Ingrid never gets sick. She's like the Bruce Willis character from "Unbreakable." I've had the Norovirus and several sinus colds/infections in the last 13 months and she's always healthy. It could be the amazing breast milk business, or maybe luck. Erik's maternal grandma, however, was born in the 19th century, lived through two world wars, moved from Sweden to Chicago and didn't die until she was 97, so I'm hoping Ingrid just got those genes.
Four weeks ago, Ingrid started going to PMO, Parent's Morning Out. This is a Southern thing. Baptist and Methodist churches around the city have very affordable mini-daycare/play-schools for four hours each morning. Ingrid goes on Mondays, and this has allowed me some time to work on deadlines and also clean the toilet without Ingrid eating Clorox wipes. It's very nice, even though I've been told Ingrid hogs a teacher and cries a lot when she's not being held. Ingrid's ego needs a lot of stroking.
Anyway, last week I heard another mom explain to the PMO boss that her son (who's in Ingrid's class) had a fever over the weekend but was now fine. The boss said he could come for the day. Fast forward to Friday. Ingrid has been crabby all week, and now she's crying and poking inside her mouth with her fingers. The dreaded molars. I give her some icy chew toys and ignore it. Later, Erik gives her a bath and asks me if I saw "all the red marks on her butt." Now, in addition to never being sick, Ingrid has never had diaper rash, so I assume Erik is just dramatically identifying a common problem. I peak at her bum, and am horrified by what I see. Those cute cellulite cheeks covered in blisters, and blisters on the soles of her feet, and one on her wrist. Thirty seconds of googling leads me to the diagnosis: Hand, Foot, & Mouth Disease. First, let me say that name disgusts me. It sounds like something industrially farmed poultry gets. Second, wtf? Our daughter is bathed nightly and attacked with wipies throughout the day. And she never gets sick!
Not 48 hours after Erik saw Ingrid's rash we get an email from the PMO boss. There's been an outbreak at the school. Unfortunately, HFMD is very contagious, and typically babies get a mild fever for a few days and THEN breakout in the telltale blisters, so parents often allow them to go to school or daycare assuming they're fine and/or teething. Instead, they're contagious little farm animal disease time bombs. HFMD isn't that dangerous, and Ingrid is on the mend, but it's still really gross.
I don't know which little snot-nosed baby belongs to the mother I heard talking to the boss, but I'll withhold blame for now. Ingrid is a finger-sucker (she sucks her Pointer upside down in her mouth, the "Upstairs" cousin to the plebeian "Downstairs" thumb-sucker), so she probably touches a lot of crap and gets the germs in her trap in the blink of an eye.
Monday, October 7, 2013
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
But does she eat pastries?
Wednesdays are my favorite day of the week with Ingrid. First, I like the natural hump day vibe, an almost celebratory workman's feeling of making it through. Second, we have music class in the morning followed by a weekly picnic with some mom friends in the Duke Gardens. It's my only super scheduled "mom" day of the week.
The Duke Gardens are surely one of Durham's crown jewels: A koi pond, rose garden, petting zoo, vegetable garden, natural plants reserve and several fountains all open to the public. The university's gift of a garden is one of the (only?) most elegantly mediated town-gown overtures in Durham. And the mom's I meet there always help get me through the week.
When Ingrid was first born, I signed up for a mom group and found myself in the awkward position of trying to date mom friends. My two best friends in Durham are not moms, but they adore my child and I love them, so it was hard not to constantly compare the moms I met to these women. Still, I'm sure talking about nap schedules would be annoying for my friends, so I tried to meet other moms. While all the moms I met were nice, none had that spark that allows you to keep. talking. forever. Last fall at this time, I joined a newborn group and after everyone was done talking about poop, I said, "Who here is watching 'Homeland'?" Radio silence. Then, another time during a meet and greet we were going around the rooms introducing ourselves, our babies and why we live in Durham. That last bit was a chance for every woman but me to explain that Samir's dad was a hand surgeon doing a medical fellowship at Duke. When it was my turn I gamely said, "We're also in Durham because of Duke, but sadly Ingrid's dad is the wrong kind of doctor." I thought it was a great line! But instead of laughing, everyone just played with their babies' footie outfits.
I love talking about my child, but, especially in the early months, there wasn't that much to talk about. Or, what was sanctioned for discussion -- poop, tummy time, introduction of oatmeal -- was boring to me. If one of the mom's wanted to talk about the overwhelming sense of love they felt for the baby when they nursed, I'd have been game. If someone else would have shared that they too were bored to tears by the endless days in the life of a four month old, I would have cried along with them. But so often the talk was just a veiled attempt at making sure each baby was keeping up with the group. And, none of them ever ate any of the baked goods at these playgroups, which for me was always the most compelling reason to go.
Luckily I found these new moms through a mom friend I could talk to forever. And thankfully they talk about toddlerhood and Netflix in equal measure. Maybe it's a better group because we're all just more comfortable in our roles as moms, and it doesn't feel dangerous to say that we love our baby but they're driving us crazy because of X, Y or Z. Or maybe these are just women who like to eat pastries and don't have hand surgeons for husbands. For whatever reason, it makes for a good hump day.
The Duke Gardens are surely one of Durham's crown jewels: A koi pond, rose garden, petting zoo, vegetable garden, natural plants reserve and several fountains all open to the public. The university's gift of a garden is one of the (only?) most elegantly mediated town-gown overtures in Durham. And the mom's I meet there always help get me through the week.
When Ingrid was first born, I signed up for a mom group and found myself in the awkward position of trying to date mom friends. My two best friends in Durham are not moms, but they adore my child and I love them, so it was hard not to constantly compare the moms I met to these women. Still, I'm sure talking about nap schedules would be annoying for my friends, so I tried to meet other moms. While all the moms I met were nice, none had that spark that allows you to keep. talking. forever. Last fall at this time, I joined a newborn group and after everyone was done talking about poop, I said, "Who here is watching 'Homeland'?" Radio silence. Then, another time during a meet and greet we were going around the rooms introducing ourselves, our babies and why we live in Durham. That last bit was a chance for every woman but me to explain that Samir's dad was a hand surgeon doing a medical fellowship at Duke. When it was my turn I gamely said, "We're also in Durham because of Duke, but sadly Ingrid's dad is the wrong kind of doctor." I thought it was a great line! But instead of laughing, everyone just played with their babies' footie outfits.
I love talking about my child, but, especially in the early months, there wasn't that much to talk about. Or, what was sanctioned for discussion -- poop, tummy time, introduction of oatmeal -- was boring to me. If one of the mom's wanted to talk about the overwhelming sense of love they felt for the baby when they nursed, I'd have been game. If someone else would have shared that they too were bored to tears by the endless days in the life of a four month old, I would have cried along with them. But so often the talk was just a veiled attempt at making sure each baby was keeping up with the group. And, none of them ever ate any of the baked goods at these playgroups, which for me was always the most compelling reason to go.
Luckily I found these new moms through a mom friend I could talk to forever. And thankfully they talk about toddlerhood and Netflix in equal measure. Maybe it's a better group because we're all just more comfortable in our roles as moms, and it doesn't feel dangerous to say that we love our baby but they're driving us crazy because of X, Y or Z. Or maybe these are just women who like to eat pastries and don't have hand surgeons for husbands. For whatever reason, it makes for a good hump day.
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