A little mini one is lurking in Ava’s daycare.
One that munched on my kid while she was lying defenseless on her cot, deep in sleep. And the little beast bit hard, too. Through an undershirt and a fleece, it still left deep teeth marks that very nearly broke the skin and left a perfect, bruised outline on her left shoulder blade. It hurt her, too. She was favoring that side and had a hard time sitting or laying comfortably.
And no one knew who did it. There were two suspects, both new transplants into the 2 year old room, but no one actually saw the bite happen and Ava, as a reputable witness, is pretty unreliable (if she even knew anyway). For example, when J asked her who bit her she said, “Mama did it.” When I asked her who bit her she told me, “Emma did it.” Since I was still on lockdown and unable to drive and Emma is our dog who won’t go within 10 feet of Ava at the best of times and certainly didn’t head on out for a 16 mile round trip to sneak in and bite her I’m pretty sure that Ava’s testimony wouldn’t hold water in judicial proceedings of any type.
Since I wasn’t there, J channeled me and raised holy hell with them as to why the opportunity even happened since they were all supposed to be napping on their individual cots. And demanded to know why, if these two kids are known biters, they weren’t being supervised a little more closely during this naturally tumultuous transition stage. Ava was not the first, or even the second, child to be bitten in as many days.
Bottom line: An extra staff member was added to the room for assistance until things settle down and I’m so proud of J for pulling a me until an acceptable resolution was reached because I know, I know, that J was way nicer and more diplomatic than I would have been. My mama bear instincts were raging and all I wanted to do was hunt the little bloodsucker down with a stake at that point.
I guess we should count ourselves lucky that in nearly 2 years of daycare this is our first (and hopefully only) biting incident.
Would you believe I got NO flowers after my surgery? I got plenty of get well wishes and even a few get well gifts but not even one bouquet of flowers – which actually would have been nice seeing that I was pretty much confined to one part of my house for a long while. Apparently I protested too well to folks: “No, no – don’t spend your money on me” and “Flowers just die in a couple of days anyway,” I said. Hmmph, won’t do that again.
The get well gifts were very thoughtful. Spa sets, a cheese basket (still puzzling over this one a bit but I LOVE the basket it came in – it was repurposed right away to hold Ava’s hairbows), and even a snack bouquet.
The snack bouquet was very cute but I think J enjoyed it even more than I did. I had to near fight him for the KitKat bar and he somehow managed to snag the oreos when I wasn’t looking. Although, in all seriousness, food wasn’t even the slightest bit interesting or appetizing at this point anyway (except for KitKat bars). I love the snack bouquet idea though and will definitely use this in the future. It looks pretty easy to make – sticks glued on to the backs of the packages and stuck into florist foam with a little bit of green cellophane arranged to look like grass.
But the best gift?
My visits with this little thing (especially once she decided she liked me again):
That’s the best medicine on Earth.
So how did Ava do?
Well, that depends on how you look at it, I guess.
D-Day itself was fine. Despite our rocky start at daycare drop off (which is sadly not unusual when I take her) she was fine. She spent the evening with her friend, Izzy, and J had her home and in bed not too long past her normal bedtime. Thanks to an occasional business trip here and there she actually doesn’t freak out anymore when I’m gone for a day or two so it wasn’t a big deal when she didn’t see me that night or even the next morning.
We maintained her daycare routine in order to keep things as normal as possible – J dropped her off in the AM and picked her up at the regular time. Once she got home J would bring her into the room where I was camped out several times a day so she could at least see me but he suddenly became the sole provider of hugs, food, kisses, cups of milks, baths, books, and all the other things we both normally handle. I was either too out of it or too sore to do much for the first 3 days but she was always thrilled to see me when J brought her in for a while.
By the 4th day I was feeling a little better so I asked J to pile some pillows around me to make sure I didn’t get toddler tackled in the belly and to leave her with me for a little while so we could bond over some Sesa.me Street. She was thrilled to be able to lay in mama’s bed and watch TV since this is a rare treat for her. Thrilled, that is, until J left the room and all hell broke loose because she did not want a) J to leave and/or b) to be alone with me.
