diaper changing, a traumatizing experience

I've thought about video-taping a diaper changing episode to show you exactly what I deal with every few hours on a daily basis, but I figured that putting my son on the internet sans clothes was a bad idea (even though it would make great blackmail material when Parker is a teenager). So instead of a video documentary, I will describe it to you.

This morning, for example, I fed Parker his breakfast. Approximately 4 minutes after eating, he is off in a corner playing. He abruptly stops digging at/banging the AC vent and stands up. You might think he was just standing there doing nothing (think whistling, looking-at-the-ceiling, no-one-is-pooping-here baby), but I know better. I knew he was pooping, so when he finished and went back to playing, I knew he needed changed...contrary to what he was trying to convince me of.

So I scoop Parker up to carry him to the changing table, and this is when the drama starts. "WAHHHHHH WAHHHHHH WHY ARE YOU TAKING ME AWAY FROM throwing all my books on the floor/ripping all the pages out of my books/popping all the lids off of my formula/getting into the cabinet with all the cleaning supplies/digging in the litter box........etc. etc. etc."

Then he usually stops crying momentarily while I am holding him, until he sees us closing in on the changing table. Then he starts freaking out again, since he knows the torture that I am about to give myself him. I lay him down and try to play with him. I sing to him and give him ANYTHING he wants to hold (including the fan/light remote, car keys, my ipod, my phone, a bottle...you name it, I've tried it)...but he is no longer fooled. He knows I am going to change him so he uses all his tiny muscles to flip over.

I flip him back over. He is screaming.

I get his diaper off. Pee diapers are not too bad. Poop is much worse, but if I know it's there I can have the wipes open and ready to go. The worst situation is when I have a ghost poop. A ghost poop occurs when you think you are only changing a pee diaper, but when you open it up you have poop instead, and you are completely caught off guard.

How on earth do ghost poops happen? I'm guessing a good diet of probiotics from yogurt...it makes the poop almost undetectable by smell. Either that, or I am so desensitized by bad smells at this point that my nose just doesn't work.

If I have a ghost poop, usually I don't have the wipes open and I certainly don't have a wipe pulled through the hole. These poops almost always happen when the wipes are near the bottom of the container and I'm desperately shoving my two longest fingers in the wipe hole opening trying to reach the bottom to grab a wipe.

You would think there was a million dollar bill at the bottom of that container then way I am sweating and trying to reach down there. 

While I am trying to reach the wipes at the bottom of the container, Parker is fighting the hell out of me...while the diaper is open. I am now using one hand to try to keep his grabby-hands away from his poop covered scrotum while simultaneously I am holding his feet up at his ears. He is still screaming bloody murder.

So I use the poopy diaper to try to wipe some of the crap off his butt so that maybe I'll only need 50 wipes instead of 75. I finally get a wipe out of the container, and start wiping and cleaning and trying to keep those damn little hands away from the poop.

Then here's the best part: Parker has somehow learned to soothe himself during these extremely traumatic experiences by squeezing his butt cheeks together and bouncing his butt up and down while frog-legging his legs. BOING BOING BOING. So I have one second between boings to wipe in his crack before he clenches up again.

Clench, boing/wipe. Clench, boing/wipe.

Does anyone know what I am talking about here, or is my son completely out of his mind??? 

At least he usually isn't screaming anymore. It just takes me at least 10 minutes to get him cleaned up.

Putting the new diaper on is also difficult because all Parker wants to do by this time is get off his back. He can't stand it (odd, coming from a baby who also HATED tummy time...).

I finally get the diaper on and his clothes put back together. I pick him up and he always acts like nothing happened.

When do kids start to cooperate with diaper changes?????

day care disaster

When we moved to St. Louis I heard from other moms to get on the waiting list for day care ASAP. So in August I googled "Wash U daycare" and found their website. I filled out their wait list application, mailed them a check, and was waiting waiting waiting until Friday of last week.

They called to tell me they had a spot, I immediately agreed to take it, and Parker was going to start May 1st. I was so relieved. When I was writing the check my husband asked me to verify the cost, because it seemed to be more than other residents were paying. I emailed the director and she called me.

