Things That are Random - Thursday in November Edition

My poor, neglected blog.

Seems fitting somehow that the last time I posted was in New York. Like everyone else, the last two days I've been able to think of little else. Like everyone else, I loved New York. I reveled in the cliche of being enchanted with the city. I made little mental tick marks on the list in my head of New York experiences that I just happened upon. Ride in a yellow cab. Tick. Come around a corner and see the sunlight glinting off the top of the Chrysler building. Tick. Subway trip. Tick tick tick.

The thing about New York is that even if you've never been there, you can't help but feel like you already know it, a little. An ersatz version, surely, but the city figures as a central character in so many books, movies, and tv shows, that we all have a shared experience of the city - even those of us who have never been there. It feels familiar, the landmarks comforting.

A little souvenir of New York I brought home for The Imp

I loved sitting in Bryant Park people watching. I loved walking around Chelsea and the Garment District, Soho, the Village. I loved observing the private moments that happen in public in a city that large - like the woman in midtown changing out of her sensible flats into killer heels on the sidewalk just before squaring her shoulders and stepping through the doors of her office tower, or the business man shrinking away from the vocal shoe shine guy calling him out loudly on the state of his footwear. "No corner office for you!"

I loved it when I finally figured out that what I thought were raindrops beginning to fall were actually dripping air conditioners in windows above me as I walked through the August heat. I loved the casual disregard New Yorkers had for traffic signals. The only people waiting at lights to cross are tourists. After a couple of days, I too sauntered across the street in the face of oncoming traffic just as blase as the next guy, secretly thrilled with the notion that a fellow tourist might mistake me for a New Yorker.

I am an urban traveler. I love getting lost in crowds, I love the encounters with the unexpected. I love the energy; it feeds me. Camping or a cruise would be my worst nightmare. Getting lost in New York? Perfect.

Which is good, since I got lost a lot.

We wandered around, my traveling companions and I. We emerged, blinking, into the sunlight from the subway tunnels and I managed to pick the wrong direction every. single. time. Gwen and Sandi were ridiculously good sports about all the doubling back we had to do. I'm not sure why they kept following me after the 17th or 18th time I went confidently off in the entirely wrong direction, but we stumbled on a couple of great little restaurants that way, so I think they've mostly forgiven me.


Theory: once you've gotten a taste of New York, you get home and start saving money to go back. I know I am.

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I don't have anything to add to the common discourse about the devastation in New York. It's not possible to look at photos of destruction and loss and feel nothing. I can't pretend to know the city; I only spent a week wandering its neighbourhoods.

It just feels closer than it once did, is all.

The thing about social media in general, and twitter in particular, is that it vaporizes distance. Geography becomes merely a descriptor when I can chat in real time with a woman hunkered down in her apartment in midtown Manhattan in the middle of the worst storm to hit New York in living memory. I was worried about her situation as I saw more and more shocking photos flitting by in my twitter stream. She was concerned about me as she saw news of earthquakes in British Columbia fly by in hers.

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I can't get this song out of my head.

"We are calling for help tonight on a thin phone line
As usual we're having ourselves one hell of a time
And the planes keep flying over our heads
No matter how loud we shout
Hey, hey, hey, hey
And we keep waving and waving our arms in the air but we're all tired out
I heard somebody say today's the day
Big old hurricane she's blowing our way
Knocking over the buildings
Killing all the lights
Open your eyes boy, we made it through the night"

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Being on twitter, the night of the storm, felt like we were all sitting together in the dark holding hands.

Things I've Learned - The Big Boy Bed

The past two weeks of parenting have been the most challenging since The Imp was newborn, fresh out of the womb, and I was completely overwhelmed with the not-knowing newness of it all.

I blame the Big Boy Bed.

Looks fairly innocuous, doesn't it? His crib mattress on the floor, the same blankets and bedtime pals...

NOT SO.

And we thought the electrical outlet would be our biggest headache... such optimism! We safetied it beyond all reasonable measures; not only is there a child-proof cover on it, beneath the cover is electrical tape covering the outlets as well. All our work notwithstanding, this corner of The Imp's bedroom is a lurking pit of evil.

It has turned my complacent crib-sleeping toddler into the most magnificently maleficent perpetrator of angst-causing, sleep-depriving NAUGHTY LITTLE BOY behaviour, including but not limited to: bedtime escape attempts by the dozen nightly, jumping on the bed instead of sleeping, attempting to climb the pulled-out dresser drawers, thereby dragging the entire dresser and all its contents down on himself, dumping out his giant container of mega-blocks in the middle of the night leaving parental foot arch slaying land mines in our path, slamming doors at 3am just for fun, and running to the kitchen to open the fridge, spill the milk, and eat unwashed strawberries (stems and all) at 5am.

Two weeks ago, on Good Friday (good! ha!) The Imp managed to climb out of his crib for the first time and blew his dismount, falling on his head. Being the fearless little daredevil that he is, he is not one to view a mere bruise in the middle of his forehead as any kind of deterrent.

No.

No, The Imp of the Perverse views anything less than losing a limb as a challenge.

We dismantled the crib immediately to forestall the concussion/brain injury that was sure to follow. Little did we know that our little monkey was only a "good sleeper" because he'd been held CAPTIVE in his crib all this time.

The lure of freedom has proven to be too much for him. He cannot avoid its siren call.

I am exhausted.

And apparently it's not appropriate to put your child in a dog cage, no matter how large or lavishly appointed. I asked on twitter and the response was not positive.

