Saint NJ's Infirmary

What's worse than having a stomach virus that makes you throw up a lot?

Maybe having that virus travel further through your intestinal tract, and dealing with the fallout from that?

And what if you added not one, not two, but three new teeth making their gum-breaking debut simultaneously?

And then, let's say, all three of those conditions hit at once. And on the weekend you turned fourteen months, too boot. Is that something you might enjoy?

Yeah, NJ's not enjoying either, let me tell you. Tired, whiny, no energy. The kid's scuffling.

The patient, in happier times (almost a month ago).

To be fair, though, NJ's whining has not escalated from her whining that I've been whining about lately. She's been sick on and off for about a month now, and she's been going to day care for a month and a half -- do the math there -- and when she had a stuffy head you could tell it frustrated her not to be able to breathe through both nostrils without all the snot and snot bubbles. But this is the first time I've seen her really look sick: pale (except the red cheeks from teething), wan, and a sort of tired, resigned. "when will this be over?" look in her blue eyes. She's been smiling some, too, but it's a little weary. There's might even be a little resignation to it (that I'm probably projecting). She's drinking water and Pedialyte and eating yogurt, and hopefully will graduate to Jello tonight. I put a bland rice-and-broccoli lunch in front of her today and the look she shot me was best described as "exasperated desperation." "You have got to be kidding me, old man!" her eyes said.

And the teeth: All on the top ridge, in various stages of unveiling. She's had only two teeth for so long now I'd almost forgotten more were due to debut. Two are through the gum and the third is right behind, so hopefully the worst of that is over.

All that said, NJ is a tough little tyke. She's still standing up and looking around for congratulations, crawling around the basement (a little slower), chortling at her dad's "anything for a laugh" act, and doing brainy things like putting a soft round block into a soft square block that has round hole in the center, and then popping it out again. She's down, but she ain't out.

Rubber Match

NJ should be home in an hour or so, and we'll see who'll win this week's best-of-five World Series of Teething.

Monday she came home with perfect teeth imprints on the back of her right hand.

At bath time Tuesday, we pulled her long-sleeved shirt off to find a giant mark on her left forearm that The Wife characterized as "a horse bite."

Wednesday morning I politely chewed out a very nice lady when I dropped NJ off at day care. Seems that a boy in her group is going through teething hell lately, according to his parents, and the day care folks would be more vigilant in overseeing them. Without blaming the biter, I explained that I thought one bite was understandable, but another bite the very next day seem a little ... unfortunate. "Maybe you guys could keep an eye on him and at least maybe let him gnaw on someone else for the rest of the week," I said, smiling big but trying to put a little "I mean it" in my eyes. That afternoon NJ sported no new bite marks, and I got an accident report explaining that she "got bit by a friend when they were playing together in the tomato house in the playground." Feeling like I was in control and getting results, I immediately demanded that they start spelling NJ's name correctly on her art projects, the nap tally board and other paperwork.

Thursday there were no new bites.

So: 2-2. Today will tell the tale. More later!

UPDATE: NJ didn't get bitten today! Some other girl gave her a big scratch on her arm, though, that warranted another accident report. So she wins the World Series of Teething, but it's something of a hollow victory.

It's Easy To Trace The Tracks Of These Teeth

The Wife brought NJ home from day care today and thrust three stapled pages at me. "Biting," the headline read. I scanned the first few lines, which outlined the reasons children bite other children. Before I could ask if NJ gnawed on someone -- she's still only got two teeth, but they are razor-sharp -- The Wife held the kid's hand out in my direction and showed me this:

Get forensics to make a cast of these bite marks and let's catch this perp.

The morning minder wasn't around by the end of the day, so The Wife didn't get the story (assuming the minder even saw the incident) -- whether NJ was all up in some kid's grill, or if there was dispute over toys, or if the other kid is teething terribly or just unhappy or anxious at day care, or what. All I know is that other kid had better run when he or she sees me coming, because I will make his or her life a living heck. Do you hear me, other kid? I will hunt you down Charles-Bronson-in-'Death-Wish' style. A. Living. Heck.

