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In re my incoherent ramblings from a week or so ago: the boy popped a tooth that very morning. Actually, given the state of poppedness when I finally found it, the mystery of the boy's recent uncharacteristic bearheadedness was sure as shit solved.
We'd been interviewing with the director of the childcare centre Daniel is to spend three days a week at, and whose story I have yet to elaborate on, when dude (and by 'dude' I mean Daniel, not the director) grabbed my finger and shoved it into his mouth, which is something he does with a great deal of drippy regularity anyway, but that particular day I finally bought a damn clue. Waddya know? A tooth. Then he promptly settled back into being napping champion and angels sang, harpsichords played and the world stopped spinning off its axis. Which kind of led to a redundant day on the following Wednesday.
We'd enrolled in that Day Service stuff to get help with Daniel's nap times, and rather than give us soemthing to work with, he set about executing text book sleeping patterns. I'd hoped to also get some help with his napping when we weren't at home because in that arena, we're still screwed. Always ahve been actuallay, so if I want my little cherub to be all rosy cheeked and topped up on his zzzzs, I can never, ever leave the house. Ever. The Day Service advisor was about as useful as tits on a bull though, telling me to just go out anyway. Marvelous.
After about ten days' amnesty, Daniel began being a leetle difficult again, but having learned my lesson the last time though, I know it's teething and not him generally being a shithead. Still, when it's the wee hours of the morning and he's bouncing around like a deranged lunatic after having had no naps all day, it's hard to not want to tell him to shut the fuck up and go to sleep. It's harder still dealing with those impatient feelings though. After all, he's my little boy and he's not sleeping because he's in pain, and aargh, no good mother would ever thing those thoughts, etc so mostly, it's hard to not know what to do to make the pain go away.
Daniel had some baby paracetamol last night to help him through, and anyone who knows me also knows that I have a major medication phobia. Or did have. I'm much better now than I was, as evidenced by my ability to knock back the codeines after Daniel's birth. Still, I'd rather cast a spell and dance naked under the moonlight to cure what ails me than submit my body to an aspirin. Not really, but you get my point. Anyway, after pouring a minute amount of the evil drug down Daniel's throat, I realised I have what amounts to med phobia transference as I spent the rest of the night worrying about the liver failure he was sure to get from the 1.2 mls he'd ingested. If by 'ingested' I mean 'thrown up'. Lord, we went through three sets of pyjamas for him and two tee shirts and a pair of track pants for me by the time he was done. Next time, to avoid ome of the worst case of the yarps the kid has ever seen (worn, whatever), I'm just gonna stick with rubbing high grade cocaine on those virgin gums of his.
Moving right along, Daniel had his second swimming lesson and his third time in the pool the other day. He's been pretty good about the lessons so far, and hasn't obviously hated them, being dunked unceremoniously regularly throughout the time spent in the pool. I expected him to remain ambivilent for a little while longer though as to date, he's neither obviously hated or enjoyed the experience, rather, he's bobbed around and not become too inolved with what's been going on around him. Come Saturday, well. Daniel went nuts as soon as we got there, and started kicking his little legs in excitement as soon as he saw the other little kids already in the pool. By the time it was our turn to get in, he'd already endeared everyone to him with his obvious joy, and he spent the entire lesson smiling and squealing and watching all the pool action going down, with his big eyes practically on stalks taking it all in. He had an absolute ball, and because he did, I did too. Swimming lessons though, are the toughest thing about sole parenting because getting us both out the pool, dried and dressed without dropping either one of us on our heads is challening, to say the least, and would probably make a great submission to Australia's Funniest Home Videos.
For those of you who were interested, the pumpkin adventure went off without a hitch. I sat in the floor and Daniel was propped up on my knee, and I flew the plane into the hangar efficiently enough so that we both didn't end up wearing the lot. Woot.
