Penis Anger

February 22, 2012 at 3:45 pm , by Jill Cordes

The penis is killing me. I will soon need anger management. I have followed the advice of other moms but I am still getting bathed in urine. As are my walls, Emmett’s body–even his face. Today it happened three times in a row. What am I doing wrong?

Here is what one mom wrote to me:

1. Open the front of his diaper for a few seconds to let the air hit his penis; the temperature change is usually what triggers the peeing;

2. Lay the front of the diaper back over him and wait a few seconds to see if he’s going to pee;

3. Proceed with diaper change.

I have not been peed on since I learned this trick over two years ago.

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I have tried this trick. The problem is, I pull the diaper back, then wait a few seconds. I proceed with the change. And 8 times out of 10 I still get hit.

Emmett poops a ton. And I am still battling this diaper rash. It turned bacterial. I got prescription ointment. Added an anti-fungal ointment in there as well, by my own accord. It went away. But now it’s back.  I don’t want him to sit in the poop for even a few minutes, as that seems to be what made it come back, despite the 10-inch buffer of creams + aquafor + triple paste.

So he poops, I change. 10 minutes later he poops again. I change. This goes on for about 30-45 minutes and up to five diapers. Somewhere in there, we both get a golden shower. Maybe three.

At about 4 a.m. this morning, we had simultaneous poop-pee-barf. Yes, baptism by fire with a newborn. But with Fia I only really dealt with the barf/reflux. She didn’t poop 5 times in 30 minutes either.

I am going to look into a pee tent, but honestly, he wiggles so much, even a burp cloth doesn’t work. It would have to be a tent that you use in a circus to cover the whole area. Oh, but then I’d be under it and get sprayed anyway. I’m also trying to dry out his bum each time, which adds to the length of time we both become moving targets.

This morning I texted my husband. I told him I was sorry to break the news to him, but I may become a lesbian or a nun as I am beginning to hate the penis. He hasn’t written back. He’s probably too terrified to come home.

Now I’m off to swimming lessons with Fia. Where I won’t get peed on because a) the instructor is in the water with her not me; b) she wears a swim diaper; c) she has a vagina. Thank the lord!

Milestone Monday: Other Kids

February 20, 2012 at 2:48 pm , by Jill Cordes

Fia has been unusually fussy since her fever last week. Maybe she is still fighting a little something. Or maybe it’s just the whole transition with new baby coinciding with terrible two’s. At any rate, Phil and I find that if we take her off on her own to do something she seems to get less fussy and more focused on having fun–a welcome relief to all of us.

This morning I took her to a playground with a friend. She was playing well within my sight on a little foot bridge–those kind that sway when you run across it. There were two older boys–probably 6 years old–playing on it as well. Whenever older kids are around I like to pay extra attention so she doesn’t get hurt. The one boy was straddling the foot bridge, the other was beckoning Fia to walk underneath the straddling boy. She sat on her butt and scooted under him. She was laughing and so were they. She typically loves older kids.

By now I was right there with them, watching. The boy sitting next to her started to push on her chest. She tried to get up and he was holding her down. I immediately went into mama bear mode, telling him to stop it and grabbing Fia in my arms. You ready for this? He says, “We were trying to kill her!” I almost simultaneously slapped him and threw up. Who the f-ck says that? I know, it’s maybe the old adage “boys being boys.” I don’t give a sh-t. You don’t say that kind of stuff.

I looked at him (of course his parents are nowhere around) and said, “Listen: you don’t say that to anyone. And you don’t hold a child down either. Ever.” Then marched off.

I know, it’s just verbiage on his part. But it really threw me. Fia just looked bewildered. My friend told me to figure out which set of parents had these kids and tell them. And being a direct person who doesn’t shy away from confrontation, I should have. But by then Fia was in meltdown mode again (I don’t think because of that) and I was tending to her and just felt really weary by the whole thing.

My friend Cassandra wrote about a parent who does the “RIE” method–and about what complete b.s. it is. I don’t know if these kids were raised to “do and say whatever they want and work it out on their own” or if their parents would have been equally aghast. I should have said something.

About 20 minutes later, I looked across the playground and saw the two boys plus another one. They were rough housing and the mom of the third boy walked over and told them to stop it. They clearly all knew each other.

That’s where my story basically ends. Fia continued to fuss, I brought her home and she’s napping now. And I continue to stew. Is this just part of parenthood or was this scenario a bit of an extreme? Let me know your thoughts.

 

Fragile–and Now Frantic

February 17, 2012 at 6:15 pm , by Jill Cordes

I am so ill-equipped at motherhood it’s astounding. I mean, I saw my mother through a crack addition and death. And yet, my tot gets sick and I freak the f–k out.