OK, not really. But keep your choppers to yourself, alright?

When the ladies got home NJ smiled real big and reached out for me, and now I can hear her happily chattering in the kitchen with The Wife, so she's obviously put the bite in her rear-view. Hopefully The Wife will get the lowdown tomorrow morning, and if it's at all interesting I'll update. But for now let's just chalk it up to kids being kids. At least the bite isn't contagious, like the two colds I've caught since she's been going to day care. (Unless rabies are involved, of course. Wait, what am I saying ...?)

It Had To Be Mexican Food

"Man, she sure is fussy today. What a moody little girl."

"No kidding! Let's finish up and get home. What do you want to do about lunch?"

"Burgers on the way? There's nothing to eat at home."

"OK. Hey, what's this? A new Mexican restaurant? Want to try it?"

"What about NJ?"

"She's not crying right at this moment. We can eat fast and get out of there."

"Hmm. Our choices are to take the fussy child home and get take-out on the way, or take the child into a restaurant and hope she can keep her cool for an hour or so, even though her mood is shifting from one extreme to the other and then back again in a matter of seconds."

"This menu looks pretty good."

"OK, let's go in!"

20 minutes later

"I dunno what's up. She acts like she's teething, but I can't feel any new teeth sprouting. You eat and I'll take her outside for a bit."

10 minutes later

"Here, let me try. We'll be right back."

8 minutes later

"Oh well. I'll take her to the car. You finish up and get mine to go."

2 minutes later

"Was everything OK?"

"Yes. We just gambled on the kid and lost."

"You never can tell with little ones."

"Oh, we had a pretty good idea."

4 hours, 2 bottles and 1 nap later, at the Arboretum's Japanese Garden:

Crying? Fussing? What the heck are you two talking about? I'm living la vida loca and loving every minute of it!

Nip Imp

NJ is scarfing down solid foods like nobody's business -- tonight: quinoa with vegetables, chicken and a little kalbi beef -- and The Wife is slowly phasing out the breastfeeding. One session in the morning, and one right before bedtime -- as much for comfort and routine as for nourishment.

She may pick up the pace on that phasing out, though, because NJ's newest big laugh is to not even bother to feed so much as just to bite. Those two little front bottom teeth, still nubbins but sprouting a tiny bit more every day, apparently are razor-sharp. NJ assumes the position, and mere seconds later The Wife is howling and pulling back while the kid giggles away. What used to take quite a while now ends abruptly, with a couple of calls of "Ow! Hey, no!", muttered recriminations, and baby laughter.

I sympathize with The Wife, but I do admire the kid's sense of humor. It's got an edge to it.

Sophie The Giraffe: 2009-2010

May she rest in peace.

Sophie the Giraffe was lost Tuesday, July 13, 2010, somewhere on The Circuit, the daily walk her owner, NJ, and her owner's father take when the weather is nice. Sophie proved an invaluable friend to NJ, who regularly gnawed on her head and feet and thrilled to her squeak. Sophie could usually be found on the dining room table, in NJ's diaper bag, in NJ's stroller or on the coffee table. The rubber giraffe had been lost numerous times before, most recently on Friday in downtown Portland, Oregon, but up until Tuesday had always been recovered and cleaned.

When asked about the loss of Sophie, NJ said: "Brab. Baden baden daden, oooyeeee urh. Dorg."

Sophie the Giraffe is survived by a freezable teething butterfly, a round rattle, a small teddy bear wearing a Texas Longhorns shirt, and a small, pink, stuffed dog named Puppy. She will be replaced immediately by another, identical Sophie the Giraffe.

Had Me A Swingin' Time

Dad Solo returned home last evening from a trip with his oldest close personal friend. We met up in a city we picked at random between Seattle and Houston so we could both travel there easily. It was fun, and I needed a little R&R after being on Parent Duty nonstop for months and months. Canyons were explored, wild donkeys were viewed, delicious meals were eaten, dice were thrown and elevens were doubled-down upon. Also, this was going on at our hotel, but we didn't buy a sequined glove or a pair of concert-worn socks. (I walked by once and overheard a woman holding a sheet of paper with a number on it telling a camera crew that it was "the happiest day of her life." Don't know what she bought, the poor thing.)