After a short conversation she informed me that I have been on the wrong wait list the entire time. I was on the wait list for attending physicians, fellows, and graduate students. There is a separate wait list for residents...and the two different day cares are not affiliated with one another. Therefore, my time did not transfer and they could not accept me. 7 months of thinking I was on top of the daycare situation, and THEN they drop this bomb on me. And they drop it a month before I need child care. But not to worry, she is very sorry and will refund me the $150 I already paid to hold my spot.

I was SO ANGRY on Friday I was shaking. I felt completely...victimized? Screwed? Someone should have caught this when I first mailed in my application. In addition, I called several times between them receiving my application and my being accepted and subsequently kicked off on Friday, and made it PERFECTLY clear that my husband and I were residents. No one said a thing.

I called the director back and, as calmly as I could, I informed her that I thought the fair thing for them to do was to make an exception for us and let us enroll until the correct daycare had a spot for my son. The director said she would call their Wash U liason and talk to them about it. On Monday I got called back with a big, fat no. No exception...they cannot take my son.

I then called the regional manager of the day care. I explained that this is no one person's fault, but someone should have informed me during one of several phone conversations that they don't take resident's children...someone should have caught the error. I told him that one problem is that their staff don't understand the difference between a medical student, a resident, a fellow, and an attending. I also told him that their website doesn't specify who they take and who they don't take. It says it's for "Wash U faculty and staff." The application is equally vague as it doesn't ask you to put down your occupation; it only asks you to put down your "company name" (which I put down as "Wash U surgery").

The regional director (and actually everyone I spoke with) was extremely nice and apologetic. The problem is that I'm still completely up a creek, if you will. The regional manager said he was going to talk to someone to see if maybe they can accept us, but it doesn't look promising. I am supposed to hear back from him on Monday.

In the meantime, I've been getting on wait lists left and right. I am calling around to home day cares also. The problem is that the day cares that have open spots for a 12 month old have serious problems. Stay tuned for an update about the centers I've visited...you won't be disappointed.

Occam's razor burn

I know a lot about my husband's toileting routines. I know that he is almost 30 and uses Axe hair gel (so he can get some "hair action"), that he uses WAY too much face wash, and that he showers in the morning and bathes at night. I also realize that his bowels cannot move properly without the aid of his iPad. One thing I don't know about him is the kind of razor blade refills he uses.

I knew he was out of razors, so when I was at Target I actually remembered he needed them (it's a big deal if I remember to buy anything besides baby stuff) so I went down the shaving aisle. I had no idea which razors he used. I tried calling him but he didn't pick up, and since Parker was causing my arm to feel like it was going to fall off at this point in the shopping trip, I decided to just buy him a pack of disposables. I didn't buy the 0.99 cent Bic ones, I bought ones that I thought were good. They had at least 3 blades. They weren't generic. The aloe strip wasn't microscopic.

I felt like such a good wife since I remembered to pick up razors, even though I knew they weren't the right ones. Tim was very thankful.

The other night, he was shaving with one and was complaining about how bad they were. The thing is, he was practically on his last one...he never told me to get different ones. I just assumed they were fine. After he was done shaving, his neck looked the a cheese grater had attacked him.

Then I had a brilliant idea.

"Here baby, I have some lidocaine gel you can use for your neck."

Lidocaine gel...aka Bikini Zone.

Bikini Zone, in case you aren't familiar, is a gel for use after shaving your bikini area. It has lidocaine in it, so I figured it would be great for Tim's face and would make his irritation feel better. Soooo I squeezed a huge amount into his hand and waited for a blissful look of pain relief to spread across his face.

Apparently the skin on the face and neck is a little more sensitive than the skin of the bikini area (in my defense, you can see how I might have thought the opposite, no?). Tim rubbed all the gel onto his neck and started scream-laughing and fanning his face while jumping up and down. This was like the reaction in Home Alone with the aftershave, except a million times better.

He yells at me, "What did you give me?!?!" So I showed him the Bikini Zone.

Of course, he wasn't exactly happy that I had given him crotch cream for his face, but I was laughing so hard that I didn't care.

We learned a valuable lesson here, and that is not to use Bikini Zone on the face. Apparently it stings. A lot. Apparently it also smells bad (contrary to their advertisement of a "light refreshing scent"). I wouldn't know, since I've never put it near my nose.

