Cathetering a Toddler Sucks

After 3 appointments, a blood draw and a urine sample (with no diaper-wringing...this is our second check for a UTI via catheter, and it wasn't any more fun this time), we still don't know anything.

The blood and urine tests came back clear for both excess sugars and bacteria (UTI or bladder infection). They'll culture to make sure, but they don't think either of these are positive.

So right now we have no idea. Hopefully she'll be fine this weekend and it's just a fluke. Maybe it's really "Eat lots of crackers and drink lots of water week." I don't always know these things. ;) But I did keep my appointment for Monday morning in case it's still wacky. I can always cancel it, but getting one isn't always easy.

On the bright side, today the peeing is less, so maybe it is just a weird coincidence. She's in a great mood, and was really good at the doctor's office, despite the yucky catheter and blood draw. She's a brave girl.

I'll keep you posted, but so far there's nothing to report. And that's great!

Thanks for the prayers.

Peeing like a Racehorse

Now how's that for a title?

Mmmm hmmmm.

But that's the gist of it. Rowan has been whizzing like you wouldn't believe in the last 5 or 6 days. Wetting through diapers in no time. Leaking, changing clothes, and leaking again. Demanding water, Water, WATER, MORE WATER!!!! Today after lunch and her bath, I put her down for a nap, and in 90 minutes she wet through her diaper again, adding more than 6 ounces of liquid to it.

Yes, I weighed it. I know. It's kind of gross to weigh a diaper on a food scale, but you gotta do what you gotta do.

She's also been asking for lots and lots of crackers and snacks, and picking at her meals, which for most kids is normal but not for her. She's usually a pretty good eater.

Since it's a change, I got a little concerned. I called the nurse at 3. We saw a doc at 4:30. She thought I had a right to be concerned. It might be nothing! Or it might be diabetes. If it's diabetes, she has to be admitted to the hospital.

Tomorrow, we're doing a fasting blood test, before breakfast. Yeah. That ought to be fun.

Luckily, one of my good friends from middle school/high school is a pediatrician who specializes in pediatric diabetes. Though she's currently fighting the flood in Fargo, she has been able to talk on the phone and give me some ideas. Which tests to ask for, what to worry about, what not to, what it could be, what it might not be, etc. She said, "I wish she was here so I could just look at her now and set your mind at ease." (Me, too, Brenda. Me too.) But it sure did help to talk with her, though I'm still very worried.

If you're the praying kind, or the good thoughts/vibes/karma kind, please add us to your list. We need all the support we can get. Thanks in advance, and I'll keep you posted.

Learning French

We are getting ready for our first trip as a family of 3 back to France, since we left our temporary home. I am excited, nervous, and so looking forward to seeing friends, eating things I can't find here, and sharing my beloved Paris with my daughter. There are things I never did while I was there (can you believe I went to the Louvre at least 5 times and never saw the Venus de Milo? Not that I'm going to this time. But I really can't believe I missed it.) I want to go to Fontainebleau, perhaps the Picasso museum and the Rodin museum, eat a baguette rillettes et cornichons (drool...), pick up some lovely things at the market like the special butter, madeleines, and some really stinky cheeses, and walk up la rue Mouffetard for some gelato and people-watching.

Rowan has been exposed to some french her whole life, but we haven't raised her bilingual. Neither of us is a native speaker, so I guess we just don't want to do it wrong, though we'd probably be OK. I have been playing french music for her, speaking to her some, and she has been read french stories since she was very small.

Now, as we're getting ready, I'm trying to introduce a little more into our daily routine. The other day, I decided to teach her to faire la bise. I told her we would need it when we went to see Aimee.

"Aimee? Aimee? AIMEEEEEE???" she squealed. (She loves Aimee.)

We practiced la bise, bisous, and she loved planting kisses on my cheeks. A friend came over for a play date, and she gave her mother bisous before they left.

Then last night, I was looking at Aimee's flickr page, and there was a new photo of her, taken by her son Max, who turned 2 yesterday.

Rowan saw it, smiled and said, "Aimee!!!!" and leaned in. My laptop screen has now been bised.

And the torture returns...

Not Rowan. She's great. Her cold is gone, the teeth didn't pop (but I'm pretty sure they were moving) and she's back to her old self. She's happy, playing, coloring, dancing, learning new words, loving flash cards and stickers, and just generally a delight to be around. We've worked past her bedtime issues (they showed up with the sickness, but a few nights of stubbornness on our part seemed to do the trick) and now she's obsessed with wearing dresses, stealing my high heels ("Cute shoes! Cute shoes!") and playing ball, especially outside. It's warming up, and we've even seen the occasional crocus and other early flower peeking through the grass. Yesterday I even heard a woodpecker.

But the torture is my own. Apparently, the PCOS that has plagued me is back. I won't go into the gory details, but it wreaks havoc with my moods, energy levels, waistline and my head. And the migraine I've been dealing with for 6 days decided that the best day for it to really hit was the day I had Rowan and her buddy here the whole day. Not the best timing. Luckily, though he pulled another all-nighter, her dad was able to stay until 8:30 so I could give myself an injection and let it take effect (ie: nausea, head swelling, brain lining on fire, etc.) and even shower before I was alone with the munchkins. It did work, and chased with a Vicodin, it was tolerable.

