Category Archives: Baby Traps

Do You Smell That Smell?

Maybe it’s because I deal with the subject nearly every day, but I find it fascinating what others have for costs associated with healthcare, whether they are out of state of out of the country. I’m such a cynic though, that I know "free" healthcare isn’t actually free. We pay a hefty premium to have "free" vaccinations. Some countries pay incredibly high taxes for "free" health related services (see previous post and comments).

In the U.S., our healthcare’s system is amok. Personally, I blame Medicare. Not necessarily the program, but the system which controls it (the government through the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services), because if they determine a doctor’s visit is payable at $ .25 on the dollar, who do you think gets to make up for the other $ .75?? Providers jack up the price to make up for the growing Medicare population; CMS lowers what they pay again; providers raise their prices again. Something has got to give.

** SEGWAY **

This weekend I went clothes shopping with my son. I survived. Amen and The. End (oh, but there’s so much more!). I rewarded him for his patience by taking him to Toys R Us and as I strolled along the aisles, a woman with PERFECT hair (which my husband and I have dubbed Politician Wife Hair or more accurately, Helmet Hair), I felt envy. She didn’t have to wear her matchstick, cropped pants and little kitten heels. She didn’t have to press her immaculate blouse or airbrush on her make-up, but she did and then walked into what is certainly a Hell on Earth by not only looking good, but she smelled nice, too.

She breezed by me as she followed an staff employee, which made her the only adult there not being dragged from aisle to aisle by a cooing, sticky, whiny, commandeering kid, and her expensive perfume wafted past. I couldn’t entirely hate her because it was a nice scent that didn’t make my throat seize up and gag. Unlike my MIL’s Channel No. 5 that she must not be able to even smell because flies drop in her presence. Or maybe she thinks that since she hasn’t bathed in a couple of days, she’d better double-down on its use. Seriously, the woman uses so much, that if she joins us for dinner, I cannot taste my food. I taste No. 5, and for the record, it does not taste good.

Anyway, back to the Politician’s Wife. I took some care with my appearance, but I began to think that maybe the extra step of putting on a dab of perfume was the proverbial cherry. I normally top off with a healthy dollop of whip cream (my ass is thanking me). This morning I applied a light spritz, bearing in mind that my office is small and patients tend to be more sensitive to odors post-procedure, and headed out the door. I now feel conspicuous; like I’m trying too hard. On the other hand, I feel a touch more "worldly", too.

The Cost of Vaccinations. Literally.

Did you know that medical providers are one of the last bastion against transparent pricing? Somewhere along the line, they decided their patients shouldn’t "shop" for care, and I guess there’s a logic to that as the idea of their doctor being the least expensive might read "poor quality and service". Even when we were uninsured, I didn’t make phone calls to different clinics to see who had the least expensive office visits. Our pediatrician was Dr. Kidd before I lost my insurance; it was Dr. Kidd after.

Our insurance through the Evil Hospital did not cover vaccinations. We took Doodicus to the clinic his pediatrican referred us to that was funded by the state. We paid a palsy "copay" ($20 maybe?) and for almost nine years, all shots were administered by them. Our current insurance now covers vaccinations 100% and with that coverage, the clinic prefers we take the kids back to Dr. Kidd, which is totally understandable.

In July, I took Aitch in for her well-baby check which included five vaccinations. I paid the office visit co-pay of $30 and never gave it another thought until I received my Explanation of Benefits from the insurance company. I wish I could play the game, "Guess How Much It Cost?!" through my blog, but obviously I can’t, unless you’re willing to spread this post out for the next couple of weeks and no one has time for that level of shenanigans, right?

Aitch’s exam, five vaccinations, and the administration of the vaccines came to a grand total of $1,000*. The specific breakdown (I’ve included the codes for you medically-inclined) follows:

99392 – $152. This was for Dr. Kidd to tell me that Aitch is perfect.
90461 – $100. This was for the nurse to poke my kid in the thighs with a pointy object and make her cry.
90670 – $205. Prevnar 13 vaccine (pneumococcal)
90716 – $125. Varicella vaccine (chix pox and boosters)
90707 – $78. Measles, mumps and rubella vaccine
90713 – $48. Polio vaccine
90700 – $52. DTaP vaccine (diptheria, tetanus, and pertussis)

Now let’s play a game. What does it cost in your area for vaccinations?

* This is for a provider in a rural-based community in the middle of the Prairies.

My Angel Does Not Poop Fluffy, White Clouds

We meet again with Dr. Rita this Friday. I like your ideas of the reward system, but I’ll admit to being an asshole of a mom and stating it’s just easier on many days to wish I could thump Doodicus for being a real butt. However, since this is about HIM and not about ME, I’ll get some more ideas from the doc on how to implement a system that doesn’t backfire by bringing more attention to Dood at school. Seven- and eight-year-olds don’t notice that a classmate is walking around with a keychain of privilege cards or that the teacher is keeping a sticker chart. Ten- and eleven-year-olds will, and being the blood-thirsty heartless, little vultures that they are, they’ll go straight for his soft underbelly.