I will say that the next day, after the angry red burned-skin look had abated, his face and neck looked smooth and irritation-free. You're welcome, my love.

The sad thing is, I still don't know what kind of razor blades he uses. I never thought this would be in the "need to know" category of wifery.

racism is a pediatric disease

Are you totally sick of the racism and intolerance that still runs rampant throughout this country? Please read for the brown boys, a post from Mom's New Stage. It's touching and will hit home to every parent. Let's stop corrupting our children with racism, because they all start out perfect.

{But not all as perfect as this...couldn't resist putting in a picture of my son as a newborn :)}

picture perfect

When I was a kid, I was a very selfless little girl. I always put others first, especially my grandparents. This is a letter I sent to my grandmother when I was a kid.

It reads, "Dear Grandma, Please send me a letter." I wrote my name at the top so she wouldn't accidentally send one of my siblings (or God forbid, one of my cousins) a letter instead of me.

The following represents the time in my young life when I realized that I would never become an artist. Feel free to admire the following self portrait (and what self portrait is complete without a rainbow to accompany it?):

I may or may not have been somewhere near high school when this was drawn.

hooking up isn't always cheating

Today I am linking up with Mom's New Stage for a Q and A session. This is very exciting for me for several reasons.
1. It means my blog was interesting enough for a fellow blogger to include me (thank you!)
2. It came at a great time, since after a very stressful week I am having writer's block
3. Focused writing is good writing

The first "rule" is to post the rules, so here they are:
1. Post the rules.
2. Tag up to eleven bloggers by posting links to their blogs, and let them know.
3. Create eleven questions for the people you’ve tagged.
4. Answer the questions your tagger posed for you.
5. Have fun!

So I don't know 11 bloggers, but I will tag a few blogger friends who I follow:
Confessions of a Recovering Supermom
Dollops of Diane
Dr. Princess
Misadventures in Motherhood
Pampers and Pumps
Team Studer
The Misanthropic Father

Here are the questions I will be answering:

1.  How long does it take you to write a post?
It depends on how excited I am to write it. Sometimes 10 minutes and sometimes 10 hours. Maybe I should avoid posting the ones that take 10 hours. 

2.  What does hubby think about your blogging?
He feigns interest. I make him read most of my posts. He is kind of an egotist...he likes the ones I write that mention him, even if they cast him in a less-than-perfect light. (Hi Baby!)

3.  Number of times per day you check your stats?  I ask because I have a problem.
HA! I have that same problem. I check it like a crack addict the day I've written a post. Then maybe once a day on the days I don't post. Very rarely, I'll go an entire day without checking. 

4.  If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?
My first inclination was to say anywhere, as long as I am with my husband and son. But that's not entirely honest, so I won't lie. I'll say San Francisco. I've never been there, but the gays know how to live and all the hype about the area has to be about something!

5.  Time you go to bed vs. when you should be in bed?
I go to bed between 10 and 11. I really should go to be between 9 and 10, since my son is still waking up no later than 5 am. I'm torn between loving his early bedtime (between 6 and 7 pm) and hating his early awakenings. 

6.   Current fashion trend you'd pay to have bombed off the earth immediately?
Those toe shoe sock things that people run in. I'm not even sure if this is still considered trendy since I'm the most unfashionable person I know. But if it is still cool, it's a total gimmick. Hope all you people enjoy the unnecessary tetanus shots you'll need from running in those things!

7.   If someone put you in Target right now, what is the first thing you'd buy?
I'm salivating at this question. Probably shampoo, since we are running dangerously low. Then I'd look at the bathing suits and think about how I used to be able to look good in a bikini.

8.  What makes you laugh these days?
Reading people's blogs. And watching AFV (that's America's funniest home videos, for the lay people). 

9.  Toy you would very much like to see your child "lose"?
Hmm...this is a tough one since my son is only 11 months old. I can't wait to retire the exersaucer since it's such an eyesore in the living room and I'm really tired of stubbing my feet on it. 

