There was the time Daphne was sitting on the couch playing AlphaBaby on our MacBook. She was typing (aka banging) away while Dave and I discussed something mundane. At some point Dave asked a question and I looked at him to answer. When I turned a moment later to look at Daphne she was gone. I'd registered a thud in my recent memory and deduced that the sound came from Daphne hitting the floor after falling off the couch. Luckily there was a little mat there that helped cushion her fall. Daphne didn't notice that she'd been a victim of gravity as not a single peep came out of her, just a cute smile as she waited for me to pick her up.
Then there was the time when Daphne was learning to stand by means other than Dave's or my hands for support. In order to help her get to some of the objects she desired on our coffee table I placed her facing me on my left hand side. I was prepared to grab her with my left arm if she started to tumble. At some point during another mundane conversation with Dave I diverted my attention from Daphne to empathize with his frustration at burning yet another batch of sweet potato fries for Daphne; those things do not bake well from frozen. This time I saw Daphne's descent begin but was powerless to help. I heard a much louder and harder sounding thud when her little head hit the ground, probably because of the hardwood floor that she hit. She cried this time, and I did too. Sadly for her my tears were on the inside; on the outside I mustered up the best smile I could and told her that she was just fine. She didn't believe me and I don't blame her.
The doozy though is this one: while I was checking email after her morning nap Daphne sat playing on the floor. She'd assumed her usual airplane position that's evolved enough to allow her a decent amount of mobility. At some point I looked down to see a look of puzzlement on her face, followed by a scream-cry. As I picked her up I couldn't help but notice the close proximity of the MacBook charger to her playspot. The end of the charger (the magnetic part that plugs into your Macbook) must have fallen off the laptop as I grabbed it to check my email. Of course this is what has to have happened: Daphne, a lover of all things technical, saw the cord fall and made a mad dash to it. Upon reaching the cord, she gave it a thorough inspection before placing the funky part into her mouth. Once said funky part touched either her tongue or lip she received a zap strong enough to cause her to remove the cord from her mouth and proceed to cry. A quick Google search suggested that I check the site of possible electrocution and look for tiny burns. We were negative on that front. I checked Daphne's cognitive skills by calling her name and seeing if she'd respond; we were good there. I then checked Daphne's fine motor skills by feeding her Cheerios and gross motor skills by getting her to stand; check, check. Finally I waited for Daphne to speak (if you can call it that) and she was just as incomprehensible as she normally is. Plan B was to check to see what type of harm the charger could actually do, so I did what any sane person would do: I licked it myself. I received a tiny shock -- so tiny, in fact, that I thought I could have maybe imagined the feeling. As Dave wasn't home I anxiously awaited his lunchtime phone call. When I answered I explained to Dave that his daughter was dead and that I killed her. He asked me who was making the screaming sounds in the background to which I replied "That's the ghost of your dead, electrocuted daughter." I then explained to him what happened, he assured me that everything was fine and told me he'd see me later. While on his bike ride home, Dave couldn't help but think 'she's going to make me lick the charger, I just know it.' When Dave got home, I kissed him hello, handed him his daughter and then took her back. I waited for him to take his shoes off before handing him the cord. "I knew it!" he said, "I knew you were going to make me lick the stupid charger." Knowing that I wouldn't take no for an answer, he cautiously licked the cord and then stupidly plugged it into the Macbook (he claims that he wiped it off, I don't believe him). Anyway, long story short we have an appointment at the Apple Genius Bar tomorrow to see whether we fried our battery or our charger. The funniest part is I'm not even sure if Daphne licked the cord to begin with. Oh, and Dave felt a zap too.
Ten months, two medium fails and one big one. According to my doctor I have one big one to go to catch up to the average number of 'big' accidents babies have by the time they're one. Yippee.
Mar 19, 2011
Phone-y advice.
