Archive for the ‘Medical’ Category


Well, it happened. We recently experienced the oh-so-special rite of passage known as Baby’s First Stomach Flu. Don’t worry, I’ll spare you the gory details except to say I was amazed to find that it’s true: You don’t get grossed out by your own kid’s messes.

About 36 hours into it, the kiddo was lying completely still on a blanket at 9 a.m., which completely freaked me out, because oh my God he’s listless! That’s one of the Seven Warning Signs of Dehydration! So we hauled our sad little Boo to the doctor and were relieved to learn that he was not dehydrated, but that we should take steps to ensure that he not become dehydrated, as this would land him in the hospital.

To my surprise, the pediatrician recommended not just Pedialyte (which: gross), but anything we could get him to drink besides milk and water. White soda. Gatorade. Juice. So on our way home, we picked up all of those things.

At home, we put every option in little medicine cups, plied him with promises of videos, wheedled and cajoled him until we were worn out, but he would barely try any of it. A few hours later, a possible reason for this rejection of sweet drinks occurred to me.

He’s never had juice.

Not even a sip.

This is the Right Thing To Do now, to give your kid no juice, or diluted juice. So that’s what we did. No juice for the Boo. And that’s how we ended up with a sick little boy who would only drink the two things the doctor said to avoid.

He got better anyway, and I let him occasionally dip his finger in salt and lick it off, and let him have potato sticks (for the salt and the potassium) between bites of banana.

But you can bet your boots I’m going to get him used to drinking juice as soon as I can.

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Mama Needs a Treat

This morning, we took the baby in for his booster flu shot. (For the record, I am totally down with immunizations. It's just the immediate reaction of shock and pain I'm not okay with.)

If you're a parent, you know how it goes. You place your precious child on the table, flat on their back. You expose the baby's tender thigh, the nurse swabs the injection site with alcohol, lets it dry a bit, and then asks you to hold the baby's hands. (That part really threw me the first time — I hadn't thought about the need to restrain my child still as the nurse jabbed him with massive needles.)

And then, inevitably, the needle goes in. The baby's eyes widen. There are perhaps two seconds of total silence before the color rises into his cheeks and the screaming begins. Usually, there are multiple shots. So the crying just comes in waves and you feel like the world's biggest jerk until you get the all-clear from the nurse and you pick him up and desperately start babbling all the soothing sounds you can think of.

By the way, I'm using “him” because my baby is a boy.

There are two keys to making the experience something like bearable.

One: Figure out what will get the baby to stop crying. I tried nursing him once. Not interested. Sang to him, which he usually loves. No effect whatsoever. And then his dad jangled a jingle toy about three inches in front of his face. Bingo!

Two: Make sure you have a nice treat for yourself at home. And this is why I had a nice piece of cake at about 10 a.m.


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I'm over 50. I'm raising a fifth grader. Sometimes he posts too.


My journey to becoming a dietitian and other cool stuff

Bideshi Biya

Living The Road Less Travelled