10.  We all read about stars and think "Hey, she's normal! We could hang!" You know you do! Name a female celeb you think would be a good pal.
This would be an easier question if it asked who I would never hang out with (Jessica Alba, Jennifer Garner) but to answer it I'll say Emma Stone.

11.  Can you talk about personal goal for 2012?
My goal is to maintain blogging after I start working as an OBGYN resident in June. It might not be easy, but pregnant women do so many funny things it shouldn't be hard to come up with material. Women in general make amusing patients. I once had this really sweet teenage girl come in for her first gyn visit. When her parent left the room, I asked her if she had any questions while we were alone. She asked, "How do you know if you've had sex?" WOW that one took me off guard!

And there you have it, some insight into me!
For the people I tagged, here are your questions if you so choose to answer them (if not, enjoy the free publicity!!)
1. Is there anything you are looking forward to when your child hits their next stage of childhood? If you are childless, is there anything you are really looking forward to about having children?

2. What would your dream house have that is a unique expression of yourself?

3. What's your favorite TV show nowadays?

4. What do you secretly love about your significant other that they may not know you love? If you are single, what do you look for in a partner?

5. What really annoys you in a relationship?

6. What got you into blogging?

7. How do you feel about kids on leashes?

8. What is something embarrassing you've done lately (or seen happen to another person)?

9. Do you have April Fools plans?

10. Do you still celebrate your birthday?

11. How much time do you spend on facebook?

the stress of matching...a hairy situation

Monday I find out if I match into a residency program here in St. Louis. This has been an extremely stressful week for me, waiting and waiting to find out.

Saturday, I realized that what I was feeling was well beyond stress...it was straight up panic. My indicator? My trichotillomania flared up again. Yeah...I wish I was kidding about this one, OHHHH but I'm not. When I wasn't happily being distracted by Parker, like when he was napping, I found myself literally standing at the window, looking outside, and pulling my eyebrows out. I know, wtf, right?

Most people with trichotillomania pull out their eye lashes, so I don't know why I go for the brows. Just another neurotic thing I do, I guess.

So I'm standing there like a CRAZY person, staring outside....mooooooonday is coming....monday is coming...PLUCK...MONDAY is coming...PLUCK....FUCKING STOP PULLING OUT YOUR EYEBROWS.

Check facebook.

Monday is coming...PLUCK...

I try to make myself feel better by saying, Okay, I'll only pull out the raggy ones, not the smooth ones. But eventually I don't discriminate. I've had one other major trichotillomania episode in my life. It was in med school, and I pulled almost EVERY ONE of those fuckers out. It was SO embarrassing.

 Those brows were not shaped that way on purpose. It wasn't pretty, took a long time for them to fill back in, and they never looked the same.

I hope that blogging about this will make me aware that now that other people will be paying attention to my brow situation, I will stop doing it. Here's hoping. Anxiety is a bitch, people.

I might be less stressed about the whole thing if my family, bless their hearts, would stop pretending like there is no chance for me not to match. They have no idea how the process works. Much stranger things have happened. Lots of competitive people don't match. I calculated some stats...last year 10 people who applied to OBGYN ranked only 3 programs. 6 of them matched, 4 didn't. I figure that gives me about a 60% chance...maybe slightly higher.

This is the problem when you academically succeed your entire life (please forgive the egotistical nature of this statement)...you're not allowed to worry about failing. This makes the anxiety even worse, because I'm not allowed to discuss it with anyone who isn't in medicine. And if I did fail, everyone's disappointment would be unbearable. Telling me, "Don't worry you'll match...you always succeed," is the least helpful thing to say to me. It's actually kind of insulting. What's better is to say, "You'll find out soon, and if you don't match, have a plan."  Thank you friends who know how this process works. This is the right thing to say.

Other things not to say are "think positive thoughts.' My dad has been thinking positive thoughts about winning the lottery for decades now...it hasn't panned out well for him. 

My plan for if I don't match is to book the next flight down to Gainesville so I can try to scramble into a medicine preliminary year here in St. Louis. And hope for some divine intervention that my adviser can make some calls before I get there. Having this plan makes me feel a little bit better. Hopefully it won't have to be implemented.

pooping: a luxury I don't have

Prior to having Parker, there were things I used to be able to do without having to do them lightning-quick or with a person attached to me.

