Yay for Z-Packs!

It's been a week.  And it's only Wednesday.  I've spent a lot of time on Web MD and have learned quite a bit of new vocabulary.

His incisors are coming in.  Slowly.  Painfully.  Drool everywhere.  Finger chewing.  Raunchy poop.  Snot pouring out of his nose.

Then he tripped on Sunday night coming out of the tent that Nate set up in the front room (see picture below), creating some amazing imprints of his two bottom front teeth into the inside of his lower lip.  The impact also tore his frenulum from his upper lip, leaving a shockingly large and difficult-to-clot wound inside his mouth.  I was wearing white that night.  Oh, the blood...  But some cuddle time and an ice cube while watching Elmo's world helped all that (God Bless youtube).

Then, on Tuesday night, I noticed that he would cough a couple of times, followed immediately by a high-pitched inhale.  It kept him up and every couple of minutes he would have a coughing spell.  Nothing too crazy, but enough that I started to wonder about whooping cough.  The next day, I was on the phone with my genius sister, asking her about whooping cough, and she could hear his sharp inhale.  She suggested taking him into the doctor.  After a crappy night of sleep for everyone in the house, I took him in this morning.

Guess what?  Weston's got a mild case of pertussis.  He's been vaccinated, but turns out that there is a chance that people can still get it even though they've been vaccinated.  It's called an attenuated illness.  It happens with chickenpox and other such diseases that we have vaccinations for.  The doctor prescribed him azithromycin, a pretty heavy duty antibiotic.

We were supposed to go to Chicago this weekend for my cousin's wedding, but because he cannot be around other people for the next five days, especially other children, we had to cancel.  I'm super bummed.

I will say that the medication seems to be working really well because Weston was all smiles this evening and actually let me put his Halloween costume on.  He wanted nothing to do with this thing for the past two weeks.  So we quickly went to two neighbor's houses and went trick-or-treating for about five minutes.  It was totally adorable and made my night after such a crazy week.

Thanks to Joyce for another amazing hand-me-down!!

My little lion

Totally geeked about his costume!

A bucket for candy (thanks, Aunt Terry!)

Neighbor Steve offering some treats

Excited about the Fire Fairy inside Ann's pumpkin

First Reece's peanut butter cup--loved it!

My Wish List

I grew up with pets.  We always had a dog around the house, and consequently, they were never the skinniest of animals.  There were always scraps of food that they either woofed up off of the floor, or--if we were trying to be more civilized--ended up in their food dish.

Currently, we don't have any pets due to a number of reasons, but there are times when I really wish we had a dog.  Weston loves dogs (it was one of his first words), and as the cold weather sets in, there's nothing better than a living heating blanket on the bed to keep my feet warm.  But, there are many reasons why we don't have a dog--cost, nails on wooden floors, dried puddles of drool, and piles of hair (in addition to piles of toys, food, and whatever else).

However, when I come home from running errands, and walk into the kitchen (all under Nate's watch) and find this, I really want to rent a dog for one minute, three times a day.  Wait.  Make that four because snack time can be just as messy.

Unwanted quesadilla chunks and no dog

A Moment

These are some of the better moments from the past month or so.  There have been some horrible ones (like the one night where he was up every two hours with an inconsolable ear infection), but these are the ones I'd like to remember.

 First attempt on the balance beam:

Concentration and determination are adorable

 I'm exhausted after a crappy night's sleep for everyone due to a cold, but he's dreaming away:

Nothing more lovely than a sleeping babe

 At his friend Seneca's house on Friday night, checking out the new toys, and especially protective of the xylophone:

"Mom, seriously?  We're playing here.  Please."

 At Washington Park, exploring new territory:

Easy does it

One of our friends came over the other day while Weston was eating breakfast and was able to capture this moment of a really, really good time:

Who knew breakfast could be so exciting?

The Letter V

I'd like to think I'd have a lot more time on my hands if I weren't so neurotic sometimes.

Let me share what goes on inside my head for a moment...  Weston has an alphabet train that has 26 2-inch individual blocks that snap in and out of the train.  Every few weeks since he's gotten it for Christmas last year, I've taken to counting all the blocks just to make sure that they're all there.  On occasion, I've counted the blocks and come up with 25, but I've always been able to find #26, hidden in some compartment that Weston forgot about.  I do this same thing with his puzzles--always putting the pieces back together.  He has four sets of flashcards that I have yet to let co-mingle.  I always sort them out (they're grouped by theme) and put them back in their proper boxes.

Dumb, I know.  I think I do it because I'd like to be able to pass along all the amazing intact toys that we were so graciously given by friends and family to some parents-to-be down the road.  I hope that they will be intact.  No kid likes puzzles with pieces missing.

Turns out that a couple of weeks ago was the first time I counted 25 and haven't been able to find the letter V.  I'm obsessed!  I've looked in drawers, closets, all the usual places, and I've come up empty.  I was irritated.  Outsmarted by a toddler.

I often wonder where stuff like that goes--unmatched socks, a lone glove, one earring, a toddler's shoe, the AWOL cell phone charger, etc.  And yet, I've seen those things of other people on bike paths, in school lost-and-founds, public restroom counter tops, in my neighborhood, and I somehow can't fathom how in the world it got there.  Just a couple of months ago, Nate and I returned home from a meandering walk in our neighborhood on one of those nasty hot days (which I would enjoy right now as I sit here in a sweater and pajama pants), and realized that Weston was sporting only one sandal.

Crap.  We both looked at each other, hoping the other one would utter what we each wanted to say, which was, "Forget it.  Summer's almost over and he's got plenty of other shoes that will fit."

Instead, I said, "Do you want to go look for it, or should I?"  He cocked his head, silently asking Did you really just give me an out? and said, "I'll stay back with Weston."  So, out I went, retracing our steps in blazing heat.  Enjoying the second round of the walk, I kept my eyes toward the ground.  About halfway through, there it was.  The toddler's sandal.  Rescued from hours, days, or even weeks of strangers walking by and wondering, "What the hell is that shoe doing here?"

Right now, that letter V block could have been subjected to such humiliation (Who knows?  Did Weston smuggle it on a trip to Kroger, only to have it fall out of his hand on the way into the store?).  Or perhaps it's tucked away in some little corner of the house, patiently awaiting to be discovered when the kids are out of the house, and we're packing up to retire to something smaller.  At which point, I'll probably shed a tear or two, fondly remembering how cute it was when I would find Weston's toys in the funniest places.

Where did you hide the letter V??!??