Of surgeries and poop

Tim had his surgery today - all went well and he's doing great considering they knocked him out and sliced his scalp open. I don't deal well with medical stuff like that (which makes it mind-boggling that I had a med-free, natural birth and didn't pass out at all), and I was worried there might be two patients in the surgery center if I passed out. I worked a half-day, trying to time it so I would be there when Tim woke up and was in recovery. His surgery didn't start on time, though, and I got there about 10 minutes before he was wheeled out of pre-op. I felt my blood pressure starting to drop as I saw him with wires, monitors and the hospital gown. Luckily, they took him away and I took a quick trip to get his pain-med prescription filled, which gave me some fresh air and a distraction from the urge to collapse in a heap on the floor. I'm strong like that.

*insert the photos of Tim with his bandages here
... oh wait, he'll kill me if I post those on the blog*

But now Tim has a dressing on his head, and he looks like a mummy. (Elle was a bit freaked out by it, and we're calling it "Daddy's hat.") He has to see the doctor for a follow-up tomorrow (and has to wear the dressing until the doctor removes it), and then he plans on going straight to work. I think he's crazy, he claims he's tough, we both agree he's stubborn. The nurses all said he handled the anesthesia extremely well (it was his first experience with it), and he actually made ME take a nap when we got home. He wasn't able to eat after midnight, so he had a well-deserved Chipotle burrito with a side of pain meds at dinner. He's been tired and can't really rest comfortably because of where the incision was, but seriously, you wouldn't know he was operated on seven hours ago if you didn't see the tell-tale headdress. Or if you didn't hear that the volume on the TV has been turned up because the dressing covers his ears and apparently affects his hearing.

Elle always says "Where Daddy? Daddy work" at bedtime. Tonight she paused, knowing that Daddy was on the couch - not at work - but not sure what else to say. I told her Daddy was resting because he had a boo-boo, but he was going to be all better and his "hat" would come off. Elle decided to answer her own "Where Daddy?" question with "Daddy boo-boo."

Speaking of Elle, she had a bit of a rough weekend herself. After some detective work tonight, I have concluded that our weekend of Pooper Bowl and seemingly endless stay in Fussytown was caused by another canine tooth poking through. This is number three, and these teeth are creating the second-worst teething experience of our parental lives, trumped only by the molars,.

The extra drool and wacky eating created some nasty digestive issues this weekend. I changed so many poopy diapers that Elle started to repeat my diaper-changing mantra of "No more poopy diapers!" On Sunday she had a mini-meltdown at lunch, woke up from her nap extremely cranky and clingy and didn't eat much, a theme of the weekend. I loved the extra cuddles, but I hate seeing her in pain and discomfort, and it isn't fun trying to prepare lunch or dinner while Elle freaks out that I'm not picking her up righthissecond. Or givinghermorefruitsnacksthisveryminute. Or fillintheblankhere. Whatever it is, when she's like this, I can't do it fast enough.

After four days of this fun, Elle won't meet our eyes when we ask if she has to poop. The tell-tale farts broadcast the deed that has already been done, and she looks down at the floor as she nods her head slowly - first "no," then a defeated "yes" before scurrying to the bathroom, where we find, time after time, that it's too late for the potty and there is yet another poopy diaper to change. 

So we've got the Mummy, who is handling things well - and I'm so relieved that the surgery, however minor it was, is over. I didn't realize how stressed I was about it until last night, and then today I had a hard time focusing at work, just knowing that the surgery was nearing. And then we've got the Tummy (byproduct of the teeth) - and I cannot wait until this round of digestive woes and tooth-induced cranky is over. Seriously, the teething cannot be finished soon enough, for any of us.

The Molar Monster.

I thought we were on our way to greener pastures after a recent bumpy patch with teething. Elle had gone through a few nights of waking a few times and had gotten up at some super early hours, but things seemed to have quieted down once I saw little white pearls of teeth popping out of her swollen pink gums. Little white pearls in each side of her upper and lower gums. Molars. Yay! They're here, I thought. That wasn't so bad, I foolishly concluded.

But they weren't (and aren't) done. And I was wrong. So, so wrong.

This week, she's been getting up slightly earlier. And her naps have been shorter and ending in angry, screaming fashion.

Angry Bear is cuddled by Aunt Marti and slowly
wakes up after a nap that ended prematurely, in screams.
Elle was soooo out of it when she woke up.

The most telling sign that she's in pain and discomfort is that my precious little baby has turned in to a clingy, sensitive, inconsolable and unrecognizable little person. The shortened sleep periods don't bother me, unlike some earlier bouts with the teeth. I actually thought the broken sleep and extremely early wake ups we experienced a few weeks ago were the worst of the Molar Monster's inflictions. But that was before this new stage, when I can't even think about going to the bathroom without Elle's radar going up, poised to scream her head off at the very moment I try to approach the toilet.

