The week of "lasts"...

I am coming up on my last. week. ever. at the job I hate oh-so-very-much.

Last week I hit a major "last" milestone--my last night of being on call. Ever. I was tempted to find the closest body of water to pitch my pager in to early on Tuesday morning, but I'm pretty sure the hospital would find a way to charge me for that...so I'll opt to hand it over to my manager on Friday instead.

This week, I'm sure, will be filled with many more "lasts". Last bronchoscopy, or "bronch", if you're in the biz. (We don't do those at the job I'm going home to, and I am filled with gratitude because of it. I may not mind looking at poop all day, but when a doctor hauls a giant booger out of a person's lung and wiggles it at you from the end of the scope, even my strong stomach starts to turn. Won't miss those. Not one bit.) Last trips to the OR and the ICU. Last time working with surgeons. (Thank GOD.) (Surgeons? Heads-up: focus on surgery and stop pretending to be GI doctors. You aren't good at it. Believe me.) Last time scrounging in the locker room for a pair of size-medium scrub pants that are, in fact, a size medium. Last time listening to the steady drone of anger and hostility that defines the essence of most of my co-workers. Ahhhh.

I thought that, perhaps, at this point I might be a tiny bit nostalgic about leaving this job, but I'm surprised (and happy) to report that I am having no second thoughts. When I look back at the past three years and three months of working for this hospital system, I see a tremendous learning experience--the type where you learn exactly where you NEVER want to work again. Ohhhhh, the book I will write some day documenting all the weird, inappropriate, insane behavior I've witnessed from my co-workers! However, that being said, I am leaving behind some good friends. My Department of Insanity shares close quarters with other departments that staff friendly, funny, and generally not-crazy nurses. I will miss them. But there is not one aspect of my current job that I am going to miss when I'm gone.

And really? It's a great place to be. I know that, when I walk out the door on Friday, I won't look back. I'll take what I've learned, knowing that I am a better nurse than I was three years ago, and run like hell.

Better living through chemistry

Today I am grateful for amoxicillin, which has transformed my feverish, cranky toddler back in to the lovable, clumsy, animated child I am used to.

Cha-ching!

Yesterday I bought a $40 ear thermometer because I am tired of having to pin Zoey down on the couch for five minutes straight every time I have to check her temperature. Would anyone care to guess how many times this week I've tried to keep a squirmy little kid still while balancing a thermometer under her armpit? Too many.

Today we will be visiting the pediatrician yet again because I am fairly certain Zoey has strep throat. That's right. For those of you closely following the progression of Project: Build Zoey's Immunity, that makes for illness number four in just as many weeks. I am feeling horrible myself for several reasons, including:

a) I am pretty sure she's had this at least since Sunday or Monday, the days of puking and low-grade fever, and I just didn't pick up on it

b) I am likely coming down with the cold that was circulating in our house a week or two ago

c) I am tired of contributing such large portions of my paycheck to Walgreens Drugstore, my pediatrician's office, and our fabulous babysitter who has to come sit with Zoey all day while I work, to the tune of $9 an hour, because she can not go to daycare because....(here comes my rant)

d) I am fairly certain I am one of very few responsible parents out there who actually KEEPS HER CHILD AT HOME WHEN SHE IS SICK. I mean, seriously, people--when your kid has a fever, or a funky rash, or blisters in his or her mouth, would you please fucking keep them at home so that my child could actually have a healthy week during the month of February? Please? A cold or a runny nose, sure, send 'em on in...that's been the LEAST of my worries lately. But anything more virulent than that? I think we've established that nobody at Sonshine Christian Daycare is going to pick up on them not feeling well, so please DO YOUR JOB and keep them home.

In case it isn't painfully obvious from reading the above, I am this close to pulling Zoey out of preschool for what little time we have left down here in Vancouver. Yesterday I found out from another mom (one of my few co-members of the Responsible Parent Club) that the teachers at the daycare only wipe down the toys in each classroom once a week, since that is all the state requires of them. I'm sorry, and feel free to add a comment and point out if I am sounding like "that parent" for saying this, but is it SO much to ask that they wipe them down a little more often? Especially during cold and flu season? I mean, we all know that daycares are festering breeding grounds for germs and nastiness anyway, so why not try a little extra hard to keep from passing around anything stronger than your average runny nose?

If this is a matter of sending in extra Clorox wipes, I'm sure you all can guess who would be willing to contribute to that fund.

Again?!?

Will someone out there please reassure me that, someday, my child WILL be healthy again?

I think of the tiny little bundle of joy I brought home from the hospital over two years ago, the sweet newborn who, for the first year of her life, had but one bout of sniffles...and then she hit the one year mark and everything went, as they say, to hell in a handbasket.

The Disease of the Day happens to be vomiting with a side of low-grade fever. There just isn't anything quite like being woken at 4:45 a.m. by your sick little toddler, who is calling "Mommy?" as she has (fortunately) stationed herself right by the kitchen garbage can, seemingly waiting for you to arrive on the scene and hold her over the garbage can as she pukes her tiny guts out. One look at her sad little face confirmed that we will, again, be on quarantine status for at least the next 24 to 48 hours.

