MommyBlog

Kenny is home and definitely on the mend.   He swings from wildly happy and normal to clingy and tired like a yo-yo, but going to bed tonight he was in one of his silly-sweet-lovey moods.  

The doctors did finally figure out what he has, too!   It turns out that his Staph infection is merely the epidermal type: this means that he essentially got it from himself, as many people carry the Staph bacteria on their skin.   He either had a  scrape or a bug bite (most likely on his ear) that he itched and scratched  in just the right way as to bury the little bacterial bugs deep in there and spread it around his poor skin like a weed.   He will be on an antibiotic for the next seven days to kill it off completely, though you can hardly even see where it was just a few days ago.   He has had wicked diarrhea (from the medicine), and has thrown up a little, but he is a tough little bugger, and will be back to his old shenanigans in no time, no doubt.

So, as promised, here are a few of the photos I took of the last six days…

  This is what his ear looked like the morning I decided that it was more than just a bad bug bite, and took him back to the pediatrician.   We were sent to the hospital a few hours later.

  … and the hospital food was pretty good! This shot is right after his first I.V. went in.   You can see that his right arm is taped to a board.

… a post lunch nap…      

… and a little playtime with Buttons the Bunny, a gift from the hospital.   He later threw up all over this poor bunny (during the horrible morning they were trying to get another I.V. going), and it was thrown away.   They replaced it with a green one, whom Kenny called “Buttons, too!”

  A wagon ride.   Notice the I.V. trailing behind.   This was the only way he could leave the room, since at this point his foot was bound and he couldn’t walk.

… he got a little tired of the wagon…        

  But he was all smiles when we got home!   It’s so good to be home…

So now I have one more day before I am shuttling myself back to the hospital for my surgery.   Casey’s parents are arriving tomorrow to help with Kenny, and I am trying to get a week’s worth of catch-up done in a day.   It’s amazing how much we take our little lives and schedules for granted, isn’t it?   Suddenly the laundry and the dusting don’t seem as pressing as they did a week ago…

Happy Easter, too!   I have a lot more to day about Easter, but I will have to organize those thoughts another time.

Kenny has to stay in the hospital another night, so I have come home to take care of Dudley, and to “try” to get some sleep.   It turns out that his infection culture did grow after all, so they are able to determine that it is indeed a Staph infection.   They are keeping him another night to try and determine which strain of Staph it is (so that they can send him home with the right antibiotic), and because his fever keeps going up and down, and they require that the patient be free of a fever for twelve hours before discharge.

Kenny, on the other hand, is crawling the walls.   He’s 100% improved in his inexhaustibly excitable capacities, and he is doing somesaults on the bed out of boredom.   He’s begging to WALK, and trying desperately to escape his confinement.   To that end, I am extremely relieved, though I left poor Casey with a fired up toddler, way past bedtime, and helpless to get him to lay down and “go sleepy-time!”   I will hopeful get something resembling  a decent night’s sleep, and return over to the hospital tomorrow morning to see when they plan on releasing him.

Thanks again to all for all the prayers and hopefully tomorrow my news will be nothing but good!

I am home on a quick “walk Dudley” break.   Today is Kenny’s third day in the hospital, and we are not sure yet whether or not we will be staying another night.   He is MUCH better today – finally talking, laughing and eating again.  

Yesterday was pure Hell.   He woke up at 3 AM vomiting, and didn’t stop until five.   His I.V. came loose yesterday at about that time, and it took them six hours and NINE tries to get another one established.   Seven of those tries blew veins, and his little hands and arms are bruised and bandaged.   They finally got one in his foot, so his leg is wrapped as if it were broken, to keep him from jiggling it loose again.   He spent the rest of the day yesterday lying listlessly, sleeping on and off, as they pumped fluids and over-due  antibiotics into his little body.   He fell asleep last night at 6 and didn’t wake up again until 5 this morning – a huge relief.   He has been running a fever on and off, but the vomiting has stopped and he was able to eat again.   He’s napping again now, and I took the chance to run home for a break.   I need a walk as much as Dudley does.

The jury is still out as to what’s going on exactly.   There is definitely a bacterial infection (though they are unable to determine whether it’s Staph or Strep, due to the culture not growing), and possibly a viral infection as well.  

