Nurse-ing

Look at those milk teeth. MILK teeth. Poor baby.

Last week my pediatrician told me to stop breastfeeding for "at least a week." My 17 month old had been sick with diarrhea and vomiting for 4 days. She said that any kind of dairy, including the kind from my home creamery, would induce the puke and just make the illness worse. I told her the only thing I could get baby to eat or drink for four days was breast milk and I was already worried about dehydration. The good doctor confided in me that if I just refused to nurse, she would "be desperate" and start downing the pedialyte.

I was unwilling to try.

I did, however, try the prescribed steroid (prednisolone) for her "slightly wheezy lungs." This went fabulously. Both the pediatrician and the pharmacist warned us that the drug (a syrup) was really disgusting. I had a treat ready for baby and the sink set up with her stool so she could play at it as soon as we got done shoving goo down her throat (traumatic for everyone). The first dose was administered in the 8th amazing hour since the last puke. We were so excited that she was keeping the fluids down! Until...

Yeah.

So after 3 days of puking upon receipt of medicine, we threw it all away and breastfed more often.

I know doctors are good when you need them. I just wish I knew when I needed them.

New Year's Resolutions

The puker, at a younger age. You see the laundry. You can always see the laundry...

I enjoy the acme of foolishness that is goal-setting and resolving to better myself. This year, as in the past, I got a sick kind of kick making a list of the things I am not yet good enough about. (i.e. Ending a sentence with a preposition is something up with which I will not put.) Am I the only one who believes that the magic lies in the enumeration of the weaknesses? Surely at the end of the year my inventory of defects will be just that much shorter.

About a week ago I made my usual catalog of these "resolutions."

Today, to that, I say derisively: pfffft.

Perhaps it's because my baby has been sick all week, and I am back to day-long pajamas and too much puke and poop to keep up with the laundry much less the laundry list of desired personal traits. Perhaps it's because I read in Anne Lammot's newest book: "We will be called to survive unsurvivable losses, and we will realize with enormous pain how much of our lives we've already wasted with obsessive work or pleasing people or dieting." Perhaps it's because (gasp) I am almost 30 and a few of my resolutions haven't changed in 15 years.

Today, for this one year, I resolve only one thing.

Whenever I get a piece of floss that isn't quite long enough, I will not wrestle with the short ends and struggle to make it through my mouth on that inch between my pinched fingers. This year I will just get a new piece of floss.

Amen.