Let’s talk about Aitch for a bit now, shall we? She’s got me wound so tight around her little finger, my head is up my ass…twice. "Mommy, will you lay down with me? Just for a little bit?" she wheedles sweetly. And I perch myself carefully on a sliver of the bed she gives up for me. "You’re the best mommy," she sighs. "I love you," at which time she strokes my face with her still babyishly soft hand and tucks her feet between my knees to warm them. I’ve been lulled by her angelic nature.

She wrote her name on a piece of paper the other day, without any assistance. Sure, the "E" was backwards and the "L" was upside down, but it was her first autograph. She drew a picture of a person that same week. Again, without any insistence from us, and then came running up to me with a coloring of a very large-headed, stick-figure with three legs, tree branches for arms (per Aitch), and purple hair. She said it was me.

She’s as subtle as a hammer. Days spent at daycare means her "indoor" voice would rival a howler monkey. And she isn’t just loud, it’s constant. She’s either carrying on a self-monologue, singing or humming. My favorite is her trying to sing the Lion King’s opening credit’s song. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear she was speaking in tongues.

What I’m really enjoying is her personal level of responsibility. When we ask her to get dressed for the day, she’ll happily skip to her room and come out just a few minutes later ready to go. Sure, she’s most likely wearing a yellow-striped tank-top under the purple polka-dot, long-sleeved t-shirt, zebra-striped leggings and a green tu-tu, but hallelujah! She. Is. Dressed. Most of the time, she’ll even remember to put the empty hangers in the hamper and shut off the lights to both her room and closet.

Doesn’t she sound positively PERFECT??

Yeah, well, before you hate me any further, I’m going to tell you Aitch’s dirty, little secret. She won’t poop in the potty. Oh, sure, she’s been potty-trained for nearly a year. She’s only had a couple of daytime accidents. But that ONE time she actually gave us a No. 2 in the potty was so traumatic, she utterly and adamantly has refused since then. Want to see a normally agreeable child figuratively lose their shit when they literally need to do so? If you don’t act quick enough for her liking, she’ll go put on her own diaper. Not a pull-up, mind you, but a diaper. She diapers herself.

After the first few months of her being potty-trained, we tried so hard to get her to try pooping (again) in the potty, but we only succeeded in causing such major constipation that we had to provide enemas and mira-lax. I have had a child before who refused to be potty-trained on both levels so I knew it just wasn’t worth the fight. It makes everyone unhappy and even unhealthy. In fact, knowing that it took us over eight years to finally feel confident that Dood wasn’t going to come home from school with "damp" underwear, I have given myself permission to wait out Aitch’s rebellion for at least another two years before I get my own panties in a twist. She’s never had an accident. She always waits until we’re home before the urge hits her. On our trip to Disney World? She regularly came to me in the morning to announce her intention, did her deed, and away we went to the parks and never had to give it a second thought.

I guess if there’s a potty-training issue to be had, she’s got the "easiest" kind. She asks for the diaper. She stays in her room (as required) until she’ done. She then gives us a shout. We get cleaned up and away we all go. There’s no impossible to reach awkward-tushy-spot on the toilet. There’s no embarrassing public call-out in the Target bathroom, "Mommy! Wipe my butt!" Of course, I would like to not have to buy diapers and would love to finally move the diaper pail into a recycle heap, because as wonderful and as sweet and as loving as she is, her shit STILL does stink.

In this case, I’m not calling out for help. It’s more of a hey, we may LOOK like we pretty much have it going on in the Big Kid department, but in reality we are letting a nearly four-year-old continue to dictate parts of our lives I would much rather have back for myself. Especially Sparring Partner who has brought her to the edge of Meltdown City before remembering there are much bigger battles to be waged and won coming our way, including prom-season. I don’t care if it is another 13 years away. She just better watch her step because if she even tries on a dress with cleavage cut to the naval, I will not be afraid to remind her how it wasn’t that long ago she was crapping in her pants.

Transition

We set up my daughter’s new bed in her room, much to her excitement and anticipation. And in typical psycho-toddler fashion, she promptly refused to sleep in it. Everything one should do when introducing a “big girl/boy bed” was attempted, which included letting her pick the sheets and blankets, setting the bed up without the frame (to keep it low) and putting it in the corner so there are at least two sides are roll-out-proof.

But she still crawls into her crib at night. Yes. She crawls in. She won’t crawl out. She’s always been such a weird child… I asked her why she likes her crib and not her bed. Her answer, “The bed doesn’t have a cage around it.”

Alrighty, then.

We finally removed the drop-down gate on her crib as another step in the Transition, but even I fretted about keeping her feeling secure and didn’t want her rolling out of bed. Somewhere in the back of my head, I recalled a simple tip that involved a swim noodle. Surprisingly, I even remembered where we had stuffed them away after this summer was good and over so I took one and cut it to the length of Aitch’s crib.