And, of course, a baby was missed. NJ is napping right now with the latest member of her stuffed animal collection, a donkey from the canyon. It might be time to look at other returning-home gift options, as her crib is filling up with stuffed animals. It's a tough call, though, because after months of indifference, she's completely into them now.

NJ had a big weekend while I was away. She sprouted Tooth No. 2, right beside Tooth No. 1, and got a new dress for a wedding we're attending in a couple of weeks. Sunday, she and The Wife teamed up with some friends for a zoo trip; NJ apparently was a big hit at the petting zoo, blowing into the place like Sinatra swaggering into the Sands.

And while I had an awesome time away, it was great to watch NJ smile, laugh and clap as I slid into the back seat yesterday upon my triumphant return to Seattle. She flirted with me all the way home, just the tonic for the weary traveler.

Crossing The Generation Gap

NJ's grandparents returned to Texas yesterday after a six-day love-in. NJ has been a little cranky lately -- and with a new tooth and a touch of diaper rash, who can blame her? -- but she still managed to turn on the charm and keep it flowing. (Of course, the Texas grandparents are a pretty rapt audience, and already in the tank for her. But nonetheless, she killed.)

The grandparents are so crazy about her that Gram didn't even complain when I put NJ's Willie Nelson onesie on her. That's true love.

Thanks for Tickle Me Elmo, Gram and Granddad! Mommy and Daddy love him too! Right, Mommy and Daddy? Elmo, the naked, fuzzy red guy? You like Elmo, too -- right, Mommy and Daddy? Hello? Heh ... well, too bad for you because I call the shots around here!

And Then There Was One

Monday: Inexplicably fussy baby can't be satisfied for a solid chunk of the afternoon (see photo, right)

Tuesday: Inexplicably fussy baby turns 10 months old as Texas grandparents arrive

Wednesday: Inexplicably fussy baby takes a day off the fussy

Thursday: Inexplicably fussy baby cries with Granddad on the sofa

Friday: Inexplicably fussy baby cries again on the sofa, hurting Granddad's feelings (although he wouldn't admit it); Dad Solo peers into fussy baby's gaping maw and discovers that yes, she will indeed sprout teeth after all

Saturday: Who knows? (UPDATE: Now we know -- a thirty-minute crying jag before afternoon nap. Hooray for teeth!)

Mother and Child Reunion

The Wife comes home tonight after leaving town Monday morning, and she's returning to a calm, peaceful household. NJ and I got along famously, adjusting our routines to account for her mother's absence. There are only two real changes: One is that NJ's evening bath/meal/bed routine is a little different because she finishes a bottle a lot faster than she nurses. The other, of course, is that I have to get up early, when NJ does, instead of relying on The Wife to do that and waking me later. A small sacrifice for the sake of the child's welfare, but make no mistake -- a small, happily made sacrifice is still a sacrifice.

The only threat of driving off the metaphorical cliff came Tuesday afternoon, when the kid awoke from her nap very early and threw a hysterical fit. It took about thirty minutes just to get her settled down. I don't know if she had the world's worst nightmare or if, despite there being no obvious visual evidence, teething has finally hit (seven and a half months and no teeth yet!) A little kitchen dancing soothed her, as did Dad Solo's singing. At last, I'm not the only person who appreciates -- or has even heard -- my Van Morrison impression.

Unfortunately for NJ, her mother won't be getting home until after her bedtime tonight. And unfortunately for The Wife, she won't be getting home until after NJ's bedtime tonight. So their reunion will have to take place tomorrow. It would be a lot of fun to watch, because NJ lights up like a Christmas tree when either one of us is gone for a while and then reappears. I'll miss that, though. I'm sleeping in.