I’m sorry for the lack of writing finess in this post, but I promise to relay more later.   I need to get going.   Thanks to all for the prayers, and keep praying!   I’ll update when I can.

Kristjana

… well, not a change really.   But it looks like we’re in the hospital again.   First me (twice), then Casey, then Dudley, and now my poor, sweet Kenny.   In fact, I am writing from the “family” computer in the pediatric ward’s waiting room.   Kenny developed a swollen and violently red ear yesterday, which I got him into the doctor for right away.   She determined that it was an infected insect bite, and sent us home with a prescription.   This morning, his ear was nearly three times the size it should be, fire-engine red, and the other ear was begining to swell as well.   Back to the pediatrician’s office, where we were sent directly to be admitted overnight in the hospital. The doctor on call here determined that it is most likely a Staph infection, and he is on some pretty heavy antibiotics, via I.V.

Tell me this isn’t really happening.   Tell me that I’ve been inundated with too much Sanjaya nonsense on what used to be legitimate news outlets, and I’m going insane.   Tell me anything except that my precious little boy has his arm strapped to a board with an entire roll of duct tape and needles poking into his perfect baby skin.

He’s doing well, all considering.   He took a two and a half hour nap, dozing with me on the hospital bed.   For the last two hours this evening he’s been dancing off the walls and doing backflips in his bed, trying to escape.   And we might be here more than one night.

I’ll have to continue this update later, as I need to get back and relieve poor Casey, who is, by this time no doubt, having his eyebrows plucked out by Kenny’s good hand.     I always thought that “things” came in threes, and with my miscarriage, then my diagnosis of needing gallbladder removal surgery (which is scheduled for next tuesday), then Casey taking a micro-trip to the ER last week, that we were done.   But then again, Dudley ended up in the puppy hosptal for his vomiting episode… and now this.   I’m not qute sure where we fit  in all this  in the Master Plan, but I know that God does.   Thank God, He does.

I’ve read that eighteen months of age is the most typical time for a child to begin the phase of seapartion-anxiety.   Well, Kenny was a few weeks late, but he’s definitely in the throes of it now.

Bedtime for Kenny  has finally become the drama that most moms talk about with their toddlers.   His favorite stall-tactic is to request another “Pray-er!”   This is a kid that knows his parent’s soft-spot.   Who is going to deny praying with their little one?   To give him credit, I think that he genuinely enjoys the goodnight prayer that we say, and he loves to sit and listen to us pray for him and for each other.   But he’s starting to use the “pray-er” card interchangably with “Juice!   Mo’ juice pa-leese!” and “Mama chair, song, pa-leese?” which makes me wonder if he is just playing us.   When we were in Las Vegas, I stayed with him until he fell asleep… in a strange hotel room, what more could I do?   But since we’ve been home, he has refused to go to sleep by himself.  

We used to be able to do the bedtime routine, put him in his crib with a kiss, and walk out of the room.   In fact, one of my favorite things was to then secretly listen to him on the monitor, as he talked to all of his stuffed animals, sang songs and make sweet little sounds.   Now it’s “Mama hold you!” and “Nudder song” and “Mama big bed!” (which means he wants me to lay in the bed next to his crib  until he falls asleep).   Try to put him down and walk out and you’re met with a sound that closely resembles a hyena being dis-membered.   And then he’s so worked up, sleep is nearly impossible.   We have tried to let him cry it out some, but it’s so depressing to listen to.   When he was a little younger, we did let him cry until he fell asleep, but now that he’s more vocal, it seems so cruel.  

Any thoughts out there?   It’s becoming an hour-long ordeal for us, and definitely taking away from our “alone time” in the evening.   Any advice is appreciated!

Dear Dudley,

Let me start first with a commendation:  most of the time, you are a really good dog.   You always sit and wait for the “ok” before diving into your food bowl, you sleep in your own bed (most of the time), and you are extremely protective of your littlest pack member, Kenny.   You are athletic, a great running and roller-blading partner, and you are fun to walk with.   You are very well behaved at outdoor restaurants, and you are the stud of the local dog park.   You are very sweet to want to share your bones with me,  too.   I am especially touched when I get  out of bed in the morning, and  find one neatly tucked under my pillow.   You are even cooler than the toothfairy!   How do you do that without waking me up?  