Please, God, PLEASE bring on the spring time weather, and the hope that we'll have at least a few weeks (or even a month!) between illnesses!

The Glue Zone

Here is my daughter, happily working on a glue project at her craft table in our livingroom. What you DON'T see is her mother lurking in the background, trying to take calm, steadying breaths and she watches sequins, buttons, and bits of construction paper fly to the floor all around the table.

I am a neurotic over-cleaner. I admit it. One of my greatest joys this week was cashing in on the Christmas present Bryan had promised me--a house cleaner who came and did a major overhaul cleaning of our tiny little home. This rendered me giddy for an entire 24 hours as I ran from room to room exclaiming "who knew the base of the coffee pot was so filthy?" and "Bryan, did you put a new bar of soap in the shower? No? Wow....." and "LOOK! The sheets and towels are all folded!". It nearly put me over the edge.

My child, as it turns out, has a bit more of a...free spirit than I do. Unlike most oldest children (namely, me), who happen to be orderly, organized and systematic in their thinking, Zoey seems to thrive on disaster spread around her. We can't keep all the buttons and sequins and wiggly eyes and crayons in the cute little organizer with cute little compartments that Mommy bought at Tuesday Morning for a really good price because the sight of such a mess in the livingroom every single day was giving her panic attacks...no, it's really best for the creative mind if ALL the crafty paraphrenalia is spread out in front of her. No searching for the next button or cardboard flower to afix to Auntie's birthday card! It's right there in front of her!

(As a cute and slightly sad side note, when Zoey had finished decorating Auntie's birthday card, likely adding at least 50 cents worth of weight to the outside of the envelope, she announced she'd like to drive to the "aw-pope" (airport) and pick Auntie up. Ohhhh, if only it were that easy!)

Anyway. The two main problems here are my own neurotic nature and the sheer lack of space in our present household. I am hoping that the move to our new and much larger digs in Puyallup will help me let go of at least a little bit of cleaning. Because, while my rational mind would LOVE for my daughter to have at least a little space in the house to spread out and nurture her creative side, this part of my brain is far outnumbered by the OCD side that leads me to furtively clean and organize her glue station while she's sleeping because I just can't relax myself in our tiny shared living space while there is a disaster zone lurking in the corner.

I'm not saying I'm proud of this side of myself. I know I should just let it go. And I LOVE when Zoey pats the chair next to her at the table and says "come on, Mama! Yets goo!". Yes, Zoey. Lets. It'll be fun! And you know what else is fun? Picking up our messes! Right? No?

Let's just say that if my second child comes along and has a slightly more structured spirit, my feelings won't be hurt.

Zoey is now blister-free and out and about in the world again.

Thank God.

Keeping a toddler entertained in February in Washington without leaving the house is trying, to say the least. There is only so much Elmers glue, playing "cooking", and Mr. Rogers that I can stand before I feel my sanity slipping.

But then I remind myself that, at this time last year, I had a 14-month-old with a broken leg, in a cast from her toes to her hip, and suddenly Hand Foot & Mouth doesn't sound so bad.

Still on quarantine status...

That's right, the canker sores live on.

Luckily, Zoey slept like a champ last night--for the first night in weeks. Granted, she was in bed with me, but with Bryan gone (again) to Puyallup, we both got a good night's rest. I'm sure that, had she not somehow rolled OUT of the bed at 12:30 a.m., she might have slept straight through the night. (Imagine!)

Today's other highlights included the return of Zoey's appetite, spending countless hours playing the "cooking" game, and--for me--the excitement of escaping the house to go to a gynecology appointment. WOO HOO! I was supposed to get my hair cut this morning, but had to cancel due to Zoey not being able to go play at Ari's house as originally planned. I have short hair, and look so very forward to my monthly haircut...it pained me to give it up. Not to mention the fact that I'll probably look like Bigfoot by the time I make it to my re-scheduled appointment next Thursday. Ahhh, the joys of motherhood.

And thank God for headbands.

Irony is SUCH a bitch

On Monday, I was talking on the phone with my sister Alisa, who has two little kids who both happen to be sick right now. I told her I felt like, from the time Zoey turned one until the time she turned two, she was sick EVERY week. And then I said, and I quote, "But really, since she's turned two, she's hardly been sick at all! I think she's only had one cold!".

And then it was Tuesday and Bryan asked me "What's wrong with Zoey's tongue?". Sensing that karma was about to bite me in the ass, I asked Zoey to stick her tongue out for me. Sure enough, it was COVERED in canker sores. My poor little bug! No wonder she had no appetite on Monday!

Turns out she has Hand Foot & Mouth, which is a pretty common daycare bug. It causes blisters in the mouth and on the palms of the hands and soles of the feet. Zoey has three teeny tiny spots on her hands and nothing on her feet. But those canker sores...wow.

