Baby Swine Flu

Over the past week, we've been inundated with reports on swine flu. You can't turn on the TV or radio without hearing the details and statistics of those infected, dying, or quarantined as the pandemic spreads. As the Egyptians blindly slaughter all their pigs in an effort to avoid infection through a non-infectious source, and neighbors eye each suspiciously for possibilities of outing a carrier (hmmm, Bob looks a little tan - perhaps he just came back from Cancun. Or is he...Mexican???) it's hard not to get caught up in the pseudo panic. Technical definitions aside, I think the media loves the word "pandemic" - it sounds very, very serious. Not to say that swine flu isn't, but you gotta admit, it certainly raises a mutation of the common cold into tuberculosis or malaria territory.

In an effort to stay current, Otter's come down with her own little swine flu. It may only be a runny nose and some sneezing, but the timing's too perfect not to jump to the obvious conclusion: She must have snuck off to Puerto Vallarta and rolled around with some piglets while I was at work. The end result is far from amusing however.

4/28 - Swine Flu Night 1
Thinking it was a one-off, I posted about this as if it were just a break from sleep. I wrote it off to teething (ha) or developmental milestones (double ha). She's still toothless and non-crawly.

4/29 - Swine Flu Day/Night 2
When she awoke with her nose running, I should have understood. Instead, in my continued bout of denial, I told myself it was from the crying she did between 2 and 5 a.m.

I returned home to a continuous flow of snotter but with a plan for the evening. Initially, it all went well enough - down peacefully at bedtime, no sudden waking... I went to bed cautiously optimistic at midnight. When she woke up, I was able to quickly put her down again. Success! Until 3 a.m. And 4:30 a.m. And 5:30 a.m. I passed out briefly from 6:30 - 7:30 and deliriously dragged myself off to work.

4/30 - Swine Flu Day/Night 3
I think I might have caught Otter's Swine Flu. Or maybe I'm just too tired to function. How did we do this night after night? Like the World Health Organization, we've adjusted our battle plan. It now involves saline solution, which (after pinning her down) we squirt up Otter's nose amid blood curdling, congested screams. We've also decided that since it's our coming to bed that wakes her up and starts our decent into hell, we'll just camp out. All we have to do is get her down for the night...

...Which proves difficult. Having given us two completely different non-sleep patterns, Otter decides to go for a 3rd in as many days. This time, she refuses to do what we considered our one ace in the hole. Putting her down ends up being a 1 1/2 hour affair most of which she spends crying hysterically.

However by 9 p.m. we finally succeed and I spend what seems like my most restful night yet sharing a 6' couch with my 6' 1" husband. When I wake at 6 a.m. I actually feel rested for about 15 minutes.

5/1 - Swine Flu Day/Night 4
Happy May Day everyone. Communists rejoice. I've had 5 1/2 hours of uninterrupted sleep and feel like I can climb mountains. The saline campaign continues, with Otter showing about the same level of enthusiasm about the whole affair. But she's definitely breathing easier. At work, I tell people I've been ousted from my bedroom and am congratulated on "having joined the club." Apparently this kind of thing is going to go on for years to come. I try hard not to think about that.

We don't want to mess with our new arrangement but thankfully sleep has turned some brain cells back on. I realize now that Bree and I don't have to share the couch - we actually have a guest room, and if we just clear off the bed we can sleep on furniture designed for that function. By bedtime though, Bree's backed out of our plan, so I spend a VERY comfortable night in the guest bed, snuggling with the dog.

5/2 - Swine Flu Day 5 (Final Day?)
After another uninterrupted night of sleep, Otter wakes up much more Swine Flu-free. She is in a good mood, engaging us in screaming contests, and bouncing up a storm. She's even started sliding backwards on our wood floor. We've backed off the saline and are quietly hopeful that our little pandemic is drawing to a close.

We may even try to regain our bed tonight. But I fear Otter likes this new set-up too much and I'll be squatting in the guest room for months to come...

No Sleep 'Til Brooklyn

SB partied from 2:30 - 5 a.m. last night. We ignored, we let her "cry it out," we replaced the pacifier, we turned on the mobile, we rocked, we comforted, we patted her back. We failed. She finally passed out from sheer exhaustion.

She's either teething (which we've been saying for the past 4 months to the tune of zero teeth) or about to make a developmental milestone (my own theory that I use to comfort myself through the sleepless nights).

At this point, she'd better greet me with a toothy smile and say "I'm off for my afternoon jaunt, mummy. Can I get you anything while I'm out?"

Welcome Back, Sophie!

After a week of not really looking for, and as a result, not really finding Sophie the Giraffe, I had to admit defeat and accept the fact that a replacement Sophie was necessary.