But I have a few questions for you, my furry friend:

Why do you turn around 800 times before collapsing in a “humph!” on the couch at night?   Why do you lick yourself where your manhood used to be, without even taking a breath, for hours on end?   Do you think that if you lick there long enough, they will grow back?   And why do you only destroy things only when everyone’s at home?   We can leave you for hours, and the house is perfectly intact, yet in the ten minutes it takes me to fix lunch for Kenny, you have torn a hole in the dining room chair, eaten four or five legos, chewed the heel off of one of my shoes, and then when I turn around to try and catch you, you snatch the sandwich I just made off the countertop.   Even Kenny has learned to say flawlessly, “Dudley chewed up!   New one, Mama.”   Did you know that we are on his fourth t-ball set?   And his second super-set of legos?   And why do all of his stuffed animals only have one ear?   And how is it that you have chewed the left ear off of all of them, and left the right ear completely alone?  

Oh Dudley… some days I wonder if you are deaf, since you ignore my commands to “drop” or “come” with such ease, but then I know it’s all an act when you are able to hear me lift the lid off the cookie jar from three rooms away.     And how is it that you are so terrified of garbage cans being rolled out of a driveway during our walks that you cowar behind me, wrapping your leash around my legs, and yet you attack the garage door with vigor  whenever you hear it go up?

Dudley, Dudley, Dudley… I could write a country song about you, I think.  

Love, Mama

Kenny loves Vegas.

Is it the casinos?   Nope – he can’t stand being strolled through those…  and that  makes  it pretty hard to get around here, by the way… Is it the showgirls?   Not that either, I don’t think he’s into the miniskirts yet… Could it be the exquisite restaurants and designer shopping boutiques?   Yeah, right.   Like he’s  not going to have a  lot to say about  me spending a lot of time in there…

No – It’s pretty simple really: our hotel room looks out onto the runway of the Las Vegas Airport.   He has spent hours with his tiny nose pressed against the one-way glass, pointing frantically every 14.5 seconds and yelling, “Nudder one!   Nudder a-plane take OFF!”   Oh, and it’s not just airplanes, but huge, gorgeous private jets (which he calls “little planes”) and helicopters galore.   “Copters!   Mama, COPTERS!”  

We’ve had a great time here.   Casey has been busy, and it’s been too cold to go to the pool, but we’ve spent many happy hours jumping on the big bed, dancing like silly-willies to the radio, playing with legos and watching airplanes.   And both days he’s napped long enough for me to get a decent walk on the Strip while he snoozes in the stroller.   Did you know that in order to walk the Strip with a stroller, you have to go in and out of various casinos (read: being trapped in a human pinball machine), then up and down on elevators at each intersection to get to the sky-walks?   It took me over an hour to walk two miles yesterday.   But my little angel did sleep long enough for me to go into a very nice shop and buy my first “real” purse that is neither a diaper bag, nor a pleather purse from Tar’jay.   He woke up as I was contemplating the matching shoes.   I asked him if he liked them, and he replied, “Mama Shoes!” so I took that as a yes, and pulled out my credit card.   Thank goodness he was ready to go home after that, or I might have rationalized a new dress to go with it all.

Vegas is a funny town, though, in the sense that all that you see and read and watch about this city is so way over-glamourized.   For example, last night Casey had a dinner party with his clients in one of the hottest clubs in town.    When you see  an ad for this nightclub, you imagine beautiful women in perfectly stylish dresses and men that look like Danny Ocean or James Bond.   I attacked Casey with eager questions when he got home, and he said, “Actually, there were just a bunch of guys there from some convention in wrinkled shirts and tennis shoes drinking beers.”     No super models?   No Hollywood hotties?   I was crushed.    And think of all the movies of the Vegas casinos… men in Aramani shirts and gold cufflinks and women in Versace dresses and Prada shoes… and yet every time I’ve walked through the casino here at Mandalay Bay (which is one of the nicer ones, I’m told), all I see is conventioneers shlepping giant messanger bags, Midwestern couples with University of Ohio sweatshirts and New Balance sneakers, and the occasional  teenage girl dressed like she’s watched one too many episodes of “Las Vegas.”   Of course, Kenny goes to bed at 7, so maybe I’m missing all the real action.   I hope so, because I’d hate to re-imagine Oceans Eleven with Brad Pitt wearing Gap jeans and an American Eagle t-shirt.  