My heart sustained some permanent damage, I’m certain of it. She screamed so loud that J came running back upstairs to see what the problem was. I had him comfort her for a minute and then told him he had to leave so we could sort this out. She yelled some more, wept quietly once she figured out J wasn’t coming to save her, refused to let me touch or soothe her, and scooted as far away from me as she possibly could without falling off the bed. I tried really hard not to take any of this personally but this was the first time she’d flat out rejected me and it smarted a bit. Of course, I also had to worry that this might resurrect any latent abandonment issues and have a negative impact on all the work we’ve done to ensure that she develops a secure and confident attachment. While I think her attachment has been fantastic, there’s a tendency toward anxiety in her that I need to keep an eye on and manage and it scared me to death to see her reaction when J left the room. She was in anxiety overload and was struggling so very hard to control this situation.
Thank goodness for Elm.o, Steve Jobs, and whoever invented YouTube. Between the temptation of that little red monster and my web enabled cell phone I was able to coax her back over to my side of the bed and to forget for a little bit that Daddy left her to the evil, disappearing mama. A few more rounds of the lipdub version of “I Gotta Feeling” and she was putty in my hands.
Actually saying that I was putty in her hands would be way more accurate. I would have done almost anything to be back in her good graces even if it does involve annoying puppets and the Black Eyed Peas.
Sadly, I hear that the Candlelight Wedding Chapel is no longer in existence. Torn down, I’m sure, for yet another mega Vegas hotel.
However…we’ve managed to hang on, by the skin of our teeth sometimes to be sure, and hope to be going strong for another 14 (or 40) years.
My angel nurse was pretty good company through that long first night that I was stuck in the hospital. I would have slept except she wouldn’t let me so instead I surfed the internet on my phone, watched endless informercials since I couldn’t turn the stupid TV off (and I felt bad asking her to do it), and had several conversations with her, one of which was debating the merits of Tempurpedic (I’m a fan and was really missing mine that night). She finally dragged me out of bed around 5AM after we negotiated an agreement that I would get up if she called my doctor’s resident and got her to a)write my discharge orders and b)remove the catheter.
Resident doctor came right away and agreed that I could leave soon but the order somehow didn’t get communicated to day nurse, henceforth to be known as Satan Nurse or SN for short.
SN clearly thought very highly of herself and her importance. I did not and she failed to understand that I was irritable and in pain since her method of administering pain medication was primarily to ignore me when I pushed the nurse call button. Seriously, she told me once that she was too busy. SN also decided to tell me that I would not be leaving until much later in the afternoon. Ummm, no. She sorted that out rather quickly after I set her straight. Convenient being on drugs, by the way. You can get by with a lot of bad behavior by using that excuse.
She did win one battle by making me attempt to eat breakfast although I did request a preemptive shot of anti-nausea meds first. The breakfast itself was rather horrid and I tried to talk J into eating some of it when he got there. He opted out. So did I.
I won the next skirmish by refusing to have my IV out until I got one last dose of the good stuff medicine before leaving and getting into a bouncy car for the ride home.
To make a long story short (I know – y’all are sighing with relief): J busted me out of there, brought me home,managed to get me upstairs, and put me to bed. At some point he went and filled all my prescriptions and proceeded to keep me drugged up and sleeping. Good thing J planned the entire week off to play nursemaid to me, Mr. Mom to Ava, and zookeeper to the menagerie.
Although I am a very easy sick person to take care of, if I do say so myself. Just toss me some crackers and grape kool-aid in every so often and I’m happy.
The pain level at home wasn’t too bad but narcotics were definitely needed for several days. I also developed an immediate and intense longing for a full length body pillow and J kindly made an emergency trip out to procure one.
And Ava’s reaction to all this? Well, that’s a whole ‘nother post.