Did I ever tell you about the first time I got heartburn? It was in the fall of 2004, Dave had just moved to Montreal to start his Masters degree and I was taking a year off school. I had scheduled a trumpet lesson with an old teacher and was very nervous about it. I was so nervous that I was about 15 minutes early (a feat for me, as I'm never early for anything!) As I sat there waiting for the lesson before mine to end I started experiencing this pain in my chest unlike anything I'd ever felt before. It was so bad that I had to get up and leave the building. I thought a walk outside would help and it did...a bit. A few minutes later I returned, felling a little better and ready for the lesson. When I got inside the classroom, my teacher asked me how I was. I jumped right in and explained my agonizing chest pain. My teacher laughed, said it was heartburn and told me to take some antacids. Hmmm. By the time the lesson was done, I'd forgotten that I was ever in pain and continued straight home. That night I went to bed, but before I could nod off, the pain came back. It was excruciating. It was so bad that I started googling 'chest pain as a symptom' to see if anything else fit the bill. What I found surprised me. According to my Google search based on the symptoms I'd typed in I was having heart attack. Being the hypochondriac that I am, I believed it. I grabbed the phone and called Telehealth Ontario. BIG MISTAKE. When the lady asked how she could help I started explaining my symptoms. Pain in my back, neck and shoulders that also radiates down my arm - an aside here, I have TMJ so when I'm stressed I clench my teeth and when I clench my teeth I get really bad headaches, accompanied by back, neck and shoulder pain that radiates down my arm. I may have overstated my symptoms as I wanted the lady on the phone to take my concern seriously. And seriously she did! Within minutes she was telling me to get to a hospital ASAP. And she didn't say it casually either, there was concern in her voice. So I got up, walked out to the doorway where I was greeted by my two roommates having a late-night snack. I explained to them what was going on. They looked at me, looked at each other and said "Go to bed." "What?" I exclaimed, "I can't go to bed, I might be having a heart attack. If I go to bed I could never wake up!" "You're not having a heart attack, you have heartburn. You'll go to bed, wake up and forget it ever happened. Trust me, I get heartburn all the time." After a few minutes of this banter, I realized that maybe I was overreacting and headed to bed. When I got up the next morning, I'd forgotten about the pain I'd been in the night before. I've since had heartburn a couple times and now know not to overreact.
With Daphne, it's a whole different ball game. You might recall a couple weeks ago when I said I would explain why my blog posts have been sparse as of late. Well, it all started with Daphne's very first trip to the ER. About a month ago now Daphne had her second round of vaccines. Like the first round, we expected that after a few hours Daphne would have a fever, so we made sure to keep a close eye on her. As I was getting her ready for bed I noticed that she felt a little warm so I took her temperature. She had a low-grade fever, nothing to be concerned about. I gave her a dose of acetaminophen to prevent the fever from spiking as she slept. About an hour and a half after I put her down she woke up screaming at the top of her lungs. Dave ran in to see what was the matter and discovered that her fever had spiked. I thought it was a bit strange as the acetaminophen should have prevented the fever from spiking. I thought to be on the safe side that I would call the nurses hotline to ask if that was normal.
During the day the city runs what's called the newborn hotline; it has a public health nurse who specializes in newborn care answering calls on a variety of topics. You can use this hotline until your kid's two, then you can call the regular provincial line. When I've called the newborn hotline they've been really good about addressing all my concerns and not overreacting and recommending a trip to the doctor or ER on every call. Instead, they offer practical advice and let you know of symptoms to look out for that may be cause for concern. This is NOT the case with the regular hotline. Like Telehealth Ontario the nurses tend to recommend a trip to the ER for almost all the people that call in. My guess is that it has something to do with liability and the provincial government not wanting to have to deal with legal suits against a service that they've set up to help the public. Unfortunately, lots of babies get sick at night, when the Newborn Hotline isn't in service. This results in worried parents calling the general line and being scared into taking their baby to the ER. This is exactly what happened to Dave and me.