So I’m here in the hotel room while my baby sleeps and the rest of the town is just preparing to think about where to go to dinner.   I have to admit, as much as a little part of me is itching to dress up and paint the town red, the bigger part of me is happy to be here in a cozy and beautiful room, listening to Kenny breathe and blessed to be happy and settled down with my baby and the man that I love.   And with that, I’ll say goodnight!

Tomorrow Kenny and I are setting off to Las Vegas!   Ok, we’re tagging along with Casey on a business trip, but as we’ll be on our own for the bulk of our time there, I’m starting to mentally prepare for the adventures of entertaining a 25-pound monkey for three days on the Strip.   Ok, we’re not going to be hanging out on the Strip.   We’re staying in the lap of luxury at the Four Seasons at Mandalay Bay.   So we’ll be  eating $18 hamburgers and splashing our toes in the pool and trying to finagle Frosted Mini Wheats out of the Room Service staff while sipping orange juice on our balcony.

Actually, tomorrow is our anniversary (!), and our original intent was to arrive one day before Casey’s meetings, get there in time to put Kenny to bed, hire a babysitter while he was sleeping,  and go out on the town.   Today I contacted the Four Seasons to reserve a babysitter and found out all the “details.”   Details like, their in-house babysitting is $45 per hour, with a four hour minimum.   Yeah.   Right.    Needless to say,  we’re not getting a babysitter, because  it would cost more than our night on the town to have some middle-aged nanny sit in our delux (albeit, dark) room while Kenny snoozes.   So it looks like Kenny is coming with us for our romantic evening.   I somehow think that we’ll skip the ultra-trendy spots and stick to a noisy place that has high chairs and a free kids’ menu.

Kenny, by the way,  is becoming ever-more the character these days.   He will now officially repeat everything I say all day long.   Here’s an example: on Friday, I took Kenny to the outdoor shopping mall to look for a pair of shorts.   He asked to “WALK!” so I left the stroller in the car, and he was on his best behavior, holding tightly to my hand on the sidewalk, and letting me hold him in the stores.   In Ann Taylor, while I had a few items in my hand to try on, he started getting squirmy, so I said, “Kenny, Mommy needs to try these things on, so we need to go to the dressing room.   Let’s find someone to help us.”   To which Kenny started shouting, “HELP US!   HELP US!”   At least twenty heads turned in alarm, as I, blushing, asked a sales lady to show me where the dressing rooms were.   As soon as we got in there, Kenny started spinning around, calling, “Dressing Room!   Help!   Help, Mama!   New pants.   Mama, new pants!   Dizzy!   Nooooooo dizzy, Kenny!”

At least he helps me get in and out of a store quickly…

Tonight I need to write a little about my husband.   He is my best friend, and I have been so caught up in the chaos of the last few weeks that I haven’t had much time to reflect on what a huge blessing that he is.

Casey is a man who truly seeks to honor, love and cherish me, his wife.   He constantly goes out of his way to praise me, lift me up, encourage me, humor me, challenge me and protect me.   During the week before my miscarriage, when I was bleeding and trying to rest, he took nearly the whole week off work to be there for Kenny, so I could be off my feet.   He cooked, walked Dudley, folded laundry and took care of all that needed to be done.   Then the week after I miscarried, he did the same.   But more than that, he held me while I cried, and sometimes cried with me.    He let me talk about it as much or as little as I wanted (and still does).   He fielded calls from friends and relatives, and went with me to all of my doctor’s visits and checkups.