Last night out of nowhere, Fia spiked a fever. We were just finishing her bath when she went pale and started to shake. I grabbed the brand-new/expensive forehead thermometer I bought and swiped it on her. 105 it said. I began to shake.

I should note that Fia has never had a severe fever before. Which makes me one of the luckiest moms to have come this far, dodging bullets. However, it also means I’m no veteran when it comes to coping with a sick child.

Phil and I, both novices, did a couple stupid things. We a) panicked; b) put her in fleece pajamas, since she was shaking and wrapped her in two heavy blankets. (Apparently this makes the fever worse. Duh.); and c) took the forehead temp again…only to have it register 107. I almost went into convulsions right then and there. Note to all parents: those things suck. They are so inaccurate they must be designed to get you to the ER. Even if it’s unnecessary. I could get into some major anger issues over this.

We grabbed a rectal, stripped her down of the 11 layers, and were relieved to have it register at a mere 104.1. Never thought that would seem like a “reasonable” number. We gave her Tylenol. Then texted a friend, who suggested alternating Tylenol and Motrin/Advil. And giving her Pedialyte. We had none of that. Like I said, we’re ill-equipped and obviously incompetent. Or were. Not anymore. Now I have a small pharmacy in my house.

I called the pediatrician. It was after hours. They said on their machine not to page a doctor unless it’s over 105.5. Huh? I guess in some ways it made me feel better, as she was still in a decent “zone” if you will. They listed other reasons to call: a purple rash, seizure, etc. None of those she had.

We then put on a lighter pair of pajamas, took her 23 stuffed animals out of her bed, and covered her with a light swaddle blanket. I checked her throughout the night. The fever went up and then down…like a roller coaster. So did my emotions.

This morning she seemed much better, much cooler. Still has a fever of 102.1 but I began to calm down….until…. I got an email from her preschool. Apparently hand, foot, and mouth disease is going around. And this is the classic progression of it. First a fever, then sores. I just finished Googling it–bad idea. Especially the Wikipedia stats on how many kids died in Malaysia and China from it (note: none in the U.S., which should calm my nerves). And now I’m waiting for the doctor to call me back. Not only am I worried about Fia, even though this is a common toddler ailment, but I have a 3-week old at home. Dear God help me. I’m going to seriously lose my sh-t. What do I do? Never send her to preschool again? Quarantine our family from the world? That’s what I feel like doing. I know, I sound ridiculous. But being in my fragile state of mind already, this is going to send me over the edge.

That’s all for now.

Fia Friday: My Babies

February 17, 2012 at 6:00 am , by Jill Cordes

This is why I feel fragile. They are my life. My world….

 

 

 

 

Feeling Fragile

February 16, 2012 at 3:44 pm , by Jill Cordes

The other day the dryer repair man came to our house. I looked down at him on our floor as he pried open the bottom. He was a short fellow, with small hands and no wedding ring. I walked away and burst into tears. Phil came in at that moment.

“What’s wrong? Is the baby okay?” he asked, alarmed.

“Everything is fine,” I said in a hushed tone.

“Then what’s wrong??”

“The dryer man,” I said. “He doesn’t have a wedding ring. What if he is all alone? What if he has no family?”

Phil looked at me, trying to make sense of what I was getting at. Did I know this man from somewhere else? Was he my long lost best friend or something? In other words: What-The-F–k?

I have a hard time explaining how I’m feeling right now, but as abnormal as it sounds, this is all perfectly normal. It’s what hormones and a new baby does to many of moms. My fellow blogger Berit wrote about how many times she’s burst into tears lately. It gives me great comfort not to be alone in my weepy sea of rational–and irrational–emotions.

Emmett is 22 days old. But in so many ways, I feel like he’s always been part of me. The sheer magnitude of love I feel for him and Fi becomes daunting at times. How can my heart stay intact with these two perfect creatures?

This past fall, I wrote about driving home from the hospital with Fia and passing Ground Zero. The reality of bringing a life into the world crashed down on me then. This time is no different. In fact, it may be worse, because now I have two fragile eggs to keep close. Three if you count Phil. Four if you count Wayne.

“What if the dryer guy doesn’t wear a wedding ring because he repairs dryers all day?” Phil said, trying to inject logic into the mind of a neurotic person. Which is like trying to reason with  Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.

“Excellent point,” I said, laughing through my tears. “Ignore me. I’m just fragile right now.”

Instead, he hugged me. Then I crawled into bed with Emmett, smelling his skin, his hair, his essence….and took a nap.