One of these things is pooping. And eating...among other luxuries.

Let me describe to you Tim's bathroom habits. He poops at least twice a day while at home. I have no idea how many times he goes at work, but the man has overactive bowels. When he goes at home after he works, he takes his iPad and a beer in the bathroom with him and spends 20-30 minutes in the bathroom "pooping" (aka playing some football game on the iPad, or reading, or whatever else men do in the bathroom), in total spa style. Sometimes he will call out, "Babe! Can you bring me another beer?!"

I am making a blog post out of this because it really makes me angry. If you are a normal parent, one who has spent any period of time alone with a baby, you can understand my annoyance.

Let me describe to you how pooping is for me. I have to bring Parker in with me. I stand him up at the bathtub while I quickly lift the lid and sit down so as to block him from exploring the toilet water with his head and hands. At the bathtub he knocks every bath item into the tub. After he does this, he gets bored, so I have to sit him in my lap and read him a story. He's bored. So I put him on the ground, where he cruises to the back of the toilet and tries to stick his hands into the crack between the water reservoir and my ass so he can reach into the toilet water. So now I have to lean back all the way to block his hands. This is not a comfortable or a natural pooping position.

 At some point he makes his way to the cabinets under the sink, which don't have a lock on them. He pulls them open and bangs them shut, OPEN, SHUT, OPEN, SHUT, while his fingers dangle perilously over the top of the doors. So I have to put my hand at the top of the door to block Parker's fingers from being pinched at the top. BANG BANG BANG BANG against my hand. Yes, it hurts. Yes, I think to myself "Damn I really need to put cabinet locks on." Every. Time.

This is the epitome of multitasking. 

And then there's the wiping process. Parker's second favorite thing to eat is toilet paper, so I'm fighting his grabby-hands off while trying to wipe. It's AWFUL.

I've tried to poop only while he naps, but after I have my morning tea I have to go...like quickly. And the caffeine is just too important. So short of stealing Parker's diapers, this is the way it has to be.

Are you wondering why I don't just close the door and lock him out? Perhaps you haven't seen the  separation anxiety video. Also, he manages to hurt himself when left unattended for more than 20 seconds.

Since it's not fair to be mad at Tim for something he is totally ignorant about, the next time Tim yells for me to bring him another beer, I am going to bring him Parker. He has no idea what he's missing out on and what he takes for granted.

crotch attack

Today it was absolutely beautiful here in St. Louis, a very balmy 75 and sunny. I was looking forward to getting out with Parker as soon as the garage repair man came to fix our garage. He came out and within 5 minutes said he needed to fix some motor something, but I would need to back the car out in order for him to access the motor part. I ran into our apartment to grab the keys. I couldn't find them anywhere.

I called up Tim to see where he put them. He doesn't answer, so I go back out and arrange for the repair guy to come back tomorrow, since my husband misplaced our keys. They ended up conveniently being in his pocket at work. This doubly sucked since our stroller was locked in the car.

Since I really didn't want to waste all day inside, I strapped Parker into the Baby Bjorn and decided to go for a walk. This was a mistake from the get go. He is just too heavy for me now that he is 10 months old. He is still really small for his age, but so am I. I just don't have the muscle capacity to walk very far with him. So we get a little way down the street and I turn around.

We are intercepted by this very sweet, elderly woman who is walking her poodle. She stops us so she can talk with Parker. "Oh she's a little girl?" Well no, she's a boy. But I can see how that might be confusing by the red and brown onesie, brown pants, and blue sunhat that he is wearing.

Then something happened that was borderline criminal...I'm almost ashamed to disclose this. She reaches for Parker's foot. Since he is in the carrier you can kind of picture where his foot is in relation to my body. In the process she totally swipes at my pelvic area and ends up hitting me right in the crotch. I was so startled I jumped, which startled Parker, which caused him to kick this woman, which startled the woman.

We both jump away from each other.

"Oh my, he doesn't like his feet touched!"

Ya...that's the problem. Not your hand-eye coordination.