So you might say that he was a hero for me during our recent tragedy.   But he’s not just an occasional hero.   He walks in the door every night with open arms, letting Kenny tackle him, and letting me cook dinner without a one-year-old clasping my legs.   He spends his weekends hanging out at the park, or going on walks, instead of hitting the golf course or watching the Big Game.   He rubs my head and massages my shoulders when he knows I’ve had a rough day.   He bathes Kenny every night, and then goes on a wild hunt through the dark house with a flashlight for Kenny’s “Baa” (a stuffed sheep) with him every night before bedtime.   He surprises me with little gifts and he calls me just to say hi even when he’s busy at work.   He spends time reading the Bible at night, and initiates time for us to pray together.   Today when I mentioned that I needed some new clothes, he talked through what I wanted and then “commanded” me to go shopping!   (He said, I don’t want anyone calling you “KMart Kristjana.   Get good stuff!”)   He enjoys going out to fancy breakfasts instead of dinners, so that our time out is easier with Kenny.   He gets up in the middle of the night when Dudley whines to go out.   He picks up the dog poop in the back yard, and takes out the trash.

He is an amazing man.   On top of all that I mentioned, he is successful and respected at work, and in return works hard for what he has achieved.   And in the midst of a high-level job, he has managed to move us to Arizona for two winters in a row now, to protect me from my Renauds Syndrome (which is very debilitating to me in cold weather – my hands swell into red sausages and are extremely painful).   He plans crazy vacations  for us, and dreams about all that is in store for our future together.   He is practical about investing for the future, and generous about having fun with what we’re blessed to have.   He delights in giving money away, too, and we dream together about what we could do for other people if someday we woke up rich.

He puts toothpaste on my toothbrush in the morning, and remembers to bring me a water bottle at bedtime, in case I wake up thirsty.   He raves about my cooking and compliments me when the house looks nice.   He encourages my writing, and always remembers to read my blog.   He tells me I’m pretty and flirts with me everyday.

I think if I were to sit down and write out all the things I wanted in a man, I still couldn’t include as many qualities as Casey already has.   I am in awe of him.   And I just needed to write about that.

I love you, Casey!!!

Tonight makes two weeks since I lost my baby.   I’m slowing getting to the point where it’s not the first thing I think about every minute of the day.   But I am still crying at odd moments, still crying as I fall asleep, and my heart still aches when I wake up.   Watching Kenny today as he trundled race cars across the living room floor, it hit me once again that not only have Casey and I lost another child, but that Kenny lost a sibling.   I see the way his face lights up at the park when he sees other little guys, and I want so desperately for him to grow up with a whole gaggle of little brothers (or sisters).

Casey was taking to a friend on the phone today who gave him a new perspective on what has happened to us.   This man told Casey that his wife had masicarried in between the births of their second and third child.   Apparently they had always planned to have three children, and so after the birth of their third child, a girl, they realized that she would never have been born if the miscarriage hadn’t  have happened.   He said that they remember that all the time; that without losing a baby, they never would have had her.

It’s an interesting way of looking at things.   I can definitely understand his thinking, and appreciate it as well.   It’s still hard, though, to not know if I will have any other children yet.   Maybe someday down the road, I’ll be able to look back and say something along those lines, but right now, all I can see is that I lost out on a tiny little life waiting to be born.   All I can do is mourn the baby I’ll never get to meet until I get to heaven.

It’s interesting, too, what people say when you tell them that you’ve had  a miscarriage.   Most say what I would have most likely said before this happened: “Oh!   I’m so sorry!   …. Well, you can always have another one!”   I want to stare them down and say, “I had a life inside me and it died.   Maybe someday I will have another one, but I wanted That One!”   Don’t tell me “it was probably for the best” or “God must have needed that little one in Heaven” or “at least it happened early.”   I know that most are well-meaning, but they sting like a thousand bees.

I’ll tell you what is the right thing to say.   My  brother-in-law’s wife  said, “I’m so sorry about what happened.   I don’t want to bring it up and make you sad, but I want you to know that we’re thinking of you.”   And my other brother-in-law’s new bride just put her arms around me and said, “I am praying for you.   Tell me if there’s anything I can do.”    

I am so grateful for what I have: for Casey, for Kenny and for our families.   If that’s all I ever have, it is already more than enough.   We’re blessed beyond belief, and I don’t take any of that for granted.   Still, I miss my baby, and I think I probably always will.