It was so funny, I called and said exactly this to the lady: "So, when I checked my baby's temperature before bed it was about 100.4 (sorry for the fahrenheit, we bought our stupid thermometre in the States and it's too stubborn to switch back and forth from fahrenheit to celsius). I gave her a single dose of Tylenol and put her to bed. When she woke up just now she was scream-crying and had a fever of 102.5. I just wanted to check and see if it was normal for a fever to spike even after administering Tylenol." To this the lady replied with a question about Daphne's pain level. She gave me three options to choose from. Number one was mild pain: when crying, calms down instantly when comforted and is not really fussy at all. Number two was moderate pain: somewhat fussy and takes a little longer to calm down when crying. Number three was severe pain: inconsolable and very fussy. Okay, for those of you who read my blog or have met Daphne I bet you'd say that Daphne seems to be in moderate pain ALL THE TIME!!! The lady's description of moderate pain is Daphne in a nutshell. So naturally when asked and presented with my options I chose option number two. BIG MISTAKE. Not only did the nurse recommend taking her to the ER right away, but she said it with such concern. She made me feel like I'd be the world's worst mom if I didn't have her in the ER by the time she was onto her next call. So, to the ER we went.
When we arrived we were fortunate to choose to park in a spot that was being vacated by a very thoughtful man who gave us his parking stub. Our spot was prepaid for the whole night, which was nice 'cause we were about to spend 4 hours at BC Children's Hospital (which based on the rates for hospital parking equals about a year's worth of college tuition). I didn't really know what to expect when we got there, but I almost had a heart attack when I heard the coughing sounds coming out of the baby girl entering the ER just as we were. I tried really hard to keep Daphne out of harm's way and I started thinking that the guilt of bringing Daphne to this cesspool of disease was much worse than the guilt I'd be feeling had we not bothered to come. Then I started thinking of the guilt I'd feel if something was actually wrong with Daphne and I neglected to seek proper care and decided that coming the the ER was our only option. We waited a few hours in the waiting room. Daphne managed to sleep for about an hour which was nice (I had to baby squat her to sleep, which took me back as I haven't had to do that for months). We watched a lot of babies and toddlers come and go and at about 2 in the morning we were finally seen. The resident doctor we had was very nice. She did a quick assessment and left to get her attending. We gave Daphne a bottle (pictured below) and watching her drink it while wearing that itty bitty hospital gown was the cutest thing I've ever seen (almost cute enough to warrant the 3 hour wait). When the doctor returned they pretty much told us what we knew, that vaccines sometimes cause fevers and that all we could do was give her acetaminophen and wait. Before the doctor left I asked her if the hospital would mind terribly if I took Daphne's gown as a souvenir, to which she replied that "taking that hospital gown will not only beggar this hospital, but it will put an end to socialized healthcare in Canada". So I took the gown.
The moral of the story is this folks: NEVER call a nurses hotline unless you're prepared to donate a few hours of your life to your local hospital. Furthermore, if you have a child, only call the nurses hotline when you have an actual concern and not just a general question, that's what Google's for.
Oh, and to further explain my lack of blog writing as of late, it was this trip to the ER that caused me to lose just the right amount of sleep to weaken my immune system just enough to cause me to catch the worst cold I've EVER had. It's been a month since I got it and I'm still not 100%. Dave got the same evil cold and Daphne, miraculously, didn't get sick at all, go figure!
With Daphne, it's a whole different ball game. You might recall a couple weeks ago when I said I would explain why my blog posts have been sparse as of late. Well, it all started with Daphne's very first trip to the ER. About a month ago now Daphne had her second round of vaccines. Like the first round, we expected that after a few hours Daphne would have a fever, so we made sure to keep a close eye on her. As I was getting her ready for bed I noticed that she felt a little warm so I took her temperature. She had a low-grade fever, nothing to be concerned about. I gave her a dose of acetaminophen to prevent the fever from spiking as she slept. About an hour and a half after I put her down she woke up screaming at the top of her lungs. Dave ran in to see what was the matter and discovered that her fever had spiked. I thought it was a bit strange as the acetaminophen should have prevented the fever from spiking. I thought to be on the safe side that I would call the nurses hotline to ask if that was normal.