I don't even know what to say to her comment, because I am still recovering from being molested by a little old lady and her poodle. I safely back up a step and divert all our attention to her dog. We managed to sneak away without further inappropriate contact...but in the meantime, I'm really going to retire the Baby Bjorn. It's just too dangerous now.

when vacations attack: part 2

With part 1, we left off getting off the plane in Florida with an ill, naked baby after an extremely unpleasant flight.

The following days entail Parker getting progressively sicker. He starts doing the combo vomit/diarrhea thing. By day 3, Tim and both of his parents have been infected. The house smells to high heaven. Everyone is too sick to get out of bed except to hit up the bathroom. I am the only one who managed not to get sick.

And ooooh lucky me. As I was the only well person in the house, I had the pleasure of desperately trying to keep Parker clean, hydrated, and out of the ER. Tim and his parents were amazingly helpful, even in their debilitated states.

At day 3, Parker became listless and did nothing but moan. I started to really worry. He was actually floppy, and I was just about to make the executive decision to take him to the emergency room when he puked all over my father, who came for the day to visit. He perked up after that, so we decided to ride it out for another day.

He was up all night again with lots of diarrhea and lots of crying. So on day 4 we took him to an urgent care center that advertised that they treated kids. After seeing this doctor, I'd venture to say that he doesn't frequently see children...at least not young ones. He diagnosed Parker with an ear infection and gave him a prescription for an antibiotic.

The doctor didn't do anything wrong, per se, but he prescribed azithromycin for the ear infection. Besides the fact that the treatment of choice is amoxicillin, azithromycin tastes like shit. When you combine bad taste with a baby who is already vomiting and diarrhea-ing all over the place, you get... more vomiting. Obviously Parker wasn't absorbing any of this drug, so we needed an alternative.

I called up the doctor to ask if we could get an antibiotic shot. He said no. So I made an appointment with an actual pediatrician down there and took him in. This doctor and I had major communication issues...long story short, he didn't give us a different antibiotic. Without me asking for anything other than a different antibiotic, he prescribed cough syrup (not that I'm complaining since it is knock-out juice, but NO ONE does this anymore), Zofran (anti-nausea medication), and Imodium (google this for an infant....it's practically contraindicated). Bless this doctor's heart for trying to make my baby feel better, but read a freaking journal once a decade.

The next day Parker was still vomiting this crap up, so I called Dr. Azithromycin back to see if we could get amoxicillin....his response was "If your kid is still vomiting, you need to take him to the ER." Umm...you're not listening to me, sir. He is only vomiting up the antibiotic. Dr. I'm-too-lazy-and-incompetent-to-treat-an-ear-infection didn't care, and wanted to pawn us off on the nearest ER. This is why the ER is full of people who don't need to be there. This is part of our nation's healthcare problems.

Finally I did the most sensible thing...the thing I should have done in the first place. I called Parker's own pediatrician in St. Louis. I frantically explained that in 36 hours we would be boarding a plane with a baby with an untreated, raging ear infection (and terrible diarrhea). She called in amoxicillin and Parker has been tolerating it ever since.

On the ride home from the pharmacy, where we picked up the amoxicillin, Tim was horsing around with me while he was driving, and ended up badly curbing his grandmother's Cadillac SUV. The passenger rear tire deflated immediately, and the front tire had a huge bleb in it. $200 and hours later, we had the car back in working condition. Of course, now it was too late to get that first dose of antibiotic into Parker since he was in bed for the night. 

As far as our "vacation" went, we didn't end up doing anything we had planned on doing. Tim didn't get to introduce Parker to the pool or the beach. No cute pictures of Parker in his bathing suit, rash guard, and sun hat (mega sad face for this one). No movie at the theater. We couldn't even take Parker to visit with his great-grandma for fear that her 80+ year old immune system would send her to the ICU if exposed to this monster virus.

The only good thing was that Parker got to visit with his grandparents (and his dad...let's be honest, he doesn't get to do that very often). I think in the future, if my mommy instinct is telling me not to travel with Parker, I will follow it. Even though we couldn't have predicted how sick Parker was going to become, something in me knew it was a bad idea to travel with him and over-exert him. Now if we could only get the dads plugged in to this instinct...

