Belly Achin' Part 3, The Conclusion.

The Bug started the morning a little clingy, but otherwise, fine. I was even thinking that I was silly to have stayed home today. Then, around 12:30, he woke up from his nap inconsolable, complaining of the belly again, and he just couldn't get comfortable. We went to the doctor.

After asking questions about what sort of pets we have and if they have been healthy (OK, now I'm scared shitless) the pediatrician announced that The Bug's belly felt good. He wanted to just try a strep test, for fun, and if it isn't that it is probably just a little virus. Ten minutes later we had our answer. STREP.

I had no idea that strep could be associated with a tummy ache in kids. So, we are armed with antibiotics and ready to kick this extra little bug outta here!

Belly Achin'

The Bug has been complaining that his belly hurts since Saturday. At first, I thought that he was trying to be like The Very Hungry Caterpillar, which is one of his favorite stories and therefore gets read 1,000,000 times a day.

The Bug had never said his belly (or anything else that hadn’t recently hit the floor or some other solid surface) hurt before, so I wasn’t sure that he even knew what he was saying. Besides, his behavior wasn’t any different than usual, he didn’t have a fever, and when he said it on Sunday he had consumed 2 bananas, a bowl of Cheerios, a grown-up size blueberry waffle, mannacotti, broccoli and popcorn. It wasn’t yet 3:00. So, Ralph and I chalked it up to The Bug learning how to express that his belly is full.

When I came home from work yesterday afternoon, my dad said that he’d been saying that his belly hurts again. My dad wasn’t concerned, he said that he’d played hard and was getting tired. When I asked him he said that his belly didn’t hurt.

I put him down for a nap. He woke up sobbing, which is unusual. He said that his bellybutton hurt. Well, of course it does, he shoves everything that isn’t nailed down into that thing. Literally, I pick food, lint (that he has picked off of a blanket to put in there), stickers, everything out of his bellybutton.

When I picked him up he started to gag and spit out some saliva, but no throw up. I consulted Dr. Spock…that made me even more nervous, basically everything could be appendicitis: fever or no fever, pain or not so much pain, even most doctors can’t tell without an x-ray. Just Fucking great!

Soon after my consultation with Dr. Freekoutthemommy, The Bug pooped. Eureka! He must just be constipated. After the poop he said that his belly didn’t hurt, and since he still didn’t have a fever, I set off to take him to my in-laws where he stays on Monday nights during the school year.

I told the in-laws about the belly issues and told them to call if they noticed him acting out of character. When we called to say goodnight (they, of course, were still playing well past his bedtime) they said that he had complained of his belly hurting, but that they thought that either he was just telling them that he was full, or that he just really liked all the attention that he got from saying that he wasn’t feeling good.

When they called 2 hours later I was panicked. Ralph’s dad was trying to tell me stuff, but since Ralph was running the shop vac (which I will discuss further in my next post) I couldn’t hear anything, so I called back. When I got back on the line, Ralph’s mom said that she’d told Ralph’s dad to call so that I wouldn’t worry. The Bug was fine.

I called to check on him 3 times today before I picked him up at 2:00. He was fine, no complaints. When I got to their house, The Bug was still napping. When he woke up, he was cranky, but then Ralph’s dad got him up at the first sign of stirring, where I would have let him wake up more fully before going to get him.

As we were getting ready to leave, which The Bug REALLY didn’t want to do, Grandpa picked him up. The Bug gagged, and threw up a little. He whined and cried the whole way home (a 40 minute drive) and has been lying on the couch for most of the last hour, poor guy.

I feel like such an ass, such a bad mommy.

Yo Breaf Stank!

There is a question on an IQ test that I use frequently that asks kids to describe why people need to brush their teeth. I love this question because 1) I can usually get a laugh out of the kid, and towards the end of an IQ test we both need one. 2) I know that there is a high probability that the kid is going to have a decent answer.

Unfortunately, I am beginning to wonder if my own kid will have a decent answer for this question when he gets older. Recent events make me believe that he will say one of 4 things:

• Because if you don’t do it on your own, your mom will hold you down and do it for you
  
• Because if you don’t, your mom and dad will incessantly talk about how much your breath stinks
  
• Because your mom will give you stickers if you do
  
• If you put up enough of a fuss and there is nowhere important to go to, you don’t need to brush your teeth.

We have struggled with the toothbrush since he began getting teeth to brush.

Out of concern for his developing little dents I asked a parenting coach that I know. “How do I get him to brush his teeth?” She suggested that I let it go for a while, he was still very small, and if he ate enough apples and carrots, that would be good enough, "it isn’t worth a fight." she said

I asked our pediatrician at his one year checkup and she said to only do it once a day, and make it a part of our ritual.

On my own I started giving him stickers as rewards when he brushed his teeth. I bought him an Elmo toothbrush and a Thomas one that plays that fucking song I can never get out of my head. Finally, something that works…sometimes. He may brush his teeth for a sticker and he may not, it really just depends on him and his 2 year old mood.

