The slippery sippy slope

Now that Ryan’s a Duck, he’s no longer allowed a bottle. It’s sippy cup or nothing, and he’s not liking that rule. I admit we haven’t been stringent about banishing the bottle, but now that daycare’s so hardcore we’re cracking down on the issue. This weekend we tried to stick to our guns and to beverages in cups.

Yesterday was one long sippy skirmish, but we managed to give him three servings. Today started well. He woke up and took the cup out of of my hand. But after a few swallows it was back to where’s my bottle?

By dinnertime Ryan had only had a few ounces of milk. We dutifully filled a cup and offered it for the baby’s review. He teased us again with a couple sips then proceeded to go ballistic. It’s his newest stunt, a red-faced tantrum he first debuted last Friday. He was bending backward and not too pleased. Gina and I had enough.

We both don’t see the value in daycare’s hard-and-fast sippy rule. Thirteen months seems pretty young to insist on going cold turkey. But we also figured we are the bosses, not some willful (but cute!) infant. If we caved, it would set a bad precedent. He’d be a difficult Duck.

None of this mattered much in the face of possible dehydration. So with Ryan still in the midst of his tantrum, we handed him a bottle.

He spit out his binky in a stream of drool and shut the tears off like a switch. Ryan happily chugged his milk.

Now he’s taking a victory nap.

Duck, duck Moose

The time has come for Ryan to leave the baby room at daycare. He’s been a “lamb” for the last nine months. Now he’s going to be a “duck.”

The idea was that this week Ryan would spend more and more time in the Duck room, then make the move permanent next week. The problem was that being carted between his usual room and the toddlers’ and back again was more confusing than helpful. He wasn’t eating much and was crying a lot, although he’s been happy at home.

So as of tomorrow Ryan is a full-time Duck. They’re jumping the gun by two days. The theory is that he’ll get used to the room without the disorientation.

We feel sad for Maria, his former caregiver who loves Ryan to pieces. She said he was the best baby that she’s ever watched. But it’s time for Boo to hang with the big kids and not the screaming infants.

Unlike the Lambs, the Ducks follow a stringent daily schedule. Gina brought home a list of their activities. It sounds healthy and fun. Then she came to the part about how no one is allowed to wear super-hero clothes. What?!! It’s some kind of attempt to curtail violent playtime among the kids. Apparently wearing your Batman hoodie is like flashing your toddler gang colors.

I guess I’ll change my Spider-Man shirt before I pick Ryan up.

Close call

I picked Ryan up from daycare Friday and was told he had a good day. I got him home, gave him a sippy cup, and tried putting him down for a nap. That’s been our routine for the last two weeks or so, and when he fussed as I laid him in his crib it wasn’t out of the ordinary. I picked him up, walked him some more and put him back in his crib. This time he went ballistic, so I went to scoop him up. But he twisted and screamed and threw his head back so forcefully I had to pull it forward. He cried himself red and was thrashing around like I haven’t seen before.

“Ryan, Ryan!” I said, but he wouldn’t acknowledge me. I stripped him down to his onesie, thinking he was overheated. But he spiraled further, pushing his head against the top of the crib. He refused his pacifier and was screaming himself hoarse. I got him to take a bottle. He chugged it down, then went back to shrieking.

Nothing was calming him down.

My cool head edged toward panic. I thought something was wrong with the baby. Gina was on her way to a restaurant to have dinner with some of my family, and I decided I’d have to call her. It was time to go to the ER.

Ryan didn’t want me to hold him, but if I left the room he got worse. I ran to the kitchen and got enough supplies to pack his diaper bag, then picked the baby up from the crib. He was still shrieking and throwing his head back. As I was carrying him through the living room, Gina called on her way to the restaurant.

And then the crying stopped.

I don’t know what it was, whether Ryan heard Gina’s voice or what, but he held still for the first time since his mystery tantrum began. I was out of breath, and Gina heard it. I told her what had happened.

“Should I still go?” Gina said. I told her not to worry about it, then let her go so I could walk the baby outside. It was cool but comfortable.

I paced the sidewalk for a while, then dared to go back inside. Back in the nursery, Ryan motioned to be placed in his crib. This time he scampered around his mattress, playing peekaboo with me. It’s one of his favorite games lately, and he acted like nothing happened.

I don’t know if it was some kind of perfect storm of a clingy baby, a stuffy house and a bad case of gas, but that’s not an experience I ever care to repeat. Let’s hear it for well-timed phone calls.