During the day the city runs what's called the newborn hotline; it has a public health nurse who specializes in newborn care answering calls on a variety of topics. You can use this hotline until your kid's two, then you can call the regular provincial line. When I've called the newborn hotline they've been really good about addressing all my concerns and not overreacting and recommending a trip to the doctor or ER on every call. Instead, they offer practical advice and let you know of symptoms to look out for that may be cause for concern. This is NOT the case with the regular hotline. Like Telehealth Ontario the nurses tend to recommend a trip to the ER for almost all the people that call in. My guess is that it has something to do with liability and the provincial government not wanting to have to deal with legal suits against a service that they've set up to help the public. Unfortunately, lots of babies get sick at night, when the Newborn Hotline isn't in service. This results in worried parents calling the general line and being scared into taking their baby to the ER. This is exactly what happened to Dave and me.
It was so funny, I called and said exactly this to the lady: "So, when I checked my baby's temperature before bed it was about 100.4 (sorry for the fahrenheit, we bought our stupid thermometre in the States and it's too stubborn to switch back and forth from fahrenheit to celsius). I gave her a single dose of Tylenol and put her to bed. When she woke up just now she was scream-crying and had a fever of 102.5. I just wanted to check and see if it was normal for a fever to spike even after administering Tylenol." To this the lady replied with a question about Daphne's pain level. She gave me three options to choose from. Number one was mild pain: when crying, calms down instantly when comforted and is not really fussy at all. Number two was moderate pain: somewhat fussy and takes a little longer to calm down when crying. Number three was severe pain: inconsolable and very fussy. Okay, for those of you who read my blog or have met Daphne I bet you'd say that Daphne seems to be in moderate pain ALL THE TIME!!! The lady's description of moderate pain is Daphne in a nutshell. So naturally when asked and presented with my options I chose option number two. BIG MISTAKE. Not only did the nurse recommend taking her to the ER right away, but she said it with such concern. She made me feel like I'd be the world's worst mom if I didn't have her in the ER by the time she was onto her next call. So, to the ER we went.
When we arrived we were fortunate to choose to park in a spot that was being vacated by a very thoughtful man who gave us his parking stub. Our spot was prepaid for the whole night, which was nice 'cause we were about to spend 4 hours at BC Children's Hospital (which based on the rates for hospital parking equals about a year's worth of college tuition). I didn't really know what to expect when we got there, but I almost had a heart attack when I heard the coughing sounds coming out of the baby girl entering the ER just as we were. I tried really hard to keep Daphne out of harm's way and I started thinking that the guilt of bringing Daphne to this cesspool of disease was much worse than the guilt I'd be feeling had we not bothered to come. Then I started thinking of the guilt I'd feel if something was actually wrong with Daphne and I neglected to seek proper care and decided that coming the the ER was our only option. We waited a few hours in the waiting room. Daphne managed to sleep for about an hour which was nice (I had to baby squat her to sleep, which took me back as I haven't had to do that for months). We watched a lot of babies and toddlers come and go and at about 2 in the morning we were finally seen. The resident doctor we had was very nice. She did a quick assessment and left to get her attending. We gave Daphne a bottle (pictured below) and watching her drink it while wearing that itty bitty hospital gown was the cutest thing I've ever seen (almost cute enough to warrant the 3 hour wait). When the doctor returned they pretty much told us what we knew, that vaccines sometimes cause fevers and that all we could do was give her acetaminophen and wait. Before the doctor left I asked her if the hospital would mind terribly if I took Daphne's gown as a souvenir, to which she replied that "taking that hospital gown will not only beggar this hospital, but it will put an end to socialized healthcare in Canada". So I took the gown.
