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Spotty Dotty
Yesterday I realized there was something funny about Eva. I mean besides her hair. Lord knows what I’m going to do with that. She reminds me of Donald Duck, with long curls in the back and a very pointy lock in the middle of her forehead, kind of like a pony. The rest is sort of random and/or nonexistent. It’s like Mike Mullet meets Hitler’s horse. Anyhoo, what I’m actually talking about was her spotty diaper rash. Or what I thought was a diaper rash until I realized it covered both legs, her arms, her trunk and her face. I guess that makes it a proper rash, never mind diaper.
It’s viral. Of course it is. Most rashes are. Especially the kind that is tiny red dots (not bruises) that turn white when you press on them. Red dots that don’t are called “petechiae” and warrant a call to your doctor, particularly if they are below the neck. But Eva otherwise doesn’t seem to care. The only other signs that something is up are a slight runny nose, a hacking cough, and tendency to cry at the drop of a hat (oh wait, that’s normal).
So I’m not bothered as long as she’s not. As a unit we’re not. But I know that the other moms at Gymboree probably would be. Without a fever, there was no good reason not to take her but I wasn’t going to argue that to anyone’s face. Where in the world do I think she caught it? Most likely licking those colored balls and being slobbered on under the parachute. Which means that this morning we were off, long sleeves, long pants and socks covering most of the visible evidence that anything was amiss. En route I handed her a big bag of tomatoey puffs (thinks Cheetos but slightly more nutritious) to make sure her hands and face were stained a brilliant red. Mommy’s nothing if not clever.
What? Why? Where’s she learn that?!
Sorry to have been out of touch but I got home from Germany with 1 day to do my laundry and turn around to head to Coventry (north of London) for a conference (where yours truly was speaking) and then up to Wales for another fantastic trauma course. Whew. Not much time to catch my breath. Which I promptly lost again when I got home and saw Zoe’s new trick: climbing stairs. In fact, I just watched both my infants climb all 15 stairs to the living room. Gernot was laughing. I was horrified. No one is safe anymore.
The books say that most infants learn to ascend stairs at about 11 months, a few months after learning to crawl. Zoe is 8 months. I really wasn’t prepared for this. I had the baby gates installed more to keep them for accidentally falling down the stairs, not coming up after me. At least the end result is the same: incredibly secure gates at either end of the stairs. So secure, in fact, that after I installed them I had to call the hotline on the box to find out how to open them. (Pull the blue handle, Ma’am. I am pulling the blue handle! Help me!)
You all know that I’m not the world’s biggest believer in childproofing, in that I think it makes people complacent while their children learn problem-solving skills. On the other hand, big money items like staircases, medications and chemicals are entirely off limits while my less-dangerous personal belongings remain in reach as we try to teach them the meaning of, “Nein!” (Don’t mock. You can see it on Eva’s face when she finds something she knows is off limits left in her area. There is a look of disbelief, followed by laughter, quickly replaced with resignation and a shoulder shrug when I realize my mistake and take my diet Coke away.)
Anyway, the long and the short of it is this: kids don’t read textbooks. They develop on their own schedule in their own time. Some are faster and some need a little prompting. But however they do it, I guarantee you’ll be surprised it when new skills suddenly appear. So plan ahead, anticipate, preempt. And show them the books so they at least have a better understanding of your expectations. I’ve got Zoe downstairs right now, studying one of my medical texts as I write this. Of course, she’s probably highlighting the words she needs to look up later…
Imitation: Flattery?
Everyday it seems there is a new milestone, a new discovery, a new adventure. This week we’ve had one new tooth, standing alone, German Schwein-something, Oktoberfest, and baked beans. I truly believe that children are constantly learning, from the moment they wake up til the moment they go back to bed, and possibly something in between. As parents it can be easy to forget that our children are watching us, soaking in our actions, attitudes and behaviors. But as Eva showed me today, they are taking it all in: the Good, the Bad and the Vain.
In some ways it was cute, in others it kind of makes me shudder. We are in Munich and walked over to the English Garden to find a Biergarten less overrun than those we waded through at Oktoberfest yesterday. Finally finding a place to sit, I then had to figure out how to feed 2 children a little sausage (peeled and cut lengthwise into fourths and then into bites. Hot dogs = death traps. The exact size and shape of a kid’s airway.), while keeping them out of the mustard and away from the utensils, all while balancing on a skinny little bench. Anyway, we eventually wound up playing our favorite game, called “Empty Mommy’s Purse.” Right now, like an old-fashioned cereal box, the prize to be had is a shiny blue lipstick container.
Lipstick out, I let the two of them whap each other over the head for a while before boredom once again surfaced. So I took my lipstick and make a big show of putting it on my lips. Done, I looked done at Eva who looked up at me, opened her mouth and stuck her lips out in a perfect imitation. Then she held them there until I had covered her little lips with nude gloss. Holy Frijole. The kid is 11 months-old. And was a preemie!
