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The Bell Curve
Just got back from another visit to the pediatrician. Nothing serious, just doing our usual weight, height, shot thing. I liked our doctor a lot before today, but when he gave Zoe a pile of M&M’s to eat while he got her shots ready, I decided I love him. Especially when he told me that I would have to bite them in half before giving them to her, hard, round slippery candies that they are. Oh, gosh, if I have to.
Anyway, regular checkups at the doctor’s are important for all little kids because it’s a chance to pick up problems early and identify issues while it’s still pretty easy to intervene. Plus, it’s fun, isn’t it? Ok, not the shot part. But the growth charts always make for a good time in our family.
Zoe was born at the 50th percentile. She was on the 50th percentile at her 1 month, 3 month and 6 month checkups. Absolutely average. But “better average than stupid,” is our motto. Today she was (hold your breath!) 50th percentile for weight, although she’s sprouted up to the 75th in height. I was actually shocked that her weight wasn’t higher; put a cupcake out on the table last week and the child actually growled.
Little Eva. My tiny little girl. When she was born she wasn’t even on the curve and it wasn’t until she was 3 months old that she began to kiss the bottom of the growth chart, although we weren’t worried since her growth was steady and developmentally she is absolutely fine. But it really hits home the difference between these two when she measured a dainty 9th percentile in height and was barely sitting on the 2nd percentile line for weight. Thank goodness she has 10 more teeth than Zoe, because she needs to be able to defend herself from Brutus over there. (Zoe was toddling around the office carrying the very heavy toy towers. We call her Bam Bam.)
But after the fun, came the jabs. Just to remind you that I do put my money where my mouth is, Zoe got the chicken pox shot and her last Prevnar (the schedule is slightly different here in the UK). Eva didn’t like it but she took her MMR like a champ. I got some nasty looks but 5 minutes later all was right with the world. I bought some chocolate rice cakes for after dinner anyway. Mommy guilt. And I’ll probably have to taste them first to make sure they are okay…
Evening Reading
Here’s a shot of my Sunday. One of my many New Years resolutions (most of which fizzled out in about 3 days) was to read more of the crap, I mean educational material, that comes my way. Here is a photo. You must flip your computer upside down now, or assume a yoga pose. The absolute limit of my technical ability was uploading an image. I’m fully aware that it’s upside down. Hush. Anyway.
I’d like you to notice a couple of things. Firstly, see how Eva is developmentally appropriate with her scribbling? I only had to pull the pen out of her mouth 400 times. And if you blow the image up, you’ll see that I’m reading about the Common Cold, and I’m not lying when I say that kids have colds all winter long.
But pay special attention to the right middle paragraph. When I felt it was necessary to grab the pen from Eva and scrawl, “DUH!” across the page. Can you guys believe that adults who live with small children suffer from more frequent colds than adults?! Really?! I’m shocked. So glad I put down my Martha Stewart for this one…
Seriously?!
Thursday is my workday and as you can imagine, I’m a bit knackered after a day at the hospital and don’t always have the energy to be fun and witty in this forum. But I just have to share what happened. I mean, seriously. You won’t believe me. But I’m not joking. Poker faced I am, writing this post.
As I was getting ready to leave the department, I heard a loud, “Bang!” Like a gunshot. I jumped about a mile and went racing around the corner to see what was happening and heard laughter. Slowing my pace, I made it to the front door and found a family with a small toddler. They were being entertained by a volunteer. A clown, in full make-up. A clown making balloon animals. And passing them out to small children.
Gunshot, balloon popping, whatever. It’s me against the world, people. Any help you can provide would be greatly appreciated.
I Need a Valium
It seems that “Floating Spheres of Death” resonated loudly with a few of you. Good. Because now you know a little bit better what it is like to be me. Mommy would be a lot happier if Dr. Zibners wasn’t constantly reminding her of the imminent and grave danger that existed all around. To listen to her, it’s a miracle that Zoe and Eva make it through the day. Think I’m exaggerating? Between choking hazards, poisonings, burns and falls, I’m exhausted.
Good morning, little girls! How’d we sleep? Oh, wait, no Eva, please give Mommy back the plastic baggie. We don’t chew on that. You could choke. It’s for your diapers. Zoe! Get back here. We’ll go up the stairs in a minute. Together.
Breakfast, Ladies! Zoe! We do NOT put an entire bagel half into our mouths. Seriously.
