Epiphanies and Rainbow Pride

So, I'm listening to Elvis Mitchel and Harold Ramis on The Treatment talk about how the movie Groundhog's Day is really about the Buddhist principle of destruction of self and how the way to find real meaning is through service to others rather than servicing your ego, when it occurs to me how much parenting is really a Buddhist process. You spend so much time taking care of your kids (serving them, if you'd like) that there's very little time left for focusing on your own self-construct. Or, maybe not, since I've seen a number of parents whose parenting is all about serving their own egos. Do I have to be specific? I doubt it.

I know that the most out-of-my-own-head (in a good way, not a crazy way) I've ever been was during the first couple of months of Linus' life. There's just so much to do and focus on that there wasn't any time left for all the me-crap that usually fills my head. This is another thing I'm grateful to Linus for, giving me the opportunity to, maybe, become a little enlightened. I just hope I can always keep that feeling. I want him to know how great I think it is taking care of him, and that it's not some kind of burden that I bear. That seems to be one of those messages that you get from our culture, like men are complete incompetents when it comes to anything domestic. Kids, while ya love 'em, are really just burdens that parents bear. I hope Linus grows up knowing that raising him is a joy and delight. Sure, not every minute, but mostly.

So, enough about epiphanies. My dog came out of the closet. Apparently, Lucky is gay. We took him to the groomer to get his nails clipped and he came back sporting a rainbow pride bandana (I'll post a picture once I get home). He's a 14 year old miniature dachshund who's been neutered, but it's never too late, I guess.

Shut your pie hole!

Want to know what's peeving me today? People who make noises with their mouths other than vocal. Mostly I'm talking about gum chomping, but also drink slurping. I just came out of a staff meeting. What was it about? Yeah, I don't know, 'cause the guy next to me was making so much friggin' noise I couldn't hear or concentrate on what was being said! This is how it went,

"The research foc*chomp*chomp*squish*chomp*sluuurp*what we want*swish*sluuuuurp*chomp*squish*chomp* best methods *snarg*chomp*!!"

Eeeeew! Naaaasty! Seriously, for an hour and a half! How do you make that much noise with just one piece of gum and a cup of tea?! Two days ago I took Linus to the library and ran into a similar problem. We're sitting there at one of the toddler tables scribbling away on a squirrel picture when another kid, Zeke, and his mom join us. Zeke's mom is working over a piece of gum so loudly, vigorously, and publicly, that I had to get up and leave. That's right - two toddler boys with their runny noses, drooly faces, god-knows-what-encrusted hands, and poopy britches, and it's the grown lady icking me out.

What's the deal?! Don't get me wrong, I like gum. No, I LOVE gum. I chew gum all day long, every day. If it wasn't for gum, I'd probably smoke a pipe, or gnaw on pencils. I appreciate the desire, Nay! the NEED, to chew gum. But I know how to keep my mouth shut. I bet no one around me is aware I'm even chewing gum, let alone annoyed by it. And, I have manners. Mostly.

So, quit it! Quit grossing me out and quit giving gum chewers a bad name!

Gravity, dig it!

Apparently, Linus is going through a Newtonian phase. He’s all about watching things drop. Well that, and carrying around garbage. He’ll push everything off the coffee table, one item at a time, and watch it fall to the floor. Sometimes he’ll even pick things up, put them back on the table, and push them off again. Push, drop. Push, drop. Pick up, push, drop. All with a very intent look on his face, like he doesn’t quite get why the stuff ends up on the floor each and every time. He’ll even crouch down and peer at the floor where everything is landing, trying to discern its mystical properties. Inertia: Nature’s Babysitter.

As for the garbage carrying, I don’t know. I’d like to fancy it up and say he’s developing theories on the nature of decay or something, but really, he just loves garbage. Bathroom garbage, kitchen garbage, all of it. Throwing it away, looking at it, rifling through it, carrying it around. Hmmm, come to think of it, this gives me another reason to try and get Orion to stop reading him “Oscar-the-Grouch’s Alphabet of Trash”, besides the fact that the middle of the book, and therefore the middle of the alphabet, is missing. I don’t want Linus singing his ABCs, “a, b, c, d, e, f, g, h, i, s, t, u, v, w, x, y, and z”. Completely messes up the song!

Let's never do that again, k?

The stitches are out. There was lots of boohoo-ery, but I think it wasn’t as bad as putting them in. The Peeps was obviously not pleased to see the doctors and nurses. And I don't blame him a bit. No drugs this time, but that meant wrapping him up to hold him still. He absolutely hated it and cried and hollered. It sucked to watch, but only lasted a couple of minutes. I think the crying was more about not liking the situation rather than it hurting, though I think the last stitch did hurt a little. It was tied pretty tight and the nurse had to pull it a little to clip the knot. He got himself pretty worked up, but calmed down as soon as I could pick him up. There’s nothing sweeter than his little arms around my neck and his head nestled on my shoulder. Makes us both feel better.