G and I are usually very conscious of how our behavior is perceived by our little housemates but it is so easy to forget that little eyes are on us. Kids learn so much by watching. If I wanted proof, all I needed was today. A big fat reminder that they are observing, watching, monitoring me. I most certainly hope, however, that this week wasn’t “Language Development Week” because 800 kilometers on the Autobahn with 2 infants crying in the backseat led to some words not usually allowed in movie theaters with children under the age of 17. Of course, if Eva’s first word(s) is/are *&#(&$*#(@^#*$(#*@^#Mother(*#$(*&#*@&, I’m denying everything.
A family of gypsies
Greetings from Nuremberg, home of gingerbread and the Nazi party. And a hotel that will probably revoke its “Infants Welcome” policy 5 minutes after our departure. Nah, seriously, we picked a beautiful spot to spend a couple days and the hotel staff couldn’t be nicer to us. This is my first time staying in a hotel room alone (meaning just me!) with the both of them and I thought I’d share a few tips with you about both safety and sanity.
First off, before you drag your children away from their comfortable home, make sure the hotel can provide enough beds in one room to sleep everyone. Initially I thought we’d have a problem since our hotel has a “3-person” per room policy. I figured we’d sneak the second baby in and tie her to the floor in her Wiggle Wrapper at night. But since my husband just “had to” abandon us, that problem solved itself. So two cribs were brought to my room without any fuss.
Secondly, every place you take your kids deserves a quick safety check. I only had to move three pieces of furniture to block off most of the electric cords and wall plugs. What a thoughtful hotel! Then I closed the toilet lid, took everything that looked interesting and put it up high and blocked off the door with the stroller. Oh, and if you want to be super uptight, remember that the hotel may not have the same safety hot water setting that you do at home, so be extra careful when running the tub. (I let Eva and Zoe play in the dirty laundry while I ran the water and turned it off before I popped them both in.)
And finally, a note about sanity. Any adult who thinks that she (or he) can single-handedly wrangle two infants in a restaurant at dinnertime is a moron. I was one such moron. The first night went okay, although I didn’t actually eat anything. The second night, however, devolved into a complete nightmare, complete with Zoe screaming and trying to slide out of the highchair while Eva gagged on my salad and proceeded to throw up spaghetti all over herself and the table. Awesome.The man with the sponge and bucket was so nice to us. The only answer, I’m afraid, is a sandwich or room service. Or a room service sandwich, eaten in peace, watching a movie on my computer, with both babies sound asleep in their hotel cribs. Ah, vacation.
The Little Green Frog…now living in my throat
Traveling with infants. Oh the joy. Greetings from Germany, where we just attended a fabulous wedding (the girls were seriously a big attraction) and are on our way down to see Oma and Opa (and hit Oktoberfest, of course). So far we’ve logged 500 kilometers in the rental car. And we’ve probably only had screaming for about 100 of them. I consider that pretty good. Even if all three of us are hoarse. Because what do you do when your kid is crying and you are driving? Sing. Badly and Loudly.
A crying infant is highly annoying, especially when she’s just yelling out of boredom. I’ve tried to time my drives to coincide with naptime, which is how we’ve had 80% quiet time. However, that other 20% becomes a battle of safety versus emotion. No I don’t like hearing them cry. But I can’t safely operate a moving vehicle and reach behind and hand out Cheerios. Or find binkies. Or do really anything. Other than try to out- do them, while keeping both hands on the wheel and both eyes on the road.
I’ve only found two things that do it: “Ah-Gunk went the little green frog,” a song that I apparently learned in kindergarten and used to sing to my sister to make her stop crying (it worked in 1976 and is still working today), and “Everybody talk loud,” a Sesame Street skit that involves me yelling at varying volumes. Both songs make them literally freeze. And smile. For exactly the length of the song. Then it’s right back to hollering.
It becomes a battle of the wills, doesn’t it? How long can Mommy sing before she pulls off at a rest stop to find scattered pacifiers and toys? Isn’t it maybe less painful in the long run to just get there, crying or not? I think this is one of those questions for which the answer changes minute by minute. Sorry, girls, that your mother isn’t more sympathetic to your plight, stuck in the back seat, facing backwards, bored out of your minds. But she’s an old lady, complete with her own lumbar support pillow, who is just trying to navigate her way through a foreign country as quickly and safely as possible. The one they should be really annoyed with is their father, who had to suddenly fly to Germany the night before our scheduled departure, then suddenly to New York the morning of our drive to Nuremberg and now might be able to meet us at his parents’ house. After all, he could have been in the backseat passing out cookies if he weren’t so stinking clever.
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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."
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