I've been feeling blog guilt, so wanted to stop by and let you know I'm still here. I'm crabby, depressed (thank you, PCOS!!!), headachey, a little bit stuffed up (probably part of it, too), bloated, zitty, and I need a haircut, but I'm here. In my sock monkey pajamas, of course.

Breakfast Guest

It's Spring Break. Glorious, glorious break. We're not traveling. It's a staycation. And by that, I mean Dr. B isn't horribly stressed (just having guilt pangs because he actually can *breathe*, imagine that), he's home, and we get a lot more time together. Though he is working some, he's a lot more flexible. We're not doing anything super special or new--just playing, coloring, watching shows, going for walks and to the park--but it's enough. It's wonderful. I'll take it.

So I'm sorry I haven't been around. Because I've been busy enjoying the husband who'd been absent for a while, posting went down to the lower half of my list. (Plus, I have actually had to plan meals, rather than just throwing together scrambled eggs with random veggies and fruit at the last second like I usually do when it's just me and the monkey.) But then something happened the other day that I thought you might enjoy, so I finally got off my duff and uploaded the pictures from my camera to my laptop (watch flickr for more soon. It's too late for me to deal with all 60-odd pictures tonight).

A few months ago, I read this book. I really, really enjoyed it.

Then a few days ago, Rowan acted it out. She climbed up on the couch, fetched him down, and installed him in a seat next to her. She sat, coloring, and enjoying her morning with him.

I brought out cups. They had coffee. She even gave him a new nickname.



My daughter has a new friend, and his name is Buddha, though Rowan gets to call him "Bubba". Yeah, they're tight.

Baby Klingon

Rowan has never been a snuggly kid. Even as a little baby, she wasn't a cuddler. She would fight and kick if you held her too close, and though she wanted to be with you. At church, when she is taken to the nursery/play room, she runs in with barely a backward glance. She'll give you a hug or kiss goodbye, if you ask, but then shouts, "BYE!", waves, and heads toward the shelves filled with toys. While the other moms have to sit and play with their kids for 10 minutes until they are ready to be left alone, despite the fact that they go every week, I head back to the sanctuary, barely missing a minute.

A few months ago, we had an adult double date with some friends. A matinee and dinner, while the kids were being watched by our friends' daycare provider and her daughter. When we got back, Debbie commented on how much fun she'd had with Rowan, and that she'd love to watch her again.

"Most kids who stay at home with mom aren't very well-adjusted. Rowan is amazing! She had no problems with you leaving, made herself at home, and was a perfect angel. We had so much fun! She even brought a diaper and wipes over and asked when she needed her diaper changed." Rowan hadn't even noticed when I walked into the room, and didn't seem to care. She was too busy playing.

All this changes when she's not feeling well. Whether it's teething or a cold or a combination of the two (like now), she only wants to be with me. On top of me. All. The. Time. She refuses to eat, refuses to sleep, and panics when I close the door to use the bathroom. My shoulders are streaked with snot, and I have a 25 1/2 pound barnacle cemented to my torso.

Yesterday, she was in full sick-mode. Up in the night, with a refusal to sleep again unless Mom or Dad slept with her (I took the night before, Dr. B took that night). She was coughing, sneezing, and her upper lip had become Rio del Snotto. We raised the legs of the crib (Harry Potter 4 & 7), turned on the vaporizer, and gave her a little Motrin before bed.

I'm afraid our remedies worked too well. Yesterday, she was awake for 14 hours straight. No naps except for a 10 minute snooze in the stroller on our walk. Though she would stop and sit on the couch for a while, drinking juice, that was the extent of her rest.

And mine.

Bedtime came, and I got her ready. She called out a cheerful "Bye!" as I left, blowing kisses.

Then it started. Screaming. Crying. Wailing.

For the next hour, I let her go. Then gave in and went to talk with her. Then let her cry. Then her dad came home and tried, too. And then he left her room and it started again.

Finally, after an hour and a half, I did what I had to. I went up, and she begged me to pick her up. I hugged her as she stood, arms raised in her crib, and let her cry on my shoulders. But I didn't pick her up. I tried to reason with her.

It didn't work.

Finally, I asked her to sit. She refused. I sat next to the crib. She sat, so she could see my face, and reached through the bars of the crib for another hug. Then she put her hands on either side of my face, and pulled me close for a jailbird kiss.

We sat, and I talked to her in a low, soothing voice. About letting her body heal. About resting so she can play and have fun tomorrow. About how much I loved her.

Her eyes started to droop.

I asked her to lie down. She shook her head, violently, "No no no no nooooo!!!" I offered my arm for her to lie on.

She face planted on my hand, butt in the air. I slowly wiggled my arm out. She grasped my hand.

I waited. Soon, she was twitching, exhausted and deeply asleep. I extracted my fingers from her sweaty grip and crawled slowly toward the door.

Though she may not show it every day, our independent little girl needs us. It may be hidden, but it's still strong.