Immediately after, I realized that I should’ve tried nursing him while they removed the stitches, instead of wrapping him. It probably would have worked better that way. Less stressful for him. Well, for all of us really. Fat lot of good it does to think of it after. It annoys me that I didn’t think more clearly about it at the time, and also that the nurses didn’t suggest it. I’m such a rookie.

V is for vim

So, here is a picture of the most impressive wound. It’s not horribly graphic, but I didn’t want to confront the unprepared with grossness. (Yes, he's pretending to talk on the tv remote. I wish I could say he's woozy from the Incident, or something, but no, he does it all the time. *sigh*)

Unfortunately, I suspect that this won’t be our last trip to the emergency room with this one. He is Danger Baby. No fear. He goes headlong into everything. When he was learning to walk up and down stairs, for example, he refused to go backward downstairs. He always wanted to walk forward. I’ve seen plenty of babies on stairs and they all seem to do that backward crawl thing down the stairs. Not DB. Face first. Trouble! Fortunately, the house we just moved into doesn’t have any stairs. Much better than our old house with a big ol’ flight of stairs, with odd rise sizes no less! I fell down those stairs myself more than once.

I sincerely hope that our future isn’t full of more stitches and broken bones and whatnot, but I fear it may be. Of course, all parents of toddlers are constantly on guard - toddlers aren’t about Safety First.

So, we have to go back to the doc in a couple of days to have the stitches removed. Not looking forward to that, though on the bright side, no ketamine! That’s something anyway. They assure us that removing the stitches won’t hurt at all. Really?? I’m dubious.

Fun with Dissociative Anaesthetics

We had our first trip to the emergency room last night. My baby cut his head. Orion and Linus were monkeying around on the floor. Alas, an evil wine glass lay in wait nearby. Most unfortunate. A bad roll, a crash, and much crying and bleeding ensued. Lots of bleeding. That's the way with head lacerations, I'm told. Fortunately, I'm pretty good at keeping my cool in these sorts of situations. Not one for panic, generally. So, we bundled into the car with a dishtowel pressed to his forehead and headed for the emergency room.

Really, no big deal. It was just a cut on his head that was in need of some stitches. Ok, a big cut, and nobody wants to be in the emergency room ever, especially not with their child. But just a cut. Totally fine. That is, until the ketamine.

Apparently, ketamine is what they give toddlers these days when they need them sedated (Linus is 16 months). According to the ER doc, in young kids it works by "disconnecting" the regions of the brain that perceive pain. It puts them in a sort of dissociated state - not asleep, but not aware of what's going on. That way, the doc can stitch without general anesthesia or physical restraint. All good, right? Sure, ketamine's a derivative of PCP, but let's not let that stop us.

So, I'm sitting with Linus, comforting him after they put in the IV. Singing softly in his ear, stroking the side of his face. He's practically asleep at this point, a combination of the late hour, exhaustion, and shock. Then, they push the ketamine. His eyes open wide with this vacant stare and he lets out the most ungodly scream. A sound unlike anything I've ever heard him make before, and I've heard him make a lot of sounds. This is apparently completely expected, because the doctor and nurse don't bat an eye and start stitching him up. I then watch my baby make a series of the most disturbing expressions and cries, all with the vacant eyes. This is the point where I almost panic. This close. The cut, the blood, the crying - all of that I can deal with. But, this. This is wrong, on a deep, primal level. I don't know what monsters were released in his head, but it's wrong, and scared the bejeezes out of me.

It was horrifyingly reminiscent of my experience with versed - The Ketamine For Adults! The complete story is for another post, but the short version goes like this: I was told by the doctor that I would remain awake during the procedure I was undergoing, but I wouldn't feel any pain and I wouldn't remember anything about it. Liar! Sure, the exact timeline's a little fuzzy, but I remember every painful part of what happened to me. I was, in fact, traumatized by the experience.

I don't want anything like that happening to my sweetpea. It's the next day, and Linus seems fine. No emotional scars, except on me, that is. He's going to have an awesome scar on his forehead, though!

Look, I know that we got off easy. Stitches are pretty minor when you considering the possibilities. Still, I don't want to go through anything like that again. I say use all the analgesic, pain killers, locals, and spinal blocks you want, but keep the stuff that messes with your brain away from me and mine!

Except caffeine. And alcohol. 'Cause, you know.