Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Casa de las Enfermas.

Case de las Enfermas indeed (house of the sick women), apparently SS and I are equally slow at getting over a cold, especially after spending time in that haven of recycled germ vortex that resides in airplanes. It was my biggest fear about back to back trips, that SS would get sick and it would ruin the visit to Grandpa. What the heck have I been doing since we came home? Dealing with a sick child, a child who is still not better. But of course, what the heck did I know when I expressed my concerns? I have only done this once before, have decades of experience with children and what is reasonable to put them through and have only been attached at the hip to my daughter for two years. I have no idea what I was thinking when I voiced my opinion. Upset does not begin to cover my mood right now.

We managed to get out for a shopping trip since it was CH's first birthday and we needed to pick up a few gifts for him. And yep, I do all the shopping for both sides of our families, it's the you have an uterus you get to do it rule. Thankfully I am an old hand at shopping for little boys. Most people find it easier to shop for little girls, but I just love shopping for boys. That explains SS's wardrobe.

If you get the T-shirt she'll do it. :) This is a great example of picking our battles. We let the fedora obsession take its course. It did not matter when she wanted to wear it, we allowed it and it paid off. SS is loving the hat from Lincoln Park Zoo. When she wears it she excitedly tells me that she saw animals there, and rattles about what she saw.

What is better after a day of shopping than a good slide? SS thinks everyone should try it.

This is a reminder of something Michelle and I will never let P forget. Mr. Carry On Only was humbled when I refused to go along with his lame idea. Our checked in bag was 49 pounds on the way to Chicago and 50 pounds on the flight home. The clerk TAGGED it as heavy. That is without all of our shoes. P's shoes were especially heavy, he needed brown for the rehearsal dinner and black for the wedding. All of our shoes were stuffed with the carseat, another plus to have a carseat bag.

Another day. another choice to wear her zoo hat and she accessorized with her zoo bag. We finally figured out why SS keeps posing that way. Nick Jr.'s Fresh Beat Band (a favorite as long as they sing and not talk) do this a lot in their dance sequences. Thank goddess it's mindless kiddie TV and not some gang affiliation.

I had to take SS to see her doctor because I was worried about her lingering cold. With one week to depart I was anxious. SS decided to wear her Sn00py scrubs with her personalized doctor coat. Then she was classic SS and wanted to wear her fedora and bad @ss sunglasses. I am torn about describing her look as beatnicky (P's word), Cousin It, or Blues Brothers. The bottom line is that the outfit paid off. SS did not even attempt to maul (rather than kill) Nurse L when she took her vitals. When Dr. S came in, SS not only allowed her to look into her nose, eyes and ears, but thanked her each time she looked at each orifice (as well as listening to her chest, etc.)

SS is now a whopping 29 pounds! Doctor S commented that SS has come a long way since she first saw her two years ago. She called SS sturdy. Our daughter has been called many things but sturdy is a new one.

Doctor S thought it was cool (wondering about her judgment here) that SS had her first fever with us at 35,000 feet. She then chuckled when she checked SS's nose and stated "she takes after you, a seasonal allergy girl." Not funny to me, so much for not passing on my defective genes.

P arrived in time to hear Dr. S state that she did not want to prescribe antibiotics for SS at this time, and that the virus could take 6-8 weeks to clear. She had warned me that since we were about to reenter the germ vortex it could be longer. Totally looking forward to 12 days with a cranky child.

We rewarded SS with lunch at her favorite local taqueria. She especially loves their fresh chips.

This is what happens when 3-year old doctors wake up at 5:00 a.m., bright eyed and bushy tailed, and oh so sweetly request to watch cartoons and their guilt ridden Baba allows them.

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