Warning: From Icky to Sappy

We survived a parenting rite of passage last night: Kid A threw up (repeatedly) for the first time. We're not sure if it was something she ate, too much pool water (followed by too much milk) combined with lots of throwing and splashing and dunking in the pool, or if perhaps she ate a teensy bit of bar soap at the end of her bath. Or a combination of all of the above. Whatever the cause, we put her to bed at just before 7 pm yesterday (so very tired), and she slept well for about an hour. Then we heard her wake up and start to cry instantly. We both figured that she was still hungry, as she hadn't finished her bottle, but had pushed it away after a few ounces, so I took that upstairs and went in thinking I would sit with her while she finished it, and put her back down. Instead, when I opened the door, I found my poor little pumpkin sitting up in her crib, with an ungodly mess in her lap, on her hands, etc. I think my exact words were, "Tom, I need you," and he came upstairs with a quickness. Meanwhile, the poor thing was screaming at the top of her lungs.

I took her into the bathroom and put her in the tub while I stripped off her pajamas and diaper, then ran some water and got her cleaned up; Kid A screaming all the while (and by the end, she had started to shake, which really freaked me out). The whole tub ordeal couldn't have taken more than a couple of minutes, but it felt like an eternity. I wrapped her up in some towels and took her back into her bedroom, where I tried to rock her and calm her down, but she was beside herself. Finally, I just decided to get her diapered and dressed again. I think TM took over at some point, because I remember changing the sheet and matress pad in the crib. We were able to get her calmed down a bit, but before we got her back into bed, she threw up again, all over herself. See above, from "I took her into the bathroom ..." except no tub this time. She finally passed out, exhausted, nearly an hour after I went upstairs thinking I would feed her.

Two hours later (10 pm), it happened again. Fortunately, she didn't throw up as much, and we hadn't dressed her after the second stripping, so from clean up to back down was much faster (this time, though, it got in her hair, which ... ew).

Twice more: once at 11:30 and again at 12:30. Worried and exhausted, we took her temperature both times, and she had no fever. Both times, she woke up crying, we cleaned up (by this time we had perfected putting down a clean baby bath towel under her, so clean up was now quick and easy), and she passed out from exhaustion within minutes of waking. It was harder, by far, for me to get back to sleep after each episode than for her.

I woke up a couple of times between 12:30 and morning; I checked the time, and went back to sleep. At 7:30 this morning, I heard her happy little Kid A morning babble over the monitor in our room; I went in to find her beaming at me, standing up in her crib in nothing but her diaper, the towel and her quilt in a heap at the foot of her crib. She went back down for a nap within an hour of waking up, but she had a decent breakfast and some formula, and no signs of any lingering problems.

So we're initiated. Growing up, I hated stomach bugs and vomiting worse than any other kind of sickness in the world. I would cry and cry and cry any time I had to throw up. My mom is the same way. I always thought that I would not do well the first time I had to be the responsible parent in that scenario, but I did just fine: plenty of compassion, plenty of keeping my wits about me, and plenty of (intestinal) fortitude. I'm not looking for a trophy or anything; I'm just glad she seems to be fine today.

And tomorrow, we celebrate (with about 40 of our closest friends and family members) her first birthday with a big party in the park. I think about those parents who go through much worse -- those who have children with medical or behavioral problems -- and I feel so much gratitude for our happy, healthy, strapping big girl. She's the light of our lives, and I can't imagine this world without her in it.

One-year portraits

Our fabulous photographer, Nicole, came out to our place again last Saturday. Here's a sneak preview of three of the photos:

http://nicolescarborough.blogspot.com/

As of this moment (7/16/09), Kid A is the most recent blog entry; within a day or two, you may have to scroll down (or search) to see the pics. The entry is dated 7/15/09.

Don't you just want to eat her up?

Happy birthday, Audrey!

Here's our happy little water babe, a few days before her first birthday.

Chompin' on a watermelon rind in the park. She's not a kid who likes a lot of fruit, so when she finds something she does like, we tend to let her go for it!

With her buddy Molly, at the park. Look, Mama: I've got my foot! I know I do this all the time, but still: I've got my FOOT!

It's so hard for me to believe that my tiny little baby is already one year old. I know that everybody says that, and I hate to be cliche. And yet, the reason everybody trips about their baby turning one is because it goes so fast, and so slow, and the days add up, one by one, drop by drop, and before you know it, what was once your baby is now your child. I think about all the things she can do now, and how very strong her will and personality are becoming, and even the seemingly simplest things that she can do now were impossible just a short time ago.

And I'm oh so very tired, because, well, remember back when she was first born? How hard she was, how difficult to soothe, how particular her needs? Well ... I'm a little concerned that we're entering a renewed period of cantankerousness. I am praying to whatever benevolent forces might be that we're not going to go through three tough months every year. That would be, well, not fun. TM and I joke that she's hit her terrible twos early. She is an advanced child. Seriously, she has begun to throw some pretty phenomenal temper tantrums. And she seems to be tired all the time. And she sleeps, it's not like she doesn't sleep: at least two naps a day, at least one hour each, and more often at least one of her daily naps is more like two hours or more. AND she sleeps for anywhere from 9 to 11 hours at night! Oh, I'm hoping this fussy phase will be short. And I'm fearing that it might not be.

But when she isn't fussy or tired, she is just the sweetest, happiest baby around. She still loves to be on the move; she's learned to climb the stairs, and loves to chase after the cats (who really do not love to be chased. Fortunately, she rarely gets close enough to them to freak them out too badly; Georgia, in particular, is a very good sport about the whole thing). She had two weeks of swimming "lessons" with her dad in mid-June, and spent 30 minutes a day for eight days splashing and shrieking and having a grand time. Since then, they've been hitting the pool in our condo complex more days than not, and they both love it.

She's closer and closer to walking all the time. I think that's what's making her both tired and fussy: I think her little brain and body are churning out new programming at a furious rate, and when it all comes together, I think we'll all settle back into a more "normal" state. Of course, it will be a new normal, involving chasing after a toddler for 12 hours a day!

We're looking forward to her big birthday bash on July 19th, but we celebrated fairly quietly over the July 4th weekend at my mom's, with dinner out (and breakfast, too), more presents (from Nana) than a one-year-old needs (thanks, Nana -- we love you!), and, of course, her first cake:

Fortunately, she was far more interested in getting it on her than in her, so thus far we're successfully dodging the sugar beast. We'll see whether that trend continues at her next party!

I'll try to post more often than once a month, I really do try not to let so much time go by. We'll see how July works out.