Update: Just in case you're curious, it is 10 days later and Parker has still not had a normal bowel movement. Also, somewhere during that week Parker's second top tooth erupted. That's 3 new teeth during that week of gastroenteritis, ear infection, and upper respiratory infection. I can't imagine how bad he was feeling.

when vacations attack: part 1

Tim and I just got home from the world's worst vacation. Ever. I feel bad saying this because my in laws tried SO HARD to make it as nice and relaxing as possible...but despite their best efforts, it was pretty much futile.

**Every word of this story is true. Believe it or not.**

I'll begin with the events leading up to our arrival in south Florida.

1 week prior to flight: Tim and I fantasize about long days spent at the beach and pool, drinking cocktails, and not worrying about our infant son who would be in great hands with his parents. Tim went as far as to say that maybe we could go out to see a movie. I thought, maybe even a movie AND dinner. It was going to be warm, sunny, relaxing...

4 days prior to flight: I take Parker to the library for story time. There are no less than 15 disgusting babies ages 0-4 years old snotting all over place while Parker happily mouths everything in sight.

3 days prior to flight: Parker has play group with a bunch of seemingly healthy babies.

1 day prior to flight: Parker vomits in the morning. His top tooth erupts.

Night prior to flight: Parker vomits all night, requiring full bedding changes and midnight bath. He seems ill...for reals.

5 hours prior to take off: Tim and I have a debate over whether we should fly or not. By debate, I mean that I say I think he is too sick, and Tim says the tickets were way too expensive, non-transferable, and non-refundable. Therefore, the only way we are not getting on the plane is if he is actively dying.

My sick son with raging teething cheeks.

2 hours prior to take off: Massive diarrhea at the terminal, with blowout. Spare outfit employed.

Leg 1 of flight: Parker refuses to take any formula or food. He sleeps most of the time, but when he is awake he is fussing up a storm. Parker has his third bottom-row tooth erupt.

Leg 2 of flight: Parker takes a bottle, vomits it up, and has massive blow out #2. Tim gets covered in shit. His pants are covered, his jacket is covered, both sleeves are covered from the previous blowout. I get out of my seat to access the overhead bin to find diaper changing material, only to have the overhead bin door fall off in my hands. At this point we have a naked, screaming, poop covered baby in Tim's lap and me holding the broken overhead bin. There isn't a single person on the plane who isn't staring in our direction. A few people are pointing at me so the flight attendant can come help me out with the broken door. Flight attendant comes over, helps me replace it, and now I can tend to my shit covered husband and son.
This blowout is one of the worst we have ever experienced. The poop is nothing but shear virus. It's green, mucousy, liquid virus that smells so bad I'm actually gagging. I've never gagged from the smell of poop. Ever. And I've smelled a lot of shit. Needless to say, our spare outfit is ruined, and Parker is now donning only his diaper. Tim gets up to go to the bathroom to try to clean himself up, and while he is gone Parker is sobbing his face off. Clearly, he doesn't feel good, he is naked, and I don't even have a blanket for him since it's covered in poop also. I stand up to try to bounce him a little...I lock eyes with a woman sitting a couple seats away. She mouths, "It's okay," and for some reason I lose my shit and start to cry.
I let a few tears of frustration go and get myself together. Tim comes back and I hand off Parker to him so I can wash up and get rid of the diaper and all the clothes which are not salvageable. The baggy of crap is too big to fit in that tiny garbage door next to the sink on the plane, so I break into the compartment under the sink to put it in. Then I can't figure out how to close it. I'm waiting for the alarm to go off for tampering with the bathroom. Nothing happens, so I leave it alone.

We finally land and get off the plane to meet my in laws. They are totally amused and tickled that Parker is only in a diaper. It's just too soon for me to get a kick out this.
                 "Didn't you pack a spare outfit?"
                 "Do you have a blanket we could wrap him in?"               
Really?

We all get back to the in laws house, which is this beautiful condo right near the ocean, and get Parker to bed. The kid was so exhausted we didn't even give him a bath. Which worked out okay since he needed one a few hours later anyway.

Stay tuned for how the following 5 days went. If you've seen the movie Contagion, you might remember that the virus in that movie affected 30% of the people who were exposed. Parker's virus affected greater than 80% of people exposed during this trip.