I had naively assumed that in a world obsessed with image and material wealth, a posh, expensive rubber toy giraffe with a fancy name and a fancier French pedigree would be easy to find. And I was half right. Finding places that carry Sophie was an Internet search away. Finding places that actually have Sophie in stock was a different story. Either the demand for giraffe teethers is incredibly high or incredibly low. The result was the same - Sophie was on back order virtually everywhere.

Living in LA, we decided that a trip to one of our numerous chi-chi baby boutiques would be more productive. We set out with high hopes and great expectations, both of which were quickly dashed. One store owner looked at us with utter confusion. Another suggested an alternative - a plush bunny with a plastic teething ring in his hand. This would not do.

Fortunately, the universe intervened and blessed us with serendipity. The May issue of Los Angeles Magazine arrived, advertising the best LA baby boutiques right on its cover! One phone call later, the last Sophie was on hold for us at The Little Seed.

We arrived at lunch, and were greeted by a lovely sales associate who was more than a little disappointed that we actually showed up. Apparently, she had put dibs on Sophie for her daughter who is turning EIGHT but loves all things French. Had we not claimed the teether, Sophie would have become just one more gift for the tiny Francophile's birthday celebration - one that includes a limo ride around LA's French-inspired locales. Yes, a limo. For an eight-year-old.

Hopefully, Sophie II will be raised with lesser expectations.

My Baby's Butt is Green!

Back in the day, our ancestors discovered that certain food-stuffs contained vibrant pigments which could be used to dye a variety of things. Indigo and henna spring to mind. Apparently spinach is quite effective too.

As what goes in must also come out, I found out about spinach's unique qualities during a diaper change. Much like a henna tattoo, though far less attractive, Otter's business end has been the recipient of some naturally derived colorant. And let me tell you - the stuff's tenacious.

After multiple scrubbing proved ineffectual, I called on Bree for help. Assessing the damage, he shrugged. "Ah, it's not that bad. I guess it'll come out eventually."

"But my baby's butt is green!" I protested.

"That would make a really good title," he said.


image by austinevan

Double Celebration!

Happy Birthday Bree!

Happy 8-Month Day Otter!

We celebrated by going to our friend's kid's birthday party, where Otter announced the beginning of a new developmental stage - stranger anxiety. Her timing was a bit unfortunate, as most of the family had not seen her, and everyone wanted to hold or at least touch SB. She returned the compliment by frowning dramatically, complaining, and trying to pull all the table clothes off the tables.

After the party SB further showed her maturity by refusing her second nap and staying up for over 7 hours. Surprisingly for all involved she was actually in a decent mood for all of it.

Now if she'd only sprout some teeth...

Is It Prunes, Or Is It Poopy?

One of the many disturbing questions you will ask yourself throughout your baby's life.

image by Son of Groucho

MacGuyvering It

As I've mentioned all too many times, providing for SB's nutritional needs while working full time is, at best, a humbling experience. On numerous occasions, as I had layer after layer of dignity peeled away like so much old onion skin, I'd believed that I had fallen as far as I can go. Yet every time I become reconciled that I've (once again) hit rock bottom, the universe conspires to pull the floor out from under me. It is a "Screw you, you are not in charge, bitch," on a cosmic scale.

My latest fall even further from grace can be blamed squarely on my forgetfulness. After carefully washing and packing away my bottles, I went off to pump only to realize I'd left them at home. Problematic, since I had the implements necessary to pump with but lacked the bits needed to pump into.

After a brief panic I started going over my options - go to the end of the day without pumping? Impossible. Pump into disposable coffee cups? Really beyond weird. Use the breast milk storage bags I always carry in my bag? YES! Oh, wait. In a needless bout of "organizing," I'd taken them out since I "never use them." I went back to panicking.

I ran to my friend who is always the voice of reason in my baby-related mishaps. After listening to me, she came up with the next best thing - zip-loc bags. I headed off to the kitchen to search, and quickly realized this was a waste of time. Granted in an office where plates and napkins are often hard to come by, finding storage bags is about as likely as walking into the kitchen with the expectation of scoring some gold bullion.

My next plan of attack was the commissary. It has an actual, working kitchen after all, so I didn't think a storage bag or two would be that outlandish a request. I was wrong. But in their kindness, the staff did give me two giant plastic bags (the kind you put veggies in at the supermarket). I was in business again.

It was an hour later that I finally settled onto the floor of our audio booth with my pump, my bags and 2 rubber bands my friend had donated to the cause. As I sat there, attaching two pump valves to a plastic bag with some elastic, and thinking "Ok, now I've really hit rock bottom. This cannot possibly get any worse," a knock came at the door. "We have to use the booth to do a recording," I was told.

Seriously? After moving my whole MacGuyver operation once more, this time to our lead director's offcie, I'll never question the universe's dominion over me again.

Images by Mykl Roventine and Clearly Ambiguous