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Once cut, I simple stuffed it under the edge of her fitted crib sheet.

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And now as you can see by her wee, ski-feet, both she and her many, many sleeping accoutrements are fairly safe from rolling easily out of her crib. I’ll let you know if this actually works. For sake of a happy ending, let’s assume that it did.

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Draft: July 2010

It’s hard to believe that we have been in our home for almost five years. I will never forget how my daughter’s room started off as the “Baby’s Room” when I was pregnant with Vivienne and we were drawing up blueprints back in 2004. And when it became the “Spare Bedroom”, I never allowed myself to imagine that it would be anything but.

When I first found out I was pregnant from our donor cycle and would sleep in that room because Sparring Partner was snoring, I would lay awake with my hands clasped protectively over my abdomen and plea to whatever powers that be to let this one stay. Tears would leak from my eyes when I squeezed them with earnest and they would spill down my face and into my ears.

Over the past two years, I still wipe tears from my cheeks. The Baby’s Room became the Spare Bedroom and then the Baby’s Room again. I’m slowly accepting that it’ll lose it’s hopes and dreams-based title for good all too soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Drafted a year and half ago and I honestly can’t recall where I was going with it. I decided to post it as is since it coincides with the fact we literally just set up Aitch’s new bed in her room. The “baby’s room”. 

Tinker Bell Buns

I found this really cute idea on Pinterest about turning thin, long hair into a full bun by simply using a sock. I thought it was worth repinning – even though my hair is ubershort – because many of my friends have long hair, but then I realized this would be great for Aitch, my 3 1/2 year old.

Her hair, which is straight and long, is also very thin and fine. Styling is rather limited to a ponytail or just letting it hang down. I thought I’d give this idea a try to see if it was as simple as it looked. Here she is Before:

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I went through my lost-mate sock basket and found one that I thought would work both because of its tan color and because of its less bulky size. First I just cut the toe off as the original instructions indicated, but once I rolled it up to see how it would look, it was way too bulky. I then cut off the whole foot leaving the leg portion. My hand is there for size comparison.

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I rolled up the sock, which was now a much better size, and threaded Aitch’s ponytail up through the center, folded a little over and then rolled the sock down her head while wrapping the hair around it. This was the first time result:

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I think this is a very cute alternative to the ponies (as we refer to them), especially if going to church or out with the grandparents (who give us the stink eye whenever she shows up with her hair down in her face). I also think this would be adorable on a flower girl who has hair that just won’t stay curled. Imagine pinning a tiny spray of flowers at the base of the bun. Cute, right?!

The idea works. The only downside is that Aitch didn’t like it and tried to pull it out herself nearly causing a incurable tangle of hair. I’ll give it a try when she isn’t so cranky-ass tired. Also, if you have a Pinterest account, we should totally follow each other!

Ambivalence is My Middle Name

It’s funny how I don’t feel like updating here anymore. Every day several times a day I think, “Hey! That would make for a great blog post!” and then? Seriously. I haven’t written a great blog post since never. Speaking of which, I started blogging August 2005.

I have no idea why I brought that up since it’s October somethingorother. Which also reminds me, I won’t be participating in NaBloMo or whatever it’s called.

Did I just hear a collective sigh of relief?

My daughter still hasn’t pooped in the potty but she’s not holding it for five days at a stretch, either. She keeps telling me “next time”. In an uncharactheristic move, she also pissed her pants while sitting on my glider-rocker. As I was stripping her down for a quick belly-button-on-down bath, I asked why she did it.

“It was an accident, Mommy! I’m sorry.” …. dramatic pause … I love you.”

I bought a couple tuttu skirts from Target thinking they’d be a novelty. However, Aitch has become so enamoured with them, I went and bought a couple more. She has worn one at least every day now. When it’s cooler, she’ll succumb to the addition of leggings, but it’s like trying to wrestle a cat into a pillowcase.

I went back for a three-month follow-up appointment with my PA. I need a refill of the paxil and ambien. The thing is is that I didn’t really want a refill of the ambien because I was anticipating my evenings just so I could TAKE the ambien. He said as long as I’m able to get up in the morning and feel rested that I’m taking it as I should. And then we talked more about my depression. Actually he asked why I thought I was depressed. I told him I wasn’t really sure, but that maybe it was the miscarriages and infertility or the pregnancy with Aitch that I was sure was going to end with a dead baby and then the loss of my job after ten years and then the cancer. Oh, and let’s not forget my son’s ADHD which makes him do things that make me so angry at everyone and everything that I’m sure my fury will result in one of those rare cases of spontaneous combustion and the only thing that will be left will be a pair of hopefully fabulous shoes and a singe mark on the ceiling.

I’m sorry. What was the question again?

He suggested, as many of you did, I seek counseling. I told him I would think about it, because you see I am still in denial. Enough so I didn’t pick up my refill of paxil and ambien. At least not yet.