I have a lovely sheepskin deal we could put in there...

No?

Damn.

Any hints or suggestions on how to ease this transition? Or even just an I've-been-there-too story from the trenches?

Halp!

Things I've Learned - Croup

In a nutshell: not as much fun as you'd think.

Before Thursday at 2:00 am, I'd never come face to face with croup before. That's when The Imp woke up, crying, struggling for breath and barking that awful seal-sounding cough. While I comforted him and listened to my baby pant and wheeze, my husband turned to Dr. Google and gave us a preliminary diagnosis of croup. We called the British Columbia free 24 hour nurse line (which if you're in BC and haven't taken advantage of, you really should - they've talked me off the ledge more than once), and they asked us all the right questions and made reassuring noises. Croup was confirmed by our actual in-the-flesh doctor on Friday morning.

The sum total of my experience with croup up to this point was, at the age of seven, having read L. M. Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables, where Anne's experience with raising Mrs. Hammond's three sets of twins helped her, with liberal use of ipecac, save the life of Diana's little sister, reconcile with Mrs. Barry, and be joyfully reunited with her bff. Not having any ipecac handy, I had no idea what to do. (And having since googled ipecac, it's a good thing we didn't have any!) To be honest, I thought croup was one of those old-timey words for an affliction we've since started calling something more scientific sounding - like consumption for tuberculosis.

Image scanged from this website

Summarizing what our doctor told me: croup is a swelling of the trachea, usually caused by viral infection. In an adult it would only cause a cold, but in a little person, since the involved body parts are smaller, any swelling can cause obstruction of the airway. So it basically manifests itself as wheezing, some struggling for breath, and coughing that sounds exactly (and disconcertingly) like a barking seal.

It's really awful to hear, but not uncommon, and usually goes away by itself after a few days. Temporary relief can be achieved by getting outside into fresh air (Hello bicycle rides!) or sitting in a steamy bathroom (my pores have never been so open). If it doesn't go away on its own, a one-time steroid treatment can be used to reduce the swelling and allow the body to heal.

What made this extra fun for us is that croup is often, as was our case, accompanied by a fever. The Imp has a history of febrile seizures, so that put us immediately on Seizure Watch 2010. Diligent temperature taking, administration of Tylenol and Advil at regular intervals, and much anxiety are the hallmarks of Seizure Watch. Add total parental sleeplessness into the mix and that makes for a pretty frazzled, short-tempered, emotionally draining experience.

Fortunately, The Imp took it pretty much in stride, as he does most things. He's gotten so accustomed to having his temperature taken that if we leave the digital thermometer where he can reach it, he picks it up and tries to stick it in his own armpit. He knows the words for Tylenol and Advil and can identify which drops are which by the shape/colour of the container. (Which alarms and saddens me more than a little, I must say.) He was distressed by the sound of his own coughing, and didn't sleep particularly well, but was comforted by snuggling up to me in bed - which punctuated for me why we don't co-sleep with him anymore; sharing the bed with him is like trying to cuddle up to a very localized tornado. With the exception of a 3 second episode on Friday morning, he was seizure free. His fever's been gone more than 24 hours and he's sleeping comfortably in his own crib as I type.

And if it wasn't for the storm, howling winds and pelting rain against the windows, I'd be sleeping too. After the last three days I certainly need it.

The takeaway:

1) Croup: an actual thing. Who knew?

2) It sounds worse than it is. Which is good because it sounds really really awful.

3) The impact of twitter on my daily life cannot be overstated. I received good advice, commiseration, sympathy and support, and relief in the humour of the zombie apocalypse.

4) This parenting stuff is hard, yo.

Things That Break Your Heart

I have started and deleted this post a half-dozen times. I lack the skill to convey what I want to say.

Tuesday, via Twitter, I learned for the first time about a woman I'll never meet, and the daughter she lost. I have been on the verge of tears for two days, every time I look at my son, and have been holding him tight far more than a crawling 10 month old is interested in being held.

Sweetney said it better than I can.
So did Her Bad Mother.

For anyone who thinks the internet is an isolating medium, the outpouring of love and heartbreak from strangers for Heather and Mike Spohr, and little Maddie, proves differently. The donations to March of Dimes' March for Babies in her name, which were less than $3000 on Monday, are now in excess of $20,000.

Sigh. Time to wipe my eyes and go gaze at my sleeping son, and feel lucky.

Shout Out - Canada Mom Deals

I'm thinking about my friend Stephanie.

She is 40 weeks plus 4 days along, and there have been no Twitter or facebook updates yet today. Did the spicy Singaporean food yesterday do the job? Or, like me when I went 3 days past my due date, has she simply grown weary of telling people nothing's happening yet? I actually changed the outgoing message on my cell phone to say, "Hi, you've reached Lexi. And no, we haven't had the baby yet." When you're so ready to give birth, having to reply "Three days ago," to the question, "When are you due?" or smile through yet another round of "Oh my God, you look like you're ready to pop!" can become a little irritating!

I'm hoping that Stephanie's radio silence means magic things are happening!

But this post is about somebody else entirely, although tangentially related as she's an acquaintance I made through Stephanie - one of her followers on Twitter: CanadaMomDeals

Lucia scours both the ether and old-school bricks and mortar in search of great deals for mom and baby focused products and services, and is kind enough to post the results of her hard work on her website and Twitter page. Please join me in welcoming her to Blogs I Love on the right!