My son is the Vector of Disease.

He has now given his Coxsackie virus to our neighbor girl.

Her mother is a serious, self-admitted germaphobe. She has been in therapy and tries really hard, but she freaks.

Today, she asked me all sorts of questions about the virus. She was most concerned how her daughter got the virus. Was it by touching my son's hand? What happened?? When did it happen?

I DO NOT KNOW.

All I know is that kids get sick. You can't stop them from getting sick. Sure, you could put them in a big bubble like the kid on Seinfield.

But I @(# @&#^#% digress ....

I think we might actually be crawling out of this hole that has been my personal hell for the last few weeks. Baby had a great day at day care. I had a great day sleeping as long as I could. They finally came to install the speakers for the new plasma TV we got last week. This was probably the best thing yet -- we can actually watch TV and get what the hell the show is about.

But I did learn one thing about commercials: small print.

When you can't hear a damn thing, you start focusing on the little shit they say at the bottom. We have TiVo, and I even paused at one point to verify what I had seen.

Know the commercial with the girl running through the field with a Sasquatch? I believe it's a (gay) car commercial.

The small print?

"A stunt sasquatch was used in the filming of this commercial."

PHEW!! And for a minute there, I was going to call in and report this hairy beast on TV ...

Finally, an answer.

My son has the Coxsackie virus. A normal, summer, kid virus that presents with high temps and MOUTH BLISTERS. It took us two weeks of hell and two other "Gee, just looks like a sore throat to me" opinions to finally get the right one.

And guess what? My throat has been off for a day or two. I'm too scared to look in.

Out ...... of ......... martini .............. mix .......

For those of you keeping score at home, I am losing the Battle of the Sick Baby. The "It-should-only-last-a-few-days" virus that has consumed my son is now on roughly day eight. There was a small glimmer of hope over the weekend. Yet, here we are, 11:37 pm on a Monday night, listening to the sound of a moaning baby. The temperature has gone down (thanks to the happy juice - his, not mine) and he seems to be uncomfortable still. My husband and I had a blow-out (later apologized - him, not me - ha) and now we sit wondering why the hell people go for round 2 at all.

Tonight is going to be a long, fucking night.

Big thunderstorm this evening. Lots of rain and big nasty bolts of lightning in our back yard - quite literally. After it was all said and done and the sun was shining through, I decided to venture out with baby to get the remaining items on our grocery list. My husband (the chef) had decided he needed lemongrass.

After a futile attempt to find lemongrass at the Albertson's just up the street, we headed the other direction to the newly remodeled Safeway. Lovely, fine, whatever.

The lightning had taken out the stoplights and the lights on the inside of Safeway. It was awfully fun squinting in the dark trying to a: find the lemongrass b: keep baby awake, as he was signing "night, night", presumably because it was dark.

Once we get everything we needed, we get the hell out. We go back through the same intersection that had been blown out by the lightning.

Everyone SHOULD KNOW it's a FOUR WAY STOP. When it's my turn to go, some asshole runs the what-was-light and nearly T-Bones me. Not just me, but the baby. Motherfucker!!! I laid on my horn, and another guy waiting his turn to go in a big pick-up, flipped a U and started chasing after him.

What a mother fucking chicken humping fucktard.

I seriously had no idea that gypsies were still around.

My husband said he had a band of gypsies in his clinic yesterday. He was seeing one of their family members, and the rest just huddled in the halls, rooms, everywhere.

I asked him how he knew they were gypsies (and he gave me that look like, "You're kidding, right?") and he said, "Well, they were speaking jibberish to each other. Just a bunch of mumbo crap".

He also pointed out they were pretty good at petty theft, so he had to be really careful. He said it was the first time in recent memory they didn't have to call security for anything.

Just fascinating to me.

Around 4 a.m., I hear this very pathetic and quite alarming moan coming from my son's room. I run in nekkid as a jay bird to find my son, quite literally, on fire. He's shaking and I'm vaguely remembering something about fevers getting so bad, that children can go into convulsions. This scares me.

I strip his clothes off, give him Motrin (and a little extra too, what the hell!) and he then guzzles down a bottle of milk and half of another. My child is burning up. The fever is somewhere near 104-105. When he's laying my chest, and I'm using the lukewarm wash cloth to go over his forehead, he snuggles into me, whimpering, then snoring.

