The Swamp Monster ate my baby!

Or, rather, it ate something and left the remnants of the poor creature in my son's diaper. Repeatedly. And with gusto.

Turns out, daycare isn't the best place to take a child when you want him/her to remain healthy. Go figure, huh? I know that, in the long run, our Little Dictator will have the immunities of a staunchly hardcore Tea Party supporter (i.e. nothing will ever get to (or through to) him) but, until that magical day, our son seems to attract illness like Hot Topic attracts the perpetually emo. Ok, so it isn't as bad now as it was when he first started going to daycare - ear infections every month, diaper rashes that looked like he sat in red paint - but I still feel for the little guy.

Right now, he's just starting to get over a nice round o' Puke & Poop. This current ailment has him pooping what seems to be yellow, watered-down cottage cheese that smells even better than that sounds... and puking when he eats half of his normal amount of anything.
A handful of pretzel Goldfish crackers? Just fine.
Add a half-cup of applesauce? Mount Vesuvius has NOTHING on my son.
It's rare when I can stay home with the little Squish-nugget, but I was able to do so yesterday and take him to the doctor for a quick, panicked, "WHYYYYYY?????"-fest. An hour and a half later, we walked out with an anit-nausea prescription and advice to keep him away from all dairy except for hard, yellow cheeses.

Um... his favorite food is yogurt, and he has been asking for it non-stop. This will not bode well, Doc.  

The real kicker? Night time.
When sick, Bruiser doesn't like to be in his crib... far from his dear Mommy and Daddy, no... he likes to be **thisclose** and snuggle, cuddle, and flip-flop the night away. Unfortunately (for said Mommy and Daddy), he has now added a strange whine-cry-sniffle combination (hereunto known as "The Whicryniffle") to his flipping and flopping. Two nights ago, I believe this lasted for roughly two hours. Two hours in which I repeatedly tried contacting any deity that was awake at the un-deity-like-hour of 2:00 a.m. and promise them eternal fealty if they would just calm down my poor son.

If this is a foreshadow of what he'll be like when he gets sick as an adult, well, may God have mercy on his poor wife's soul. I'll be sure to bring her ear plugs.

A Letter to Bruiser, Vol. 1

In an alternate blogging world of mine, I maintain a blog called "The (Not So) Lovely Letters", in which I write letters to people (groups, individuals, classes, stereotypes, etc.) that I would likely never send. Hopefully. Um, yes.

Here is one that I wrote to our sweet Dookie-Doo back in March:

My Sweet Son (v.1)
Dear Bruiser,

While I'm sure you have a very valid reason for standing up in your crib in the middle of the night, shaking the bars and screaming in a way to cause the cats to hide in fear, I simply do not get it.

The last I checked, the following apply to you:
1. You do not work in a sweat shop in Taiwan.
2. Your diapers are changed regularly.
3. Your food is not only non-toxic, it is not found in a trash can or other such receptacle, nor is it comprised of feces, the flesh of other babies, or anything containing olives (which are equally as disturbing to your dear Mother).
4. You have ready and immediate supply to Infant's Motrin for your teething concerns... which appear to be many.
5. Your bed is not made of rock, nor is it outside in the elements.
6. Your clothes are made from comfy things, such as 'cotton'... not 'barbed wire'.

I fail, then, to understand why screams of terror and perceived abandonment were flowing from your sweet, little toddler-sized mouth.

However, since I am a loving Mother, I have brainstormed a (brief) list of solutions.

1. Go work in Taiwan.
(That way, your screams of mistreatment will be justified.)
(Mommy and Daddy could also use even a fraction of the money spent on your diapers back, thankyouverymuch...) Which brings me to:

2. Potty-train yourself.
(That way, your diaper will not only NEVER be of concern again (and, believe me, my son... your diapers produce a stench that is of considerable concern)).

3. EAT. MORE.
(That way, you will stay full longer... and not feel the need to suck down more milk than a freaking newborn at 3:22 in the morning.)

4. I really do feel sorry for you about all those sharp little teeth pushing their way through your gums. I do. Could you just find some way of communicating that that is the cause of your tantrum?
(You've mastered the 'feed me' sound of smacking your lips... you have a great handle on the sign for 'please' and can even say the actual word from time-to-time (even if it does sound more like 'mezz')... so is pointing to your mouth while you scream really that hard?)

5. Consider using that nice crib of yours for something other than a podium from which to spout your shrieking monologues.
(That way, Mommy and Daddy will have had the chance to do one (or more) of the following - sleep, have sex for only the third time this year, and/or have conversations that don't necessarily revolve around how ketchup somehow got in our hair after your lunch, the consistency of your diapers, or our rapidly depleting bank account thanks primarily to your rapidly depleting wardrobe. Which brings me to:

6. Consider the fact that Mommy had two older brothers as well as an older sister, meaning that she got boy hand-me-downs as well as girl hand-me-downs... which means, ultimately, that Mommy had to freaking cross-dress for a couple of years. You, my sweet son, are so, so lucky you don't have an older sister.
(This does, however, pose a budgetary dilemma. The rate at which you are growing - lack of sleep and erratic eating habits apparently aside - is freaking us out. You're only 15 months old, and yet you're about one french fry away from 24 month old sizing. Easter is next weekend, and I'm starting to worry that you won't be able to fit into the nice Easter shirt that I bought you last month... even though I bought a bigger size than you currently were.)

All-in-all, I'd say this was a very therapeutic letter. I was able to get things off my chest and, if you were able to read, you would (of course) take all of my suggestions to heart and magically transform yourself into the shining Beacon of Babyhood that I know you have inside of you.

In all seriousness, I love you with all that I am and then some. You are the most amazing creature I have ever met, and I would gladly spend the rest of my life (and have a strong suspicion that I WILL...) looking after you in any way I can. You are the best son a Mommy could ever have, and I love you now and always.

Now, sleep through the night again or Mama is going to lose her damn mind.

Hugs and Lovies,

Your Mommy

Sad thing is, a lot of that still applies...