The moral of the story is this folks: NEVER call a nurses hotline unless you're prepared to donate a few hours of your life to your local hospital. Furthermore, if you have a child, only call the nurses hotline when you have an actual concern and not just a general question, that's what Google's for.
Oh, and to further explain my lack of blog writing as of late, it was this trip to the ER that caused me to lose just the right amount of sleep to weaken my immune system just enough to cause me to catch the worst cold I've EVER had. It's been a month since I got it and I'm still not 100%. Dave got the same evil cold and Daphne, miraculously, didn't get sick at all, go figure!
Mar 11, 2011
Phoning it in...
I've been part of the workforce since I turned 14 years old. It was the summer of 1994 and I was an LIT, a leader-in-training with the Scarborough Recreation, Parks and Culture department. I was proud of myself for landing this job, because it was one of very few jobs (other than newspaper delivery) that you could get under the age of 16 without working under the table. I loved my job, I learned a lot from it and it groomed me for my position as a full fledged leader. I spent the next few summers working for the Iron Butterflies camp, a camp for developmentally delayed children in wheelchairs. This was probably the most challenging and rewarding job I've had to date. I was there from 8-4, Monday to Friday and was responsible for everything from planning our daily curriculum, to changing and feeding campers, to acting as a liason between our campers and their parents or group homes. Sometimes I even had to step up and advocate for our campers if I felt they were being neglected or poorly cared for at their homes. All of this at the age of 16, and I wasn't alone. There was a whole group of us. We were the only camp in Scarborough that had an almost 1-1 ratio of staff/volunteers to campers. Even still, by the end of the day, we were all done. Toast. The only thing we could think of to burn off steam was to drink, and drink we did! We drank so much that by the time I got to university I was done with drinking for good (well, not for good, but ask anyone who went to school with me, Eve drinking was a momentous occasion).
Anyway, you may be wondering what this has to do with my being a mom and it goes something like this: from the day I entered the workforce, until the day I was pregnant with Daphne, I worked twelve jobs. Twelve jobs and I can honestly tell you that the number of times I called in sick was three, maybe four times. And better yet, those three or four times all happened in the two years leading up to the day I was pregnant with Daphne. I worked three summers at the Iron Butterflies camp, and for three summers, I showed up to work either physically exhausted from the previous day's work or hungover from partying too hard the night before. I would get 4-6 hours of sleep every night and somehow, I was able to do my job at a very high level while bringing smiles to our campers faces. I'm not writing this to brag, I'm writing this because for the life of me I can't figure out how I did it. How did I manage to not call in sick a single time? How did I not die of exhaustion? I chalk it all up to being young and man do I wish I was young now.
I took my pregnancy very seriously. I ate well, went to yoga and aquafit every week, took my prenatal vitamins and made sure to sing, talk, read and cuddle our little growing miracle. I even called in sick -- a lot; if I didn't feel 100% I was out. I wanted our baby to have the best chance from the start, and that meant I couldn't take any chances. I felt guilty calling in sick so much as it has never been a part of me. I wouldn't say that I'm the world's best employee, but one of my strengths is that I possess a very strong work ethic. I don't believe in calling in sick just for the sake of calling in sick. At least I didn't used to.
Boy do I wish that I coud just call in sick right now. Pick up the phone, hear Dave answer and say to him in my best faking-sick voice, "I'm really sorry, but I just can't make it in today. I've got this throat thing and I really don't want to risk making any of my co-workers sick". Man, would that be nice. I would kill for a day off. But I can't. Even if Dave were to take over all the chores and Daphne duties for the day, I wouldn't be able to turn off being a mom. Yeah, I suppose I could go to a spa for some R & R for a few hours, but what I'm talking about is sitting at home, on the couch, watching dvds of a series you've been meaning to watch for years, ordering in dinner and just lounging, for the whole day. Not a few hours, the whole day! Yeah, that'd be nice. I wish someone would have told me when I was fourteen to cherish those carefree days; heck, I wish I had listened when people told me to relax as much as possible before the baby came.