I felt absolutely horrible for him. I paid no attention to the time, so by the time this was all said and done, I was in bed at 5:15. (also, the place where his head was rested was so hot, my husband said it felt like I was sunburned)

At 6:00, my husband's alarm goes off. (Damn.)
At 6:15, he asks about the baby. (ShutupI'msleeping)
At6:16, he tells me he's written two checks for whatever. (gofuckyourself)
At 6:26, his nuts have been removed and shoved down his mouth. (seriously)
At 7:00, the carpenter shows up to fix the cabinet, so I get up. (babyissleepingstill)
At 9:00, the guy from Bang and Olfusen comes over to inspect a few things.
At 10:00, the guys installing the new plasma TV come over. My husband says, "Even if the baby is sick, at least you'll have a cool TV to watch". (dieyoubastard)
At 10:15, the lighting guys show up and start drilling holes and waking up my baby.
At 11:00, the car dealership calls and says a 'tie rod' is rusted up and they'll have to replace it to the tune of, "oh, $300". (Ihatemycar)

It's now 2:12. My car isn't done. My baby is napping. I can't nap. I have ... four strange men running through my house. I did get a shower, though.

Someone - and by that I mean my testicle-less husband - had best show up with my martini mix and make Syd a happy motherfucking camper.

PS I got barfed on, too. Grape Motrin and milk.
PSS I'm not doing a damn bit of spell check on this either!

Sick.

My baby is sick again.

My husband keeps saying, "But really, there are other kids at Childrens Hospital right now who were born with fourteen eyes and sixteen toes. Ours is healthy in comparison".

Sure, asshole. But this human being that I kept safe in my belly for all those months, the one I love more than life itself, is SICK. (I don't give a crap about "We are the world" horseshit right now)

First, baby cried the first three months of his life. Some say colic. Some say reflux (boo on that one). Whatever "it" was, it possessed my son and my household for a good long time. "It" prompted my husband to declare (at 3 a.m., with arms outstretched and screeching baby in them), "We are NEVER having another one. YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!". Somewhere in May of last year, he stopped. We weren't making late night runs down the bumpiest street in the world, we weren't putting him in his car seat and sitting him on the dryer during a long cycle. We were actually somewhat human again, and I wasn't threatening to castrate my husband. Life was good. We had our first full nights of sleep. I felt like a brand new woman.

In September, more sleepless nights. Unhappy kid. This time, an ear infection. Not a big deal - we'll take some antibiotics and things will be good. The infection doesn't go away. More antibiotics. After our pediatrician tried every oral antibiotic, she moved on to the Rocefen shots. Nothing. Another broad spectrum antibiotic. Nothing.

After a referral to the ENT doctor at Childrens, she says, "Definitely, tubes". We have tubes done in January. (I should note that for a week before the procedure, my son was vomiting and shitting often at the same time, every 20 minutes, with a giant purply blister on his butt), totally dehydrated and unhappy. I could have gone to a casual party across the street to celebrate New Year's Eve, but instead, I was covered in slime.

Fast forward to now. There have been roughly 15 ear infections, at least 6 since ear tubes, a round of viral bronchiolitis and a double ear infection on his first birthday.

Today, he wakes up with a temp of 101.1, it shoots on up to 103.6 at lunch. We make a visit to the doctor's office. No infection in the ears, but a giant lymphnode and 'sores' in the back of his mouth ... "likely a pediatric virus, but not strep".

According to my mother-in-law, my husband was sick like this growing up. He was always in the hospital for pneumonia or something or other. His dad gave his mom an ample amount of shit for being over-reactive to everything. I'm understanding why now, and I hope wherever she is, she knows she's vindicated.

Oh, and they said today my car would be done with the service around 3, but now it won't be done until tomorrow when I won't have a way to get out there. Tomorrow, I'm having a parade of home improvement people coming in, and worst of all, I'm out of my sour apple martini mix, so this day sucks dirty rhino balls even more so.

Here's to a healthy baby sooner than later ...

We went to a picnic yesterday to welcome the new intern's. All so fresh faced, friendly, eager to please and be polite.