Today, Elle cried and screamed like her leg had been torn off because the following reasons:

* I turned around.
* I stood in the doorway instead of in her room.
* She wanted a "book" while sitting on the potty, but apparently none of the "books" (read: PBK catalog, Parents magazine, alumni newsletters) she pointed to were actually the one that she wanted.
* I stopped reading a story to her because she took the book from me. (Um, OK.)
* I didn't know what "this" was that she wanted from my dresser, so I couldn't give it to her.
* I looked at her.
* I breathed.
* I couldn't keep up with her requests of "up" and "down" fast enough. (In my defense, it doesn't really seem like she can make up her mind on that one.)
* She wanted ice chips instead of cubes in her sippy cup. (OK, I made that one up.)

And this was all just after dinner.

She also kept me on my toes by throwing in hysterical peals of laughter after several of the equally hysterical crying fits.

The bottom teeth have definitely arrived, but the top ones seem to be taking their good, sweet time.


In summary, the Molar Monster has changed my sweet, independent, happy toddler in to a child who collapses in to a furious, exhausted mess of a baby as I cuddle her in her blankie. As she cuddles (which I have to admit I love), she sucks her thumb and looks woeful and pathetic. She cannot be reasoned with in this state - if I say that I'm "right here" and she can see me and hear me and practically smell me, it doesn't seem to matter because I am not "righthere." I pray that these molars are done with their business sometime before she starts kindergarten, because I am weary. (Oh, wait - what is that you say? There are second year molars? Nonsense! P.S. Let me live in my own world, please.)

It breaks my heart that she's hurting, and I hate that her pain is making her so miserable. I would like to lobby Congress and get some sort of legislation in the works that makes it mandatory for all teeth to come in at one time, without pain and suffering. I think I'd have a lot of support in that endeavor.

Dear Molar Monster, I would like my sweet, happy baby back, please.
Love, Elle's mommy.

My beef with teeth

When you have a baby, "planning" a day is kind of a sure-fire way to set yourself up for failure. Regardless, Elle is *fairly* predictable, so it wasn't entirely ridiculous for me to have a hopeful vision for our day together.

Alas, things fell apart faster than you can say "wishful thinking."

Elle hasn't pooped at night for MONTHS. Like, since we counted her age in weeks. Except once - the last time she had a dirty diaper when she woke up in the morning ... right around the time teeth 1 and 2 popped up. And Wednesday morning all started with a mammoth poo in her diaper ... at 5:40 a.m. ... and I had a feeling we were at war again with the teething beast (who really wasn't a beast at all for the first two, but tooth 3 was a bit of a PITA, and then apparently they're just getting worse as there are more of them ...)

But to put just how crumbly this morning was in to perspective, I'll share what a "normal" start to the day is like for us:

7:30-8 a.m.: Elle wakes up. One of us goes to the nursery, changes her diaper and brings her in to our bedroom so I can nurse her.

After that, one of us takes her to living room to play, downs a pot of coffee, prepares her breakfast, play and read with her and then she's usually ready for a diaper change and a nap around 10.

10ish-11:30 a.m. or so: Elle naps. When she wakes up, she nurses again. A little bit later, we give her lunch.

But yesterday, things were off hours before Elle was due to wake up. Tim and I work nights and usually go to bed around 3 a.m. (Since Elle sleeps til 8ish most days, that gives us 4-5 hours of sleep, plus we can go back to bed when she naps. We switch every day so one of us gets up with Elle, the other gets to sleep in/work out/run errands, so it's not quite as brutal as it may seem, although it still isn't like our old days of sleeping til noon every day.) The night before, though, Tim and I had gone on a date night ... which ended abruptly when he got a call from work and spent the end of our date on the phone, making calls to take care of something for early the next morning. Because a) we were exhausted from what had already been a long week and b) it looked like he was going to have to get up early to take care of the work thing, we turned in around 2 a.m.

I woke up at 5 a.m. for no reason. I didn't feel great, and I couldn't fall back asleep.

At 5:40 a.m., Elle started to cry. We soon knew it wasn't the kind of cry that would last a minute or two and end with her going back to sleep. Tim went to change her, and brought her in to our bed ... and Elle was up. Wide awake, ready for her day, UP.

Tim started to get ready for work. I brought Elle in to the living room, and still feeling ill, curled in to a ball on the floor. Elle traipsed up and down the hallway, crawling to follow "Dada" every where he went. I watched from my floor-perch and made sure she didn't get in to any trouble, but I was miserable.

Tim left the condo a little after 7, and Elle finally showed signs of tiring.

At 7:26 - before she usually even wakes up for the day - I put Elle down for her first nap. She was practically reaching for the crib the moment we stepped in the nursery. I immediately went down for my own nap. She slept for two hours, and the rest of the day's "schedule" went fairly smoothly, but holy geez. She woke up from her first nap at 9:30 a.m. And I'd patched together about five hours of sleep. I don't know about all of you, but broken sleep is the kiss of death for me.

It wasn't Elle that woke up at 5:40 a.m. It was Demon Tooth #4. I don't blame her for waking up angry because of a poopy diaper. I don't blame her for being wide awake on the one morning that I felt like absolute crap and Tim wasn't going to be around. I don't blame her for being out of sorts as a white slab of enamel stabs at her tender gums.