Come on, let’s get dressed. Wait! Eva! No, you cannot have any more toothpaste. I’m sorry, go ahead and throw yourself around the room in anguish. (Fluoride poisoning. Acute: Vomiting and diarrhea (mild) to seizures and death (severe). Chronic: bony abnormalities)
Eva! How did you undo your straps? Get back in your stroller. If you don’t let go, I’m going to duct tape you to that seat! (Ok, I wouldn’t really. Don’t send social work.)
Look girls! We’re at playgroup. Wait! Why are there whole grapes and apple slices out for toddlers? Good Lord. Here, have a rice cake. Zoe do not try and eat what that little boy just spit out! Ugh.
No, girls, Mommy doesn’t want to. Sand is annoying and gets into everything. Plus the sheep like to go poo poo there. (I’m serious. Sheep poop in our local sand box)
Zoe! Get your finger out of your sister’s poopy diaper! (Fecal-oral tranmission: Giardia, Hepatitis A, Rotavirus, Enterovirus, etc. Not to mention it’s disgusting. And socially inappropriate.)
Bathtime! Eva! If I have to tell you one more time, do not play with that spout. (3 seconds at 140F is a 3rd degree burn. I turned it down to the recommended 120F but we’re waiting for the plumber to install the temper device or whatever he’s bringing. 120F is still pretty hot.) And Zoe! Sit! Sit! Everyone sit down! No hitting!
C’mon guys, let’s get dressed. We’re going to a party. Eva! Please don’t climb up there. Mommy hasn’t installed the safety straps to fix it to the wall. Get down.
Get your fingers away from that socket! Get! Shoo!
Hey look guys! We’re at the party! And there is a crèche for little kids. Do you want to go in? Oh, crap. Balloons. Never mind.
Party POOPER!
We had to go to birthday party yesterday morning. I used to think that 10:30 Sunday morning parties were for losers. Until I had children. Or maybe I’m a loser. Anyway, the girls’ buddy, Fips, had her 1st birthday today and we obediently toddled off to Gymboree for a morning of “jungle safari” and cake. On one hand, the whole idea sounded fabulous and on the other hand, well, painful. All of us up, fed and dressed and out the door by 9:30 on a Sunday, along with wrapped present (Lego Duplo!), snacks and extra diapers? Ugh. But actually, something more horrifying was on my mind. I didn’t sleep last night, tossing and turning. What could possibly be so scary about a child’s birthday party? Oh, yeah, you got it. Balloons.
I feel like I need to take out a national billboard campaign. What is it with the obsession with latex and helium? I spent Saturday night literally planning what I would say if we got there and found balloons all around. I thought of going silent, because no one wants unsolicited advice. Then again, what if a child died in front of me and I’d said nothing? I decided to take a “wait and see” middle line approach.
**To those of you just joining: infants and toddlers who bite a latex balloon, popping it and then inhaling the pieces, which are not retrievable except at bronchoscopy or autopsy, are at risk. Mylar is fine. Otherwise, wait until your kids are old enough to understand threats of “no TV if you don’t get your mouth off that balloon.”**
Of course, as soon as we got there, I saw them. Floating Spheres of Death all around. Shoot me.
It wasn’t an issue until after the “safari” activities. (Really? That’s an elephant? I don’t see it. I see a slide and a tunnel. But okay.) We retired to the entryway for cake. And then the toddlers discovered the balloons. I tried chatting with the other parents and casually putting myself between their children and certain death but then I sort of lost it. As Marcus sweetly licked all around his helium-filled choking hazard, I found my voice.
“I’m so sorry, please forgive me. Call me neurotic or crazy or whatever. But for my own peace of mind could we please, um, remove the balloons? Because, ha ha, I’m such a party pooper, but, um, they are one of the top ten fatal choking hazards for small children. Ha ha. Uh. Please?”
One mother looked at me and laughed. “Oh he’s just a balloon lover.” But the other parents paid attention. “Does this have something to do with your work?” asked one very pleasant woman.
“Well, yes, actually, I am a doctor. A pediatric ER doctor.”
And the balloons were gone. Whoosh. Like magic.
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"WHAT I LIKED: This book is written in a funny, down to earth way that doesn't make you feel like an idiot. I really would have appreciated something like this when my kids were really little and I freaked out over everything they put in their mouths. It has a scenario/question and answer format, with clear answers on when not to panic and when to call 911."
- Chic Book Chick
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