As I am chasing the baby around (and trying to keep him from signing "bath" and climbing into Dr. S's koi pond), a new intern starts talking to me about the colors my son is wearing. He tells me they are the colors of his alma mater, so he thinks that's especially cool. Fine, nice, there goes the baby into the pond, gotta go ....

On our way home, my husband says to me, "So, something funny happened. Remember the guy from such-and-such who told you about the colors of his alma mater? He said to me, 'Hey, Dr. N! I was telling your daughter ....'"

DAUGHTER!?!?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

My husband is 14 years older than me. Either he was looking well-aged yesterday, or I was looking like a fresh-faced little girl.

So, this morning when my husband rolled over to say good morning, he said, "Don't you want to wish your daddy a Happy Father's Day?"

Eeeeeeeeew!

My son discovered ketchup last night. The neighbor kids had long abandoned their dinner plates, so my kid decides he'll sample a bit from everyone else's plate - including the ketchup. He literally licked all the plates very clean, and his face was then covered with quite a bit of red.

Later in the evening, he discovered a muddy water puddle. After stomping around in it for a bit, decided he'd just LAY DOWN in the puddle. It was hysterical.

And a good reminder to me that every day is brand new to him - new things to see, do, explore. It's fun to go on this adventure with him.

Ah, I'm a sappy momma tonight ...

Listening to the radio this morning, I heard a man call in. His name is William Somethingorother, but he insists on being called "Heidi Lynn".

Conversation went something like this:

Radio Guy: So, William ...
Crazy Fuck: No, it's Heidi, please.
RG: Fine, Heidi. So, you dress as a baby?
CF: Yes, I do.
RG: Really. Describe your surroundings, please.
CF: (pause) Well, I'm sitting at my computer desk.
RG: Oh! So you aren't in a highchair then.
CF: No.
RG: And what are you wearing?
CF: Well, I have a dress on, little socks with bows, a rubber diaper and my hair is in pigtails.

SAY WHAT??

I'm floored. They asked him when he started doing this, and it was 'about a year and a half ago'. I missed the latter part of the conversation as I needed to stick my head out of the car and vomit. I don't much care if you'd prefer to be a baby and dress like a little girl. It's the diaper thing than really mad me sick ...

Nasty, nasty.

EDIT: Here's a link, courtesty the TMMB.

http://www.phoenixnewtimes.com/Issues/2005-06-09/news/feature_1.html

I cleaned out our bedroom and closet this week. I unearthed quite a bit of sex toys, sex books, gels, lubes, everything you could possibly think of. I moved it all to a quiet corner of my closet. Seems to be safer there than under the bed with a 15-month-old running around putting various things into his mouth, right? Right.

But my husband invited over a carpenter on Sunday. Fine. He wants Carpenter to build a shelf for the new TV downstairs. Fine. But somewhere in there, my husband decides he wants shelves installed in the closet.

I walk in in time to see this poor guy (kinda cute, too) staring at my collection of vibes, books, and something someone gave me post-baby called a V-Flex. Never been used, front and center, still in the box.

(or never in MY box, I suppose)

Regardless, his face was red. I thought it was pretty damn funny myself.

Last night was the banquet honoring outgoing residents. They give out an award to the doctor who, to them, was the best teacher during the past year. And, every year, I hope it will be my husband. I know how much he cares for the residents and how much effort he puts into their learning experience.

He won last night, and as goofy as it sounds, my heart truly leapt right out of my body. I teared up ... I was so proud of him.

And I just had to share.

Everytime something goes missing in this house, my husband blames our son. He's fifteen-months-old. Granted, he's a little tornado of activity, but he's generally not anywhere near the things my husband swears the "baby" loses (read: my unorganized husband).

I'm not organized. I, by nature, have accepted the fact that if I put something down somewhere, it will be swallowed up whole by the universe. I try. I try to have a system, purge what I don't need, but I always end up with more than and not knowing where to start to get back on track. I hate this about myself, but AT LEAST I know this about myself.

My husband lives in a dream world that he is truly organized and he's the only one around here that is. I have found this extremely entertaining ... until recently ...

