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Open mouth, insert germs

I was heading home yesterday all fired up to do my P90 routine when Gina called and said that Ryan had a fever at day care. Gina had him at home, and I picked them up and headed to the pediatrician’s. At this point we may as well have a season pass to our doctor’s office. Boo was burning up and so out of it that he napped in the examining room, otherwise known in his unfevered mind as The Room That Makes Me Scream.

Our regular doctor’s partner walked in and gave Ryan a quick once-over. The good news: it’s not strep, and both the baby’s ears are fine. The bad: he’s got a lovely case of hand-foot-mouth disease. Yet another entree from the germ smorgasbord we’ve come to know as day care.

Not that it’s ever a good time for your baby to be sick, but this meant that we had to call my family and bow out of hosting Father’s Day. I didn’t think my sibs with babies would appreciate hamburgers and hot dogs on the grill and a contagious virus to go.

To add to our Friday excitement, we arrived home from the doctor to find that our power was out. A storm had blown in during our appointment and knocked out half the city. Thankfully it was back on by the time we returned from a buggy ride.

The baby was up on and off all night but he’s feeling better today. We’re hoping for a good, long healthy stretch once we’re out of the woods again. He must have been exposed to almost every known disease by now.

The problem with the germ buffet at daycare is for toddlers, it’s All You Can Eat.

Trashed

The garbage men took our trash can that Gina ran over. They must have been tired of our trash bags being wedged inside of it. Now she has her sights set on our recycling bin.

Hello, abs? It’s me, Moose

When it comes to inherited traits, I can thank my dad for my calm demeanor and blame him for my missing abs. All of the Moose boys are plagued with bellies with the consistency of jello, a genetic scourge which has claimed untold pairs of pants and belts, as well as our ability to easily see our feet. As my belly has taken on the same definition as the baby’s, I’ve decided to take action. I am reintroducing myself to the concept of (gulp!) exercise.

This is my fourth week and Gina’s second doing the P90, a series of fitness videos. The idea is that you get a workout in 30 or 40 minutes. But in order to do this, they don’t give you any time to putz around. You move from one exercise to the next in rapid, relentless fashion. This suits me fine, as I want to get the pain over with quick, but clashes with Gina’s legendary technique (at the gym, she was known as The Staller.)

The other idea behind the P90 is that by switching from one muscle group to the next, your muscles won’t have time to plateau so you’ll build them up faster. The P90 marketers call this concept “muscle confusion.” This must be working, because my muscles are positively befuddled. As in, “what are you doing to me?” and “why are we up so early?”

But there’s a line forming in my midsection I’ve never seen before. Out of the shapeless mass that is my belly, a muscle has emerged.

Fractured fairy tales

I was reading to Ryan after work and feeling fuzzy-headed. So after a few stories I stretched out on the living room floor. Ryan, not yet satisfied, picked up his heaviest book. Through blurry eyes I saw two pounds of fairy tales hurtling toward my face, perfectly aimed so that the corner caught me on my mouth. Gina came running when a rare expletive escaped my bloody lips. And there was Boo standing over his victim.

He should pick on someone his own size.

Badge of courage

Someone had a good checkup at the pediatrician’s yesterday. They were cooperative, calm and didn’t cry when it was time for shots.

So I told Gina she could pick out a sticker after the baby was done.

Helping hand

Ryan loves to unpack things, so when I set the groceries on the floor he made a beeline for them. He reached into the first bag and pulled out a box of Ziploc bags. Then he headed to the drawer we keep them in and dropped the box right in.

“He’s a genius!” I told Gina. Ryan went back to the bag. He pulled out another box of Ziplocs and stashed them in the drawer.

“Oh my goodness,” Gina said. We were in the presence of greatness.

Then Ryan emptied the rest of the bag and put everything in the same drawer.

Now I’ll know the first place to look if anything goes missing.

Ryan at 15 months

Our little guy continues to amaze us with how fast he’s growing up. It’s a joy to see his development, how’s he learning every day. Recently he’s mastered “uh-oh” whenever something’s dropped. He still loves books and helping Mommy with laundry and the dishwasher. He’s good at putting things back where he found them. He’s either bored or entranced by TV. He loves being outside. He’s figuring out how to get what he wants. He dances by stepping side to side. He loves music with a beat. He tries to say “ruff ruff ruff” like a dog but makes three cute squeals instead.

He enjoys unpacking things but only moves one item at a time. He’s finding that being on the ground in stores is way more fun than the cart. He flips pages faster than we can read them. He picks out his favorite books. He loves Mommy’s stuffed animal shows. He doesn’t mind his car seat anymore.

He delights in being mobile but sometimes can’t control his speed. He loves to play on top of our bed and scamper around in his crib. He shares his food with Mommy and Daddy. He’s good at stacking blocks. He insists on helping me practice guitar. He knows how to pitch a good fit.

He hugs our legs when he wants to be picked up. He makes epic messes of meals. He’s learning how to give us “five.” His Mommy cracks him up.

He tears his bibs off with gusto. He loves Mommy’s jewelry stand. He lies on the floor when he’s exhausted. Buggy rides make him snoozy. He plays under the kitchen table and pushes the chairs around. He’s just starting to try to climb onto things. He keeps us on our toes.

We remain in awe that we’ve been blessed with our beautiful baby boy.

Wearing thin

It’s week three of Ryan’s Let’s Wake Daddy! 2010 tour, but I’ve kept my grumbling (mostly) contained throughout my sleep deprivation.

Until last night. I know the baby’s sick, but it seemed like he got up at 4:00 a.m. to play. He was squirming in my lap, parading around, and wanting me to read books. I was not amused.

“No Ryan, it’s bed time, not play time,” I said, but not in my calm Daddy voice.  I gave him the old one-two of a bottle and a diaper change, and when he pitched a fit on the changing table my patience dropped one more notch. I took his diaper off and, feeling its weight, held it up to him.

“This diaper’s hardly even wet,” I said.

Ryan peed on himself on cue. It’s a lot funnier twelve hours later than it was in the middle of the night.

When it was time to wake Gina my surly side was still in full effect. She was ready to send me to my parents for a mini vacation. I felt bad about being impatient with Ryan even if I thought I was due, and am thinking it’s time to try to cure him of some of his bad habits.

But you’re still my favorite guy, Boo Bear.

Now how about a good night’s sleep?

Doctor daze

Yesterday Ryan developed a flat red rash on his neck and upper torso, so it was back to the doctor’s today. The good news is we’ve met our deductible. The bad news is we’ve met our deductible.

Turns out Ryan has strep throat, and the infection caused the rash. He’s on yet another round of antibiotics. At least his ears are clear. Gina had the job of wrestling Boo while he was being checked out. He’s fine when he’s in the waiting room but past that point, not so much.

Hopefully the second half of 2010 will be more doctor-free.

Bye bye `Becca

Today was the last day at work for our friend and Maternal Moose fan `Becca, who’s decided to leave the hazy smog of Northwest Indiana for the bright lights of Indianapolis. She’ll be letting her muse guide her and maybe getting a gig at a bakery. (I would advise against the one Gina worked at. They stirred the frosting vats with their bare arms.)

I missed ‘Becca’s going away lunch since I was back at the doctor’s office, where I was prescribed a chemical cocktail for bronchitis and allergies. But good luck, `Becca! You’ll be missed. We hope your future’s sweet.