days later, when he took a step down of the steroid, he completely broke out again. A week later we were back at the doctor, crying. Not sleeping. Begging for an answer.

At this point, the infection is secondary. The issue is the inflammation, which is opening the skin to be susceptible to the infection. Their only thought?

Allergies.

At which point I totally did a facepalm because duh, I should have figured that one out on my own.

I spent that whole Friday calling the allergist's offices (who's having her own set of health issues regarding her eye, poor lady - I really like our allergist a lot). I spent the whole Monday calling her offices (she works out of three: the "fancy" one we go to, one at KU Med and a third kids' clinic at a satellite KU Med location) (doctor has credentials, yo) and couldn't get Emerson an appointment until Friday.

Another allergist in her office offered to have us come in on Tuesday to "explain to us how food allergies in babies work, but wouldn't test the baby for allergies." Like there's anything any doctor can throw at us that we haven't already heard, studied and had test results that were against their textbook lectures.

HEAVY SIGH

Aaron pushed back a business trip, I nearly had a nervous breakdown (as in, do I need to go to a mental institution? or just check into a hotel and get some freaking sleep?) and we finally made it to the appointment.


We arrived, and immediately got stuff rolling for Emerson.


This is a good true-to-life photo (little slap-happy filtering on this one - the others? hello funky filters that don't make my baby look quite so miserable), taking his blood pressure.

After going through all our papers, asking us questions and looking him over carefully, we were sent to the hospital for his allergy blood test.


Five vials. They needed five vials of blood to test all of the allergies ordered (and the doctor ordered every single one possible).

The results are in, but OF COURSE we have to wait to tomorrow 'cause today is her day at her kids' clinic and she'll review them tomorrow morning.

In the meantime, we have new body soap and lotion, new antihistamine and two cans of Elecare just in case he is allergic to my breastmilk. And based on the tests we did at home (rubbing some into a quarter-sized spot on his back that was originally clear), he is (his poor back broke out after three applications).

So remember when I said we have tests that go against textbooks? Yes. We do. All of us. (Well, not Aaron. But the rest of us.) Please don't leave any snarky comments saying IT'S IMPOSSIBLE TO BE ALLERGIC TO BREASTMILK!!!1!!!!!

Improbable, yes. Impossible, no.

Darwin was. I will not at all be surprised to find out Emerson is too.

And yes, to answer your question: if he's allergic to me and my milk, then why now? Why not when he was born?

Because of two things: One, a baby's immunities is reflective of his mothers when being born. It takes a while for the mother's immunities to flush out and the babe's to turn on. Two, genetics turn on and off multiple times over your life (and each switch is slow, taking a few months or as you age, a year). Once around six months (Emerson's age), another big genetic switch around the age of five (when lots of kids "grow out of allergies"), another during puberty, and genetics can turn on and off anytime the body goes through trauma (broken bones, pregnancy and delivery, hernia surgery, etc).

I can haz nerd cred.

Emerson started breaking out in November - I just thought it was the cold weather. In December I went dairy free (keeping in mind, for myself I'm gluten and soy free), which helped a bit. Then I went egg and nut free. But it's just compounded and compounded and compounded and nothing I do is making him any better.

I may have to start weaning tomorrow, which is a great disappointment. I had planned on nursing him for a few more months.

But.

I will do whatever is necessary to take care of my babies. Emerson's constant screaming and inability to sleep is proof something is going on his little body. Whatever it is needs to be diagnosed and remedied. Period.

You're Original, Cannot Be Replaced

Yesterday, Griffin turned nine. Nine!

Which means he's old. And I'm freaking old.

It's harder to write about my boys as they get older; it's a respect thing, I get it. And I share what I'm told is okay to share.

Being an SPD kid is not fun, everything is bigger. Disappointment is harder, hurt feelings are more tender and the bests of days is joyously awesome. It's a roller coaster for all of us, and overall it's an amazing ride.

Soccer is still awesome and you're excited to try out a kids' curling class.

You like to be busy (heh, I think you get that from me) and want every moment of every day planned. You also get quite upset if plans fall through (again, from me) and we commiserate together.

We're more alike than you care to admit, being a Daddy's boy now. Beyond the eyebrows (which you ask for me to trim, but tweezing and waxing are not allowed), we both have problems finding our Nerds (it gets easier as you get older, I promise!), we're tenderhearted and heart on our shirt-sleeves kind of people. We're both sarcastic and "love" to use air quotes.

You love art and architecture, and you got a couple of books to inspire and get your creativity going. You create games, characters and stories. You should really write them down more - the oral histories you are coming up with will be lost if you're not a bit more careful.

You're an amazing big brother and love your little brothers so much. Although, you openly hope Emerson will pester Darwin, to give him a taste of how he pesters you. And no, I don't plan on having another baby so Emerson can get a taste of that medicine. Crazy kid.

Happy ninth birthday Griffin! Our family wouldn't be right without you here!

'Cause the Boys in the Hood are Always Hard

The plan was to write about Valentine's day. Just let the record show, that I had a plan. And it fell through. 'Cause that's what life does: it jumps up and bites me in the ass.

My overly-rosey cheeked babe got a little too rosey last week, his cheeks started to flake on Friday. Got worse on Saturday, which is when Aaron got home. Started to ooze on Sunday and by Monday morning was just... too much. Too, too much.

Called in, got an appointment, took him to the doctor. They started a round of antibiotics.

Not good enough.

The oozing got worse. Thick. Yellow-ish. Beading like an ice-cold drink on a warm summer day.

Trust me, this is not for the faint of heart:


That's not lotion. That's ooze. Think, crusty, stick to everything ooze.

I wanted to call the doctor yesterday, but knew we should ideally have 48 hours of antibiotics in him.

He was even worse this morning. Of course, he spent his night screaming.

Called, got an appointment, took him back today. Swabbed his cheeks for testing (results hopefully Friday). New antibiotic, new steroid, new antihistamine. Aaron worked overtime, is headed to pick them up now. Constant nursing and car rides are the only thing that calm him down. He doesn't like acetaminophen nor ibuprofen and spits them up.

Sigh.

Then, this evening Darwin didn't have his glasses on 'cause he's been wearing them so tightly, he's cracked the skin above his nose and it won't heal.

At dinner, he thought it would be "funny" to put the fork up to his one good eye and pretend to be in jail. I calmly moved it and took it away and then gave A VERY LOUD DISCUSSION ON WHY WE DO NOT PUT ANYTHING CLOSE TO OUR EYES.

(Short story: Darwin lost vision in his left eye after an accident when he was 15 months old. Long story here.)

This caused Darwin to cry a lot, but for Griffin to completely lose it.

Between the two boys, and the baby not being held, it was a round robin of crying over here.