At our 2 year checkup I asked the pediatrician again, and again she said to brush only once a day, make it a ritual, and provide a reward…Gee, thanks.

I am ashamed to say that many days I just let it go, I am not up for the fight and I am the only one who will smell his stanky breath anyway. But then I worry about his oral health and the lessons I am teaching him about his future oral hygiene.

When we have something important to do, The Bug just has to brush his teeth. This usually consists of:

• him running away screaming “NoMOMMY!” when he sees the toothbrush
• me trying to reason/plead/bargain with him
• him screaming “NoMOMMY!”
• me laying him down on his changing table holding down his arms and brushing his teeth

He cries, I cry, I tell him that he just has to brush his teeth, I tell him that Mommy, Daddy, Grandma, Grandpa….everyone he knows brushes their teeth. Shit, I’ve even brushed the dog’s teeth to show him that EVERYONE does it.

I just don’t know what to do about it anymore. On the one hand, I cannot allow my 2 year old to run around the world with foul smelling breath and a dirty mouth. On the other hand, the only way that I can get his teeth brushed feels tantamount to abuse, and is surely just reinforcing his dislike of having his teeth brushed.

Thank god it's Fwyyyday!

Ralph and I are packing up The Bug and sending him to Grandma & Grandpa’s for the weekend.
The Bug, for one, is ecstatic. He has been talking about going to Grandpa’s ‘Fwyyyday’ all week long.

Ralph is pretty excited too, but for a different reason. He thinks that our weekend away will be filled with all sorts of crazy shit he's seen on some dirty website romantic lovemaking(that is the first time I've ever used that word, and it just makes me giggle).

I am a bit less enthused. Firstly, I feel like shit. The noxious fumes that have been coming out of my ass since dinner…let’s just say Ralph should be thankful we’re driving a convertible. Then there is the thought of leaving The Bug. Sure, he’s slept over at Grandma & Grandpa’s a million times, he stays there 1x/week during the school year. But we’ve never gone anywhere before. Granted, we’re only going to be gone for 2 days and we’ll be less than 2 hours away, but, I can’t help but feel a little nervous. Oh, and then my aunt Flo came this morning, and I'm sure she's gonna tag along on our little trip (Sorry Ralph, but you did change the date of this little vacation).

Other than those things, I think that the trip is a great idea. Ralph needs a break so he can stop acting like such an ass relax. And, frankly, we need to reconnect. I don’t know that 2 days in the middle of nowhere will be enough, but having a couple of nice meals in a restaurant, a massage, and getting 2 days of sleeping in is a good start in my book.

I am so conflicted….

Two minutes into the car ride I know that he will be quietly content. When we pull into the parking lot I know that a cat-that-ate the canary grin will cross his lips. As we walk into the building I know that he will greet everyone he sees with a shy “hehrow”. Upon entering the classroom I know that his classmates will raise a collective shout of his name as if signaling to one another that Norm has come to take his place at the bar on Cheers. That will make me smile outwardly, and, on the inside it will make me beam with pride to know that my sweet, cautious little guy is so well-liked by his 2 & 3 year old peers. I will be comfortable leaving him to go spend the day with my sister because I know that he is in a high-quality daycare where he is looked after by women who love him; almost to a fault. I know that when I go to pick him up this afternoon I will be there for at least ½ hour trying to get him to leave. But right now none of that matters.

Right now, he is having a fit to end all fits.

Until I took out his daycare shoes he was having a typical morning. But upon seeing the shoes that he only wears to daycare, he slumped down onto the couch. He said the ubiquitous, “No, Mommy”. Then, he lay down on the couch and proceeded to kick his feet in order to make it more difficult to put the shoes on. When we aren’t going to daycare he asks to wear the cool Elmo sneakers that light up as he walks, but on daycare day, they are a signal, a red cape in front of a bull. Maybe I am too matter of fact about putting the shoes on, perhaps I should hold him and tell him that it will be o.k., but I think that might just make things worse, so I don’t. He says, “No, night night”, and I ask him if he’d rather go back to bed than go to daycare. I am astonished every time that he says YES. I get his things together and carry him out to the car. I put him down as I struggle to get all of his gear inside. He falls to his knees in the wet grass in protest. I pick him up and try to put his rigid body into the car seat. He screams, he cries. I am sure my neighbors are commenting on what a horrible mother I am.

As my time with him...with 2 days per week to myself...without being torn between giving too much time to my outside job or taking too much time from my outside job...all dwindle as the summer winds down, I wonder whether sending him to daycare this summer was a mistake. At the time, we thought it would help him stay in the routine. This is what the psychologist in me says to do, but the mommy? She just wants to tell her little boy that it’s all right; he doesn’t have to go if he doesn’t want to. Maybe that is what I should do for the next three weeks, but then what happens four weeks from now when he has to go back?