I do, however, blame those damn teeth.

I mean, Elle's cute. But I'm much more appreciative of adorableness when I'm not bleary-eyed from lack of sleep.

I'm just going to try to be optimistic and hope that the rest of the teeth will join the party in a quiet, calm manner.

Ha.

Teeth!

For the last few months, I've checked Elle's gums for any sign of teeth. Up, down, no sign. Her gums have been swollen, she's drooled, she's shoved anything and everything in her mouth, but still, no teeth. At our last well-baby visit two months ago, the pediatrician said she didn't see signs of them coming any time soon.

So on Wednesday, for some reason, I checked her gums after her lunch. And felt something. And then, after prying her mouth open (she thought this was a fun game), saw TWO somethings.

I have no idea why these two little teethlets made me so excited, but I started hysterically shrieking "Baby, you have teeth!!!!!!!!!!! You have TEETH!!! BABYOHMYGOSHYOUHAVETEETH!"

And Elle thought this was hilarious. As I jumped up and down, ordered Tim to come feel them and continued my hysteria, Elle grinned and grinned. Every time I said something about teeth for the rest of the day, she just smiled like she thought I was a moron - but she'd humor me.

"Mommy, you're silly. Of course I have teeth. Duh."

I kinda feel like the grin was part "Wow, you're just noticing?!" and part "Mom, you're embarrassing me." But I swear, I had no reason to think they were popping up. The babysitter had mentioned teething the week before, mostly because Elle was eating anything and everything. (Again, something that, like most babies, she'd been doing for months.) When we flew home for my grandma's funeral, Elle slept a little bit more (like on the planes and at night) and nursed a little bit more, but I chalked that up to being off schedule and traveling. When we returned, it was similar, but I figured it was just her adjusting to being back home and back to routine. (And really, a baby that sleeps a bit more during and after a big trip? Not a huge cause for concern in my book.)

While we were in Ohio and PA, she started spitting up again, something she hadn't been doing for several weeks. My brother and sister-in-law guessed that she was teething - their daughter, who is just a month older than Elle, does the same thing before she gets teeth. The day we found the teeth, Elle woke up with a dirty diaper - something that hasn't happened since her first few weeks of life. And then she had two other dirty diapers before noon. A fellow blogger had said her son's digestive system was all over the place right before he got teeth, too, and was alarmed at the poo that made morning appearances. But I had imagined the worst of teething experiences - that she'd wake up during the night, be inconsolably fussy, have fevers, diaper rashes, pure misery for weeks on end - any symptom of teething that I had heard about, I was sure we'd see it.

So to be blindsided by the teeth that Elle had so calmly and casually welcomed on her own? I was dumbstruck.

And I guess I was so hysterically excited because this is just such a huge milestone to me. I don't know why, but the fact that this little person now has little person teeth makes her such a bigger little person to me. And the fact that she did it with such little fuss, an absence of fanfare? That made her all the more "Best Baby Ever" to me. Gravity assisted in her in rolling. Curiosity helped her pull herself across the room. Passage of time gave her solids to try. But the gummy grin that marked her infancy - made her so innocent, defenseless and helpless - is quickly on its way to extinction because she's growing up. Already, she drags her tiny teeth buds against her spoon. Tries to crunch food on the teeny tips of pearl. These teeth have purpose, and so does Elle.

Tim said, "Way to go, Baby! Now you need to work on hair." Sigh. The boy is never satisfied! I asked him if the Tooth Fairy could pay Elle a visit (told you guys I was excited about this). Every time I talked to him that day, he asked me if the baby still had teeth.

She does. And she's going to get more. And then they'll fall out. And then she'll need braces. But for now: Two teeth for our baby girl.

Wordless Wednesday: What we found on Tuesday

Her two bottom teeth!
(More on this to come in a not-so-"wordless" post.)

Impulse buying

A fellow blogger posted about how she had bought her son a "Sophie." Her son is due the same day as Elle, and while I've heard about how great these Sophies are, I never felt a pressing need to get one. The baby chew toy is 100% natural rubber (phthalate free) and decorated with food paint, so you get a good, natural giraffe-shaped teether toy, but I figured since it was a teether, there was no rush. You know - teething. Something kids don't do until they have teeth poking out, not something to worry about when they're chilling in the womb for another few weeks.

Buuuuttttttttt ... they were on sale on amazon.com. This isn't something I'd want to buy used. And I started to think that this is more than just a teether - it can be a toy long before Elle starts teething. I haven't bought any toys for her (we've gotten plenty as gifts, and she's not going to need a ton of toys at first). And this way I don't have to worry about finding a deal or ordering or paying for one later, right? I mean, I've blogged about saving money on cloth diapers and finding deals, and this is a money-saver.

So I texted Tim to tell him of my impulse purchase: "I sorta kinda maybe just bought a teething toy for Elle."

Tim's response: "Ahead of ourselves much?"

She'll have teeth soon enough! And when that time comes, we'll be ready with Sophie! I'm starting early with a focus on dental health! Because she - and her gums- could be here in the next 2.5-6 weeks!