You know what else I wish? That someone would have told me that from the second you have a child your life as you know it is no more. There will never be a moment when I'm not worrying about Daphne and how she's doing. When I'm not thinking about how her day will unfold and what I can do to help her get through it without a hitch. As she gets older I'll worry about new things, like enrolling her in preschool and making sure that we're starting her off on the right foot. Then it'll be primary school and high school and then hopefully she'll leave. But that's when the real worrying will start. She won't call when she says she will and I'll worry that something's gone wrong. She'll meet a boy (or girl) who I'll worry isn't treating her well enough. Then she'll marry said boy (or girl) and have a baby and all the while I'll be worrying, but now not only about her, but about her family. The worry, it's overwhelming! But I guess in the end that's what makes me a mom and I'm glad that I have someone so freaking adorable to worry about 'cause she's awesome and I love her!
Anyway, you may be wondering what this has to do with my being a mom and it goes something like this: from the day I entered the workforce, until the day I was pregnant with Daphne, I worked twelve jobs. Twelve jobs and I can honestly tell you that the number of times I called in sick was three, maybe four times. And better yet, those three or four times all happened in the two years leading up to the day I was pregnant with Daphne. I worked three summers at the Iron Butterflies camp, and for three summers, I showed up to work either physically exhausted from the previous day's work or hungover from partying too hard the night before. I would get 4-6 hours of sleep every night and somehow, I was able to do my job at a very high level while bringing smiles to our campers faces. I'm not writing this to brag, I'm writing this because for the life of me I can't figure out how I did it. How did I manage to not call in sick a single time? How did I not die of exhaustion? I chalk it all up to being young and man do I wish I was young now.
I took my pregnancy very seriously. I ate well, went to yoga and aquafit every week, took my prenatal vitamins and made sure to sing, talk, read and cuddle our little growing miracle. I even called in sick -- a lot; if I didn't feel 100% I was out. I wanted our baby to have the best chance from the start, and that meant I couldn't take any chances. I felt guilty calling in sick so much as it has never been a part of me. I wouldn't say that I'm the world's best employee, but one of my strengths is that I possess a very strong work ethic. I don't believe in calling in sick just for the sake of calling in sick. At least I didn't used to.
Boy do I wish that I coud just call in sick right now. Pick up the phone, hear Dave answer and say to him in my best faking-sick voice, "I'm really sorry, but I just can't make it in today. I've got this throat thing and I really don't want to risk making any of my co-workers sick". Man, would that be nice. I would kill for a day off. But I can't. Even if Dave were to take over all the chores and Daphne duties for the day, I wouldn't be able to turn off being a mom. Yeah, I suppose I could go to a spa for some R & R for a few hours, but what I'm talking about is sitting at home, on the couch, watching dvds of a series you've been meaning to watch for years, ordering in dinner and just lounging, for the whole day. Not a few hours, the whole day! Yeah, that'd be nice. I wish someone would have told me when I was fourteen to cherish those carefree days; heck, I wish I had listened when people told me to relax as much as possible before the baby came.
You know what else I wish? That someone would have told me that from the second you have a child your life as you know it is no more. There will never be a moment when I'm not worrying about Daphne and how she's doing. When I'm not thinking about how her day will unfold and what I can do to help her get through it without a hitch. As she gets older I'll worry about new things, like enrolling her in preschool and making sure that we're starting her off on the right foot. Then it'll be primary school and high school and then hopefully she'll leave. But that's when the real worrying will start. She won't call when she says she will and I'll worry that something's gone wrong. She'll meet a boy (or girl) who I'll worry isn't treating her well enough. Then she'll marry said boy (or girl) and have a baby and all the while I'll be worrying, but now not only about her, but about her family. The worry, it's overwhelming! But I guess in the end that's what makes me a mom and I'm glad that I have someone so freaking adorable to worry about 'cause she's awesome and I love her!
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