Infant impulse buy

Every few weeks or so I go online with my Xbox 360 and download a few things, whether it’s new songs for Rock Band or a retro arcade title. I was catching up on my Rock Band collection and Ryan was in the room, and as usual when I have a controller in hand he wanted in on the action.

The downloads are bought using prepaid cards, and I had $16 in credit. The plan was I’d buy three $2 songs and save the ten for something else. After the last song downloaded Ryan got fussy, so I plopped him in my lap. He randomly mashed some controller buttons, and as I looked up at the TV screen it said, “Download in progress.”

Download? I’m done with my downloads, I thought. But apparently Ryan wasn’t. He decided Daddy wanted to spend his last ten bucks on an expansion pack for Borderlands, a game I neither own nor want.

“Ryan, I don’t even have this game,” I said. Nevermind that a baby was purchasing a game rated M for Mature.

Now I’m the proud owner of an add-on pack that won’t work without the game it’s designed for and a baby who makes impulse buys that would get him carded in stores.

So that’s today’s parental lesson: never shop with a baby online.

Farewell, Mr. C.

At the end of a long week comes news that my lifelong friend and former roommate James lost his father last night.

The three Csonka boys (James’ dad and brothers Dale and Jeff) used to come over to our apartment on Christmas Eve. Usually I was out with my own family, but on one occasion I had the opportunity to hang out with James and his guests. The Csonka men enjoy their beer, and Mr. C. was mildly tipsy ensconced in our recliner, complaining that the music James played didn’t have enough Bing Crosby. After a while he nodded off. Then he snapped awake and, disoriented, blurted “WHAT’S GOING ON?!!” Just as quickly, he’d get his bearings and settle back into the chair. Then a few minutes later, he’d nod off again. Time passed.

“WHAT’S GOING ON?!!”

It’s a silly memory, but one of my fondest of a gruff but lovable guy. Here was a man whose favorite spot was a fishing lodge in Wisconsin, yet whose beautiful backyard garden was probably his truest expression.

Farewell and Godspeed, Mr. C. I’ll think of you each Christmas.

Deja flu

I’m taking a vacation day today since I’m out of sick days already. The winter has not been kind to me. I don’t know if I’ve had several bugs or one three-month long one, but my bronchial tubes need to give it a rest.

This latest bout comes hot on the heels of yesterday’s Manic Monday. I came home with Boo after dragging him grocery shopping only to be met by a rotten egg smell. Ryan’s been trying to turn on the oven burners for a while, and it looks like he succeeded. The stove was leaking from the time Gina left at 10:00 until I came home at 6:00.

I turned off the stove, opened the windows and got our air filter going. Then I foolishly stayed in the house long enough to give Ryan a bottle. After that common sense returned and we hung out with Gina in her office. By the time we left there and ate KFC, the house had aired out for three hours. But due to our impromptu quarantine, Ryan’s out of sorts today and possibly sick too.

Mental note: buy burner locks.

Is it Spring yet?

Vote of confidence

I’ve watched Ryan on my own before and managed to keep him intact. But for some reason, Gina sometimes forgets I’ve parented before. She’s on her annual overnight with four of our nieces, and before she left she gave me instructions I hopefully didn’t need. Like don’t forget to feed the baby, change his diaper and give him a bath. I exaggerate, but not by much.

When I called the hotel she’s staying at to tell Gina goodnight, she asked how Ryan and I were doing.

“First we went and played at the abandoned nuclear reactor,” I said.  “Then we sorted through the garbage dump for discarded razor blades. After that we sat around and drank expired milk.”

I’d like to think she didn’t believe I would do any of that.

One year checkup

Hot on the heels of learning that Ryan is going to be a Duck soon (the rooms at daycare are named after animals, and that’s one of the toddlers’ divisions,) it was time to take Ryan to his favorite place: the pediatrician’s! Though he normally cries on contact with the examining room, he was in a pretty jolly mood for the doctor. He weighs a respectable 23 and a half pounds and is 31 and a half inches tall, and got a clean bill of health except for some fluid in his ear.

He had to have four more immunizations, including the measles/mumps/rubella shot. I was a little nervous about that one since I’d heard that some kids have bad reactions to it, like fevers and rashes. But Ryan, being a tough guy, took the four jabs to his legs like a pro and stopped crying as soon as I picked him up. It’s been two days since he got them and he seems fine. More shots in another three months.

Our pediatrician, like our daycare’s staff, is pushing us to ditch Ryan’s bottles and packaged baby food. We’re supposed to be offering him nothing but sippy cups and table food at this point. But we’re bucking the system and trying to ease him into the transition. We think it’s a conspiracy to make our baby grow up!