In the past 48 hours, he has blamed our son for many things, but my favorites being:

1. No internet. ("Goddamn it, Sydney, the internet isn't working! What did Owen do??? He's always messing around with things and goddamn it if he didn't do something to this computer!!") Knowing full well the kid had not been anywhere near the computer nor had he possibly been within touching distance, I start crawling around on my hands and knees by the computer desk. My husband has close to eight million cords and wires and crap to the left of this desk. I start tugging and pulling until anything lose comes up, leaving everything that should be hooked up, hooked up. Turns out, while he (my husband) was stepping over this mound of shit to get something, he unhooked the PHONE cord. No wonder we had no internet.

2. Vapo Rub. 3 a.m. a few days ago, I wake up to hear, "Goddamn it, Sydney!! Where's my Vapo Rub? I bet the baby took my Vapo Rub!! I'm sick! I need that goddamn Vapo Rub! The baby is ALWAYS in my things ... ". Turns out, this economy sized Vapo Rub that I purchased for him (after another 3 a.m. incident a few months prior) was right in front of his eyes, under the sink, where he last put it (and a child lock has been on the cabinet the ENTIRE time).

And now, this morning:

3. The checkbook. "Where's my checkbook? The baby took my checkbook!! I can't find it, it should be right here! He is NOT allowed anywhere near my desk ever again! Mother fuck! Where's my checkbook?"

And, ladies and gentleman, at this point I lose my sanity. Enough with blaming the baby for your stupid organizational issues. It's not fair to blame the baby. If you lose something, own up to it. Granted, there are plenty of things the baby does rip through (tupperware drawer, for instance), but he's not seeking out your freaking checkbook. Good God.

My husband decides that he is mad at me now (because I'm right), storms upstairs and gets ready for work. He comes back down 20 minutes later, proclaiming the baby "just maybe" didn't lose anything.

YOU THINK????

(and yes, the checkbook was IN the right place, right in front of him .... grrrrrr!!!)

The warden that showed up for my (ultra-hippie-colorado-esque) bird saving moment (thanks AM) wasn't the warden I went out in 1999. The guy that showed up yesterday was fat, ugly, smelly and mean.

As I recounted my story to my husband yesterday, he reminded me that the BTK Killer in Kansas was an Animal Control Officer too. Nice.

The guy I dated was a real good looking guy. It's too bad that the only thing I remember about him was the night vision goggle episode.

I know that not long after we stopped seeing each other, I met a guy who wanted to cook for me naked. I'm not sure that would be all that hot.

Hmmm, a weenie roast .....

This just isn't the week for birds on my street.

My neighbor called this morning to tell me we have an injured bird on our side of the fence (looks to be a pigeon). It can walk, but hasn't flown off when she's come close and thinks it has a broken wing. Being the dutiful lover of animals, I called the Denver Animal Control and they're coming out to get the bird.

Earlier in the week, we had a huge rainstorm - water flowing down the street like a river. My neighbor told me today her husband had gone out that afternoon, only to find a momma duck and 5 dead babies in a puddle. They figured the water came up and ... well .. you get the idea. When he went over to retrieve said dead duckies, the momma duck got up and had four live ones under her. She kept pecking at the ones not alive. My neighbor kept saying, "Oh man!! That duck has to be racked with guilt!" Her husband said, "K, it's just a DUCK!".

This got me thinking about how my dad would likely be rolling in his grave right now. I grew up on a farm, I know all about the circle of life and how some calves make it and others don't, no matter what you do. I once saved a cow from slaughter because it was nudging me in the side. It's not like I don't eat meat and can't have a steak - I do often. Dad would take me out and teach me how to shoot a gun, and once made me shoot a sick badger in our yard. I must have missed - because I remember screaming into the house that dad was a cold-blooded killer. (in retrospect, it was a good lesson to learn - but I proved once again, I wasn't an Annie Oakley).

So, here I sit, waiting for the game warden to come up and laugh at me for saving a little ol' pigeon ...

Sidenote: I dated a warden once. He was damn cute too, but insisted he wanted to have sex with night vision goggles. Here's hoping it's not the same warden coming today that I knew then. But, knowing my luck (or lack thereof), it will be ...

Pissed. Just pissed. Got wrong directions to my nephew's preschool graduation, drove around for an hour, had everyone looking on mapquest (idiots, you stupid idiot mapquest people!), couldn't find it, had to turn around and come home.

It's 9:00, the weather sucks, there's a tornado watch, baby and husband are sick, so I'm going to have a "heavy on the vodka, hold the green" martini.