Little Monkey and Friends

Got through the blood tests this morning and hopefully we won't have to repeat these any time soon. No results yet from the tests taken earlier in the week - which is frustrating, but hopefully by Monday we can rule out some possible things.

Jordan cried as expected during the time of the blood draw. He clutched his stuffed cow, Mr. Moo, and had to be restrained by both Jeff and I. It was not pretty to watch, but the technician was quick and efficient, which is the best we can ask for. There have been times when the person can't get a vein, or takes a really long time prepping him, or has to stick him multiple times to get a sample. J was spared that today.

In a not so funny moment before the blood draw even began, we ran into a social worker in the hallway at the hospital. She smiled at Jordan and tried to say hi, and he began shouting "All Done! All Done!" This kid is going to have nightmares for awhile, I'm guessing.

At any rate, it's over, and he seems to be back to his old self for the most part. Thanks for all the well-wishes, everyone. It's encouraging to know how many friends Jordan has rooting for him.

Monkey actually asked for a nap today - a little earlier than usual, but he's still recovering. The fever he's been fighting for the past 9 days seems to be under control, his face has lost that sunken, hollowed out look he had in the hospital, and he's been running around the house with the same energy level as normal. Banging on the sliding glass door, demanding to be let out yesterday was a good sign. His appetite is slowly returning, as demonstrated by the way he happily devoured a half of a chocolate chip muffin this morning. He's drinking his milk again, his juice, and will occasionally sip some water from a glass if I push it. Most of all, he's smiling again, and trying to play which is such a huge improvement from where he was last week. It's so good to be back home.

There is one thing that continues to bother me though. He's still behaving in some troublesome ways that make me wonder how badly this last hospital visit affected him. He's still crying out loud when he hears the door open in his bedroom, he screams in terror when we try to lift him from his crib in the morning, and he thrashes his body around in violent convulsions when we try to restrain him in his high chair for a meal. This has been occurring regularly and is bewildering. Normally, monkey awakens from a nap happy, smiling and chatting. He can't wait to get out and run around.

Now, the only way to calm him from one of these fits is to let him bring his stuffed cow downstairs with him, lay him in the pack-n-play in the playroom with the lights low for awhile, and leave him alone till he acclimates. I've sat with him, watching him in the dim light, clutching his cow and rocking back and forth, and it's scary. This is just not him. He looks traumatized.

I can't help but think the ordeal at the hospital is still burned into his mind, and he seems unable to trust us right now. He doesn't want to be held or restrained in any way. I know eventually he will forget about what happened, but for right now, I know he remembers. And his odd behavior reflects that. Unfortunately, we have to bring him back to the hospital tomorrow for some follow up blood tests. And I am dreading it.

It seems like there is no end in sight.

Our day started early.

She came into the room at 3:00 in the morning to take his blood. Again. The knock on the door woke us from a restless sleep, and we stumbled around the dimly lit room to prepare the monkey for the next ordeal. It was the worst one yet. Awakening Jordan from a deep sleep, to confront a stanger wielding strange instruments sent him into a panic. He thrashed about so violently, he almost threw himself out of his crib. The room's bright lights came on, and she wrapped a rubber tourniquet around his wrist while we held him down and tried to comfort him. Barely awake ourselves, the situation took on horribly grim tone. I felt complicit in the torture he was undergoing. And telling myself that it was for his own good did not help. It did not help that less than an hour after this round of pain, another began as the nurse came in to "check his vitals." Innocent as this sounds, it meant waking him up again, and holding him down while he was strapped to a monitor, prodded with a stethascope, and violated with a thermometer. Again.

"All done! All done!" he kept saying, his eyes shut tightly as he cried. It crushed me that he learned this expression over the four days we spent in the hospital. He enunciated the words perfectly, in his tiny baby voice. Of course, he began screaming them the minute a nurse or doctor walked into the room and approached him.
"All done," seemed to be his talisman to ward off the torture he anticipated at every turn. What could he possibly be thinking as he saw Jeff and I hovering over him, holding him down while all these things were done to him against his will? Did he wonder why we weren't protecting him? Could anyone feel more helpless?

I hated seeing him in the hospital. Four days of round the clock tests, doctors, interns, nurses, sleep deprivation and being hooked up to an IV were really starting to take their toll on the little guy. There were times I would look at him and think he looked worse than when we brought him in on Saturday. It's been a rough week for all of us. Thankfully, we've been blessed with supportive family and friends to fall back on when we needed reassurance that everything would be okay.