So, she's in toddler quarantine until the sores clear up--no contact with any other little kids for a couple of days. *Sigh* I considered calling in sick to work today but decided that might cause me to go insane, having already taken Monday off.

Here's hoping for a blister-free Thursday!!

Bad (and/or lazy) Mommy

It has been well documented that Zoey is not a sleeper. As in, never has been, and potentially never will be. It took her the first 15 months of life to establish that a nap during the day is not, actually, the worst thing in the world, and sleeping through the night has always been hit-or-miss. (Light on "hit", heavy on "miss".) While we catch the occasional growth spurt that causes her to sleep continuously from 8 or 9 pm until 7 or 8 am, these spurts are woefully few and far between.

(I believe the above information in more than adequate in justifying why we do not have another baby, another one on the way, nor any plans for a new baby in the immediate future. I mean, seriously, what if Zoey IS our sleeper?)

I know it could be worse (my friend Kate comes to mind, with her daughter Milly, who has NEVER napped and refuses to go to bed until 10 pm or later most nights), and I also know that, as a parent, you learn to adapt to your own child's personality and the phase he or she happens to be in at the moment. It's what helps us function on little or no sleep, serve chicken nuggets for every godforsaken meal, or sing endless rounds of Itsy Bitsy Spider.

Of course, then there are the behaviors that we see in our children that we don't particularly care for, and if we invest a lot of time and energy in correcting the bad behavior (say, coloring on the furniture or throwing temper tantrums in the store), we will most likely win--no more Magic Marker on the sofa and easier trips to Target. I am pretty sure that getting up three times a night when you're two years old is a behavior that would likely make Super Nanny cringe. I know I should nip this behavior in the bud. But I don't.

See, I COULD be consistent, and for two weeks straight (which is the length of time said to be required when establishing new habits) maintain a routine of 8 pm bedtimes, returning Zoey to her own bed each and every time she gets up, and not giving in and just bringing her to bed with me when she flips the goddamn hall light on at 1:27 am for the fourth night in a row. I could fight her personality, and probably modify her behavior, but I just don't. It's too much work.

Not that I haven't come up with some good excuses in the recent past to explain why she might not be sleeping: she's potty training, and every new developmental stage brings with it a disruption in the sleep cycle (thank you, T. Berry Brazelton MD). She might be having nightmares. She misses Bryan, who has been gone quite a bit in recent weeks.

The fact of the matter is that it's just easier to bring her to bed with me, or if Bryan is home and I don't feel like sharing the bed with a snoring husband and flailing toddler, getting her some hot milk (that yes, I realize she does not NEED at 2 am) and snuggling her back to sleep in her own bed. You figure out in the early stages of bringing home a newborn that, in order to survive, you just do whatever it takes to get the most sleep possible. When you have a child like Zoey, the survivalist nature lingers on into toddlerhood and you soon find yourself, two years later, still doing whatever it takes to get the maximum hours of shut-eye each night.

So, I may be lazy, and inconsistent, but the thought of spending two weeks straight fighting with my two-year-old EVERY FRIGGING NIGHT at 1:30 am makes me cringe. I just can't do it. At least, not right now.

And every morning, I repeat the following phrase to myself:

"There is coffee waiting for you in the kitchen. And in 6 hours, she will go down for a nap."

Celebrity sighting...wait...no.

Background information:

Zoey, as we all know, dearly loves the show Mr. Rogers Neighborhood. Her two favorite episodes are the ones that feature Yo Yo Ma. (Yes. The cello player. For whatever reason, she finds him fascinating. If this means she's going to start playing the violin in 5th grade, I'm hosed.)

Yesterday, before our big outing to Costco, Zoey and I stopped by the bagel shop for bagels and cream cheese--our new favorite snack. Zoey was in cream cheese heaven, with it smeared all over her face and hands, when an elderly gentleman stopped by our table to comment on how much it looked like she was enjoying herself. Zoey regarded him seriously, then asked "Grandpa?". Luckily, he found this amusing, while I explained that this was not, in fact, her own Grandpa.

Later, the owner of the bagel shopped also stopped by the table to talk to Zoey. Since we go in there so often, we feel like we know the husband-and-wife team who own the place, as well as their daughter, who is about a year older than Zoey. They happen to be Asian. Can you see where this story might be heading?

Anyway, as the owner is standing over Zoey, asking her if she's enjoying her yummy bagel, Zoey looks up at him, her face lights up, and she turns to me and yells "Mommy! Yo Yo Ma! Yo Yo Ma!", as though she were so excited to finally be meeting him in person.

Luckily, a majority of what comes out of Zoey's mouth is still garbled in such a way that Bryan and I are often the only ones who understand her. I decided to use this to my advantage as I pretended not to know what she was saying, and explained that yes, Zoey did indeed love her bagel and cream cheese.

So, apparently, if you're over the age of 60, Zoey considers you to be her grandparent, and if you're a middle aged Asian American, you must be a world famous cello player.