danger

I wrote a post almost 2 weeks ago. I am only just now ready to share it. I decided not to edit it; instead, I’ll just leave this here, as it was when the emotions were raw. 

………………………..

Last night, I let Bumby fall down the stairs.

We were in the kitchen and he was standing up and holding onto the freezer. I was on the other side of the island from him, watching him and also trying to figure out how many pierogis are in a package. All of a sudden, he just took off for the stairs, cruising along the wall. I screamed “Bumby, NO” and he just laughed and went faster.  I couldn’t get to him in time. He turned to look at me with an evil little glint in his eye, and then stepped deliberately backwards off the top step.  He slid all the way down to the bottom on his back, head first. I was one step behind him, screaming NONONONO the whole time. When he got to the bottom, I finally caught up with him and scooped him up.  He fussed for a minute but never seemed to really even cry.  I held him and patted his back and cried. He smiled at me and tried to shove his fingers up my nose.
I think he had lifted his head up so he kind of slid down the stairs on his back, rather than banging his head all the way down.  I had tossed a cardboard box down the stairs to take out to the recycling, so he hit that at the bottom and didn’t slide onto the stone tile.  His pupils were reacting, and he has no bruises.  I had my sister call her boyfriend, who is a doctor, and he said that if Bumby was acting normally afterward, with no injuries and no tears, he is likely fine and there is no reason to go to the ER.
My logic-brain says things like, “This kind of thing happens to all kids.”
“That is why kids are made of rubber. Bumbys bounce!”
“I was watching him, but just wasn’t fast enough. It could have happened to anyone.”
None of this matters. It didn’t happen to all kids, it happened to mine. It didn’t happen on anyone else’s watch, it happened on mine. I spent the night terrified that he would not wake up.   Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my baby sliding backwards down the stairs.
I had planned to write this with a little humor interjected — What do you know? Kids apparently have no self-preservation instinct whatsoever, because Bumby flung himself down a flight of stairs while laughing maniacally at my attempts to save him from himself. But the truth is, I’m just not there yet. Everywhere I look, the world suddenly seems like such a dangerous place. This thing is sharp, that thing is a choking hazard, these stairs are DEATH TRAPS and should not be permitted in residences.
This is right on the heels of a work mistake (two, actually). I was, for once, feeling rather on top of things at home, and thinking perhaps I should not bother with the whole gainful employment thing, and should stay in the domestic realm where I was hitting it out of the park. That is over now.  I sincerely hope this is the third thing in the trilogy of bad things that are coming in threes.

This sh*t is bananas

Bumby said his first word last night, and of course, it was a demand for food. Specifically, that delicious but constipating food known as a banana. Or, more specifically, “anana.” 

This after he has already eaten all the chicken, beans and corn out of my chili, a plate of leftover spaghetti, two crackers, and 5 grapes. 

A child after my own heart. We gave him the banana, of course. 

reflux firstĀ 

I can actually learn things, people. It’s true. So perhaps I am approaching the intelligence level of a domestic dog. 

The last thing I wrote about Bumby’s reflux noted that I wished I considered his reflux first, instead of wondering and waiting and thinking it was instead a cold/teething/growth spurt/developmental leap every time his sleep goes to shit and he gets grumpy during the day. Well! It’s happening again. 

At his last GE appointment the doctor was actually great (thank god) and said that although she could increase his Prevacid dose due to his weight gain, if he was doing okay we should leave it as is for now, and change it later if we needed to. He was, so we did. And now, we do. 

Last weekend we were traveling for Thanksgiving, so I chalked up his crappy sleep to a new bed, a cold room, and a lot of new people in the day. I popped him into bed with me when he woke, and stuck a boob in his mouth when he cried. The goal was “as much sleep as possible tonight.” I figured we’d get him back on track with sleeping long stretches when we got home. 

We are home now, and the sleep is still bad. Until about 2 am, at which point he sleeps through. I have weaned him off all of his early night nursing, so when I looked at the pattern, I thought, oh yes. Belly full of food and milk = waking every hour. Digestion complete = sleeping 5-6 hours at a stretch. It was a lightbulb moment. 

Yesterday he assured me that I was right about the cause of his night waking by arching backwards after a midday nursing session, screaming, and vomiting on me. After throwing up, he looked at me and whimpered. I looked closer at his behavior, and I saw it. Little grouchy spit ups here and there. Burping and swallowing spit up back down each time. It’s the reflux, for sure. 

Total time to see it: 5 days. Not weeks and weeks of wondering and waiting and staying up all night. 

So today I will call his doctor and see what his correct dose should be for his 25lbs and 12oz. Yes, he’s a big baby.