Thank God, we're home now, and I am incredibly relieved. We're not completely out of the woods yet. Monkey is still sick with whatever virus he picked up. We're still waiting for the results of the latest rounds of tests to rule out other possible diagnoses. But we feel we made the right decision bringing him home to wait it out in the comfort of his familiar surroundings. Assuming it's just a virus, all we can do is wait, keep him fed, hydrated and relaxed. Easier said than done, but we're happy to be able to do it for him. And when he smiles his old smile, I start to think he'll forget about the ordeal he's been through and the way we stood by him helplessly while strangers made him cry. I want to forget too.

This is the first time I've updated this blog from a site other than home. I wish I could say we're all relaxing on a beach somewhere, but unfortunately, we're in the hospital. Little monkey has been sick since last Tuesday night. It started with a high fever, and it's been up and down since then. On Friday, we went in for some tests on his heart that came back fine. But by Saturday, when it became clear he wasn't eating or drinking, it was time to go to the hospital.

So, we've been here with him since Saturday afternoon. He's been hooked up to an IV getting hydration and antibiotics. He's still not eating or drinking much on his own, although he riles himself up on occasion for a sip of milk or a taste of his favorite maple-syrup loaded pancakes.

The cardiology team thinks that this is a viral infection of some sort that needs to run its course. But until the fever breaks and he starts eating again normally, he needs to be watched carefully.

It's no fun here in the hospital. FYI - getting admitted on the weekend is the worst time to be here. I can't begin to describe the number of things that have gone wrong. But hopefully now that the work week has commenced again, things will improve. We shall see.

Monkey has spent the majority of the time sleeping, that is, when he's not being poked by stethascopes, blood pressure monitors, or having his blood drawn. Unfortunately, these things happen around the clock, night and day, so he's also spent a lot of time crying. We had hoped to bring him home today, but his fever continues. We're hanging in there, and will update soon.

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other word would smell as sweet."

Romeo and Juliet (II, ii, 1-2)

Right.

Well, let me tell you. from personal experience, that the name thing is actually pretty darn important. Any child who has borne the burden of having an unusual name can relate to that feeling of dread at the start of every school year. As the teacher stands at the head of the classroom, list in hand, ready for roll call ... the thought of once again, having your name butchered before a room full of kids is something no poor child should have to suffer through. Ever. I can still remember all the pathetic variations I was forced to endure when they got to my name. You could see the poor teacher pause, brows furrowed, as they tried to figure out how to pronounce the seemingly simple collection of letters before them.

S-A-D-A-F.

WTF??? It wasn't bad enough that I was usually the only brown face in the classroom. I also had the weird ass name that no one could ever get right. Nothing like setting your kid up for a lifetime of grief and self doubt like slapping a bizarro name on her. And spare me the lecture on the joys of having an unusual name, a unique name, or the pride that comes with being "different" and "special." No kid growing up in upstate ny, amidst a sea of conformity wants to be friggin special. At least my name hasn't ended up on this list of "horrid" ones out there. Yet.

And the torture continues to this day. On the one hand though, I always know when it's a telemarketer calling because by now, people I know can pronounce my name.

Thus, when it came time to name my monkeys, I was pretty set on making it simple and sweet. It has to be pronounceable. It has to be easy to spell. It has to be something that won't land the kid on some terrorist watch list somewhere. I don't ask for much.

At the same time though, I still felt the urge to separate myself and my child from the herd of blandness out there. Ok..so I revised my name criteria to something slightly different, but still pronounceable. Easy enough. And the nice thing about having a girl is that there seems to be a greater flexibility with names. There are just a lot more "good" names out there for girls, I think. Pretty names, creative names, names that allow for cute nickname variants.

So, for those of you asking, we have decided on a name for the monkey-on-the-way. She'll be named Samina Pearl Trimarchi.

Mina for short, which is a name I've always loved. And Pearl is actually the English translation of my name. Samina (or Sameena, as I've also seen it spelled) can be translated to mean beautiful or healthy (also plump!), depending on what baby name website you visit.

I hope she likes it. Or at the least, I hope she doesn't cringe every semester when roll call begins. And if she hates it, well...she can blog about it herself some day. Or complain to her therapist. I'm sure I can give her plenty to talk about.

This Father's Day, we spent a lot of time at the pool. There, my monkeys discovered the joys of swimming. I discovered the joys of maternity swim suits. If I ever hear a non-pregnant woman complain about trying to find the right swimsuit again, I am going to have to be physically restrained from slapping her.



Monkey works on his form.

Unfortunately, his new swim trunks did not quite fit ... yet. Once again, the teeny-tiny waist, which he must have inherited from his paternal side, foiled him again.






