Tag Archives: 17 months

Ear, Nose and Throat

So remember last week, when the Hatchling had that fever and sore throat? Well, it went away, but she still seemed a little out of sorts over the weekend. Not sleeping well, more clingy than usual, a little more fragile. You know, the kind of thing where you can’t tell if it’s illness or just being one-and-a-half years old. Also, she had this cough. This cough, which last night blossomed into a scary sounding little seal-bark replete with wheezy, painful-sounding breathing. She woke herself up coughing at around 1:30 in the morning. (I, of course, had not yet gone to sleep, because who can sleep when your baby girl is barking like a seal every 10 minutes?) When I went into her room to get her, her breathing sounded so bad I took her right into the bathroom and turned on the shower full blast. We sat there in the steam, rocking, while Mr. Squab called the nurseline. Whee, parenting!!

So: one sleep deprived night and one visit to the doctor’s office later, the Hatchling is diagnosed with croup – which I always think sounds Dickensian – PLUS, as a bonus, double ear infections! In this household, we don’t pussyfoot around with disease. So we got a nice steroid shot for the croup – take THAT, Dickens – and some amoxicillin for the ear infections, and please lord that will take care of it, at least for this week.


The Hatchling has some kind of bug that involves a fever and crankiness, interspersed with general lassitude.

In a related event, I have the damn theme song to “Elmo’s World” permanently lodged in my brain.

Overall, not one of my better days as a parent.

A brief vignette

Last night, the Hatchling, Mr. Squab and I had to go to a men’s clothing chain store to get Mr. Squab a suit for my brother’s upcoming wedding. The Hatchling hadn’t taken her usual excess of naps and is generally going through a clingy/cranky phase, so I was not sanguine about her ability to wait patiently while Mr. Squab tried on his suit, got measured for alterations, and looked for a dress shirt. Initially, we were ok: one of the sales associates had left his measuring tape on the floor, and measuring tapes are one of the Hatchling’s favorite toys. She slung it around her neck and wandered the alterations area like a miniature tailor, exclaiming “HI!” in her usual pleased manner when she espied me, her father, or her aunt or uncle amongst the suit jackets. But these pleasures can sustain a toddler for only so long, and when the measuring tape had to be surrendered to its rightful owner, I braced myself for some righteous fussing/whinging/acts of vandalism.

But I was not reckoning with the guardian angel of beleaguered mothers, who appeared to us that night in the form of a sweet tweenaged boy with a shock of blond hair and a mouthful of braces. He was stuck there with his family and had taken refuge in one of the chairs over by the shoe section. Now, I don’t know how many tweenaged boys you know. I myself have only limited contact with them, but it’s enough to recognize that, in general, their tolerance for the toddler set is somewhat limited. Even the Hatchling’s much-beloved nine-year-old cousin, though very sweet, is liable to get a little fed up with his small relative when she throws his game controller to the floor for the fifth time, or interrupts his computer game by thrusting herself onto his lap and poking her finger in his eye. And really, who can blame him?

This kid, though, was different. I don’t know if it was merely circumstance (nothing else to do at the Mens Wearhouse at 7:30 on a Monday night), a preternatural affinity with 17-month-olds, or the Hatchling’s ability to seek out the most baby-friendly person in a three mile radius, but this kid had the right stuff. The Hatchling spied him from across the store and you could practically see the cogs turning in her wee baby brain. “KID! MUST GO SEE!” She marched right over to him, put both her chubby hands on his knees, and let loose with an absolute torrent of baby babble. And rather than looking slightly pained at this complete invasion of his personal space – you know, like a normal person would – this young man gazed right back into the Hatchling’s upturned face and said “Ohhhhh. Really?” just as if the Hatchling was the most fascinating conversationalist with whom he had ever had the good fortune to come into contact.

Well. This is this kind of response the Hatchling normally gets only from her besotted adult relations, and frankly that’s gotten a little boring by now. But THIS! A cool, older kid, giving her the full force of his attention? Really listening to her and talking back? OMG. She, like, could not even HANDLE it. She was so delighted with him that every time he said “Ohhhh” in response to her she let out a peal of infectious toddler laughter and then babbled some more. Then he would say “ohhhhh” again and that would set her off laughing even harder. Her squeals of rapture were so squeal-y and so rapturous that half the store came over to see what the heck was going on, and I had tears of laughter streaming down my face. The boy’s mom glanced over at us and said, “I don’t know what it is, but babies just love him.” And I said, “well, mine thinks he is her new best friend.” The Hatchling and her new idol “chatted” away while Mr. Squab finished getting measured and got back into his own clothes, and then it was time to go. “Can you say goodbye to your new friend?” I asked, and the Hatchling did the fist clenching and unclenching that passes for a wave in her book. “You’re really good with toddlers,” I said to the boy. “Thanks,” he replied a little awkwardly. “Have a good night.” “You, too,” we said, and went out into the dark to get in our car and drive home.

I tell you what, with kids like these, sometimes I think the future isn’t going to be half bad.

The Good Stuff

This evening, the Hatchling came over to the sofa, snuggled up to my left side, took my right hand and put it over her tummy, and then held that hand in both of her little chubby ones. Then she leaned back and crossed her ankles, perfectly positioned to watch a little evening telly. (We’re partial to Seinfeld.)

So, that’s pretty nice.


I know. I know! A whole week without any posts. Erk. Last week really kicked my ass, mental-health-wise. Insomnia kicked in again (it seems to be going around) and I just could not get out of a deep blue funk. I’m still not totally out of it, in fact, which is really getting old. Something’s going on, and I’m try to figure out what it is, but so far it’s stuck deep down in my subconsciousness, which means that it’s all coming out in sleeplessness and restlessness and general feelings of inadequacy, because my subconscious is a bitch like that and really needs to learn some damn manners. This week Mr. Squab is off work, which means that I can take some time for writing and other child-free activities (like, um, writing this blog entry, actually). I’m hoping that will give me the reflection time I need to puzzle out what the hell is wrong with me and what to do about it. Although if anyone wanted to send me on an all-expenses paid trip to Hawaii for a weekend, I’m sure that would help even MORE.

But that is not the point of this post. The point of this post, my friends, is to tell you that the Hatchling experienced her first corn-on-the-cob this weekend, and it was joyful to behold. We’ve offered it to her every time we’ve had it this summer, but she wanted nothing to do with it until Saturday, when she saw me eating some and decided it was a) funny and b) worth copying. I gave her bites off my portion, and she liked it enough that we gave her a little bitty ear of her own, complete with holders. And I don’t know why I’m even still typing, because this is really a case where pictures are worth … well, you know. Click the photos for bigger images:

First corn on-the-cob

I believe that face translates loosely as "Damn, that's some good corn!"

Note the delicate grip on the holders

All done!