“Vivian and I were chilling this afternoon, watching Internet videos. I introduced her to Eduard Khil’s Vocalise, better known as the Trololol song. We got to the second chorus, and Vivian did her grunt/shout thing just about 1 beat after each note for five notes, which I thought was pretty neat but probably a coincidence. Then I caught a whiff of the air.
My baby daughter just farted to the beat of the Trololol song.
“Please stop throwing up. Please with a cherry on top? Oh a cherry makes you want to puke. With “whatever-you-want” on top that will not make you puke. A pony. You can have a pony, jesus christ. I’ll make you a pony sundae, just please don’t throw up on.. me.. damn.”
Me. Night before last with The Viking and into her 8th hour of puking.
Jesus tap-dancing christ. Kids can be icky. It isn’t their fault. My poor unknowing daughter’s stomach got bitch slapped by a “pissed off pimp” of a virus. She greeted me with a helloooooo blerg at 11 pm. What ensued can only be described as puke-topia. Every towel, washcloth, t-shirt, and blanket was covered. This level of ick really was new for me. So yay experience! Can you imagine my maniacal happy smile?
Kids do not come with manuals or handbooks. I think I learned that night two of her life when I did not know what to do with her. I mean, I am supposed to take her home? At that time I was starting to dive head first, no life preserver into post-partum depression that nearly killed me. So I was a little off my rocker. I will write in great detail when I am ready to relive the bits I remember.
Mark and I just started surfing the waves of puke, laughing at how ridiculous the clean up was going to be, and trying to keep our babies’ spirits up. In an odd way it was a good experience for both of us. As we dorkily like to say, “Team Tabler” and then we fist bump like we are cool.
Also, she is adorable even if she does not throw up rainbows and butterflies. We made it through her first bought of illness. Go us!
I don’t think there is a more pure form of happiness than the glee that comes from a piece of fabric. It makes a child so sublimely happy. The swirl, swish, or clunk of the fabric seems to have magical affects on kids. I know that when I was a child I loved to twirl. I would put on this baby blue dress that I wore at my brother’s wedding and stand in front of the mirror and spin and spin. So much so, that I would get dizzy and fall down on the tile. But that was part of the fun. Spin, spin, spin, spin, fall, pause, and get up again. Over and over. I would watch the way the sunlight poured through the lace of the dress and feel beautiful in the way that children do. I would feel special, because this was a special dress that had been worn on a special occasion. In wearing it again I was getting an opportunity to relive that moment.
For this Easter I dressed my viking up in a tutu made of all the colors of the rainbow. She is too young to get the full affect of wearing a giant tutu. But I caught her out of the corner of my eye discovering the joy of spinning around in a skirt and the glee that would come from it. For me that was so much better than all the candy and eggs I could have had. I will continue to buy her things that make her smile: Costumes, skirts, aprons, whatever. Girl/boy clothes whatever she wants to wear. If it brings her those moments of standing in front of a mirror giggling, spinning, and falling on the floor she can have it.
I heard a very wise person once say, you should not buy any clothing that doesn’t make you want to twirl in front of a mirror, even as an adult. Since then I have bought 3 fringe shawls. Fringe I have discovered makes me want to twirl.
As experiences go, this one was a biggie for me. Watching my viking twirl for a moment and giggle was awesome.
My daughter is “allergic” to sleep. Note the quotes, she is not actually allergic but it just seems that way. She wakes up at the same times, every single night. 11:30 and 2:30. I have no idea why. Both her father and I have sleep problems, he has narcolepsy and I have adult onset night-terrors and insomnia. It has been a rough ride for the both of us where sleep is concerned. Now it seems like The Viking has inherited this problem. This shit cannot stand.
I took The Viking to the doctor two days ago to get a checkup. She is doing great, and I mentioned the getting up twice a night to her wonderful doctor. She said that it was time to let her cry it out again or Ferberize. Sounds like some sort of disinfectant. We tried this before when she was younger and it worked great. Then her crying was hardly anything. A slight complaint, easy to tune out. After a few days, she got into a great sleeping pattern and I got to rest. Unlike most couples with children, I am the only one of capable of getting up at night to attend to the viking. So the rest was most welcome. About a month ago, The Viking came down with roseola. This threw her sleeping off kilter and since then she has been getting up twice a night. Waking up twice a night turns both of us into assholes. It is fun for no one. So time to Ferberize. I mentioned to the doctor that her crying sounded different, it is a scream cry instead of just a small complaint. Her doctor smiled at us knowingly and basically said, “Your daughter is very smart and is playing you. She knows you come running for that cry. She is getting what she wants.” Oh god we are getting trolled by a 1 year old. To make this whole situation even better, The Viking has taught herself to throw up to get attention. She screams, gags herself, and pukes. We are so screwed.
At 2 am last night, I heard the tell tale scream of my daughter. Not the complaining or “bitching” cry that she used to do. This was a full on scream. The kind in which I would leap over alligators, feed myself to zombies, and set those who stand between myself and my daughter on fire to get to her. I watched her on the monitor and had to lay in bed and listen to it.
This sucks. It feels like a giant is beating some drum inside me. With every cry it pulls me towards her. 45 mins of intermittent crying later it puttered off to a whimper then a snore. If I had gone to her and scooped her up in my arms and told her that everything was fine, it would have been for me not her. I don’t want that. I want her to sleep well and solidly. To be so unlike her parents who struggle every night. In the end the drums inside myself quieted, she started sucking her thumb and we lived to try another night. I think this definitely counts as an experience. Not my normal fare, but being a Mommy is hard and not going to her is a hurdle I crossed. It counts.