And one of these days I'll get around to explaining why the Deebs is going into day care. It's not that exciting. Then again it kind of is, but it isn't, if you get what I mean. Yeah.
We'd been interviewing with the director of the childcare centre Daniel is to spend three days a week at, and whose story I have yet to elaborate on, when dude (and by 'dude' I mean Daniel, not the director) grabbed my finger and shoved it into his mouth, which is something he does with a great deal of drippy regularity anyway, but that particular day I finally bought a damn clue. Waddya know? A tooth. Then he promptly settled back into being napping champion and angels sang, harpsichords played and the world stopped spinning off its axis. Which kind of led to a redundant day on the following Wednesday.
We'd enrolled in that Day Service stuff to get help with Daniel's nap times, and rather than give us soemthing to work with, he set about executing text book sleeping patterns. I'd hoped to also get some help with his napping when we weren't at home because in that arena, we're still screwed. Always ahve been actuallay, so if I want my little cherub to be all rosy cheeked and topped up on his zzzzs, I can never, ever leave the house. Ever. The Day Service advisor was about as useful as tits on a bull though, telling me to just go out anyway. Marvelous.
After about ten days' amnesty, Daniel began being a leetle difficult again, but having learned my lesson the last time though, I know it's teething and not him generally being a shithead. Still, when it's the wee hours of the morning and he's bouncing around like a deranged lunatic after having had no naps all day, it's hard to not want to tell him to shut the fuck up and go to sleep. It's harder still dealing with those impatient feelings though. After all, he's my little boy and he's not sleeping because he's in pain, and aargh, no good mother would ever thing those thoughts, etc so mostly, it's hard to not know what to do to make the pain go away.
Daniel had some baby paracetamol last night to help him through, and anyone who knows me also knows that I have a major medication phobia. Or did have. I'm much better now than I was, as evidenced by my ability to knock back the codeines after Daniel's birth. Still, I'd rather cast a spell and dance naked under the moonlight to cure what ails me than submit my body to an aspirin. Not really, but you get my point. Anyway, after pouring a minute amount of the evil drug down Daniel's throat, I realised I have what amounts to med phobia transference as I spent the rest of the night worrying about the liver failure he was sure to get from the 1.2 mls he'd ingested. If by 'ingested' I mean 'thrown up'. Lord, we went through three sets of pyjamas for him and two tee shirts and a pair of track pants for me by the time he was done. Next time, to avoid ome of the worst case of the yarps the kid has ever seen (worn, whatever), I'm just gonna stick with rubbing high grade cocaine on those virgin gums of his.
Moving right along, Daniel had his second swimming lesson and his third time in the pool the other day. He's been pretty good about the lessons so far, and hasn't obviously hated them, being dunked unceremoniously regularly throughout the time spent in the pool. I expected him to remain ambivilent for a little while longer though as to date, he's neither obviously hated or enjoyed the experience, rather, he's bobbed around and not become too inolved with what's been going on around him. Come Saturday, well. Daniel went nuts as soon as we got there, and started kicking his little legs in excitement as soon as he saw the other little kids already in the pool. By the time it was our turn to get in, he'd already endeared everyone to him with his obvious joy, and he spent the entire lesson smiling and squealing and watching all the pool action going down, with his big eyes practically on stalks taking it all in. He had an absolute ball, and because he did, I did too. Swimming lessons though, are the toughest thing about sole parenting because getting us both out the pool, dried and dressed without dropping either one of us on our heads is challening, to say the least, and would probably make a great submission to Australia's Funniest Home Videos.
For those of you who were interested, the pumpkin adventure went off without a hitch. I sat in the floor and Daniel was propped up on my knee, and I flew the plane into the hangar efficiently enough so that we both didn't end up wearing the lot. Woot.
And one of these days I'll get around to explaining why the Deebs is going into day care. It's not that exciting. Then again it kind of is, but it isn't, if you get what I mean. Yeah.
posted by aibee at 11:29
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