But, we're working on it. Here, Monkey reviews his favorite recipes from the baby cookbook.



Blueberry pancakes appear to be the new favorite. We'll have him fitting into those trunks before the end of the summer.

" ... your Father knows what you need before you even ask him." Matthew 6:8

Today, at Wood Park (or woodchip park, as I like to think of it - given the abundance of recycled wood chips scattered about for the monkey to eat), there seemed to be some type of daddy/child day. All the little ones from the local elementary school marched onto the playground proudly holding onto the hands of their dads. Literally - it was a parade. Marching hand-in-hand, single file, till they reached the safety of the park, the dads and kids descended upon us. The dads came in all ages, colors, shapes and sizes. Some were tall, some were small. Some were white, some were brown. Some dressed up, some dressed down. Some had cameras, none had frowns. They all looked happy to be out there in the gorgeous weather, playing with their kids. It made me really happy. Who knows what types of fathers they are every other day of the year, but they were out there today, for the sake of their kid, on a special day. Judging from the ease with which they handled the kids on the equipment, it appeared that many of them had been there before.

It made me think of my own dad. I don't recall school sponsored events like this when I was growing up, but what I do remember clearly is sports. I remember the softball games, the tennis matches, the endless hours in the sun. I remember my dad standing on the sidelines as I dug in for another round on the courts, cheering me on and talking to the coach. I remember hours spent practicing groundstokes with him in anticipation of the next season. And I remember the pride in his voice when he talked about me to others.

To this day, he still has the patience to bring me along when he's out on the links. And although he's got a killer drive and game to rival the best of the seniors, he never laughs as I slapdash my way across the golf course, hacking up the greens and scavenging around for yet another lost ball.

Happy Father's Day, Dad.






Despite little monkey's growing vocabulary, I suspect he won't be able to articulate all the reasons why he's feeling grateful this Father's Day. So, I'll do it for him. I know, on Sunday, he'll wake up at the crack of dawn, like he normally does. And when that happens, his dad ("da-da!") will be right there with him, taking on the first shift of the day. Da-da always does this. He'll get the monkey up, sing to him, change the first (and most dangerously enourmous) diaper of the day, give him his breakfast, entertain him while he eats with morning talk radio (Hello Curtis and Koobey!), and of course administer the morning meds. All the while, da-da manages to shower, get ready for work, feed Oscar too, and grab his requisite morning cup of coffee. It's amazing the multi-tasking skills that Da-da has.

I hope the little monkey will one day realize how much his da-da loves him, how he's loved him with a determination to do whatever it takes to keep him alive, happy and healthy. I don't know if this ferocity of love exists in every new da-da. But little monkey's da-da has it in abundance.



For the careful observer, you'll note in the above picture that little monkey is sitting on some type of pillow. The new moms out there who breastfeed/fed their babies will recognize this pillow as a breastfeeding assistance pillow called, aptly, "My Breast Friend." The idea is, you strap the pillow around your waist, and rest the baby on it to achieve the proper position to allow for comfortable feeding of the baby. During the weeks Jordan recovered in the hospital, the old monkey took to wearing the pillow around his waist while he walked with the baby around the hallways of the hospital, slipping Jordan's monitor components into the pockets of the pillow for easy transport. Why? Just for the sake of giving the little monkey some visual stimulation, something new to look at, something new to do. The old monkey didn't care how many looks he got or chuckles he produced. He did what he thought his little baby needed. Jordan liked looking at the lights. And if strapping on a ridiculous breast pillow was what it took to get there, then so be it.

I've gone on an on about what an amazing father and husband the old monkey is. But in honor of the upcoming holiday, I think it bears repeating again. You are an amazing man, Jeff, a great husband, father, and son. If Jordan grows up to be anything like you, we will be lucky parents indeed.



oh ... and he's really great with Oscar too.

Since I have no recent ultrasound pics of the monkey-on-the-way, I thought I'd just post a random pic of something amusing that caught my eye. I'm not a cat person, but the above pic, courtesy of Cute Overload, one of my new favorite sites, cracked me up. If that one splayed-out cat had an enormous protuding bowling ball of a belly, you might get a sense of what I'm looking like these days. I wish I could sleep as comfortably as this one is.

So..monkey-on-the-way has now turned around in utero and is head down. At my check up this morning, she was pronounced in perfect position, with a good strong heartbeat, and "wild" kicking. (tell me something I don't know.) I get my laughs these days sitting down and watching the belly move side to side on its own as monkey tries to bust her way out of there, ala Alien. My belly was measured, from top to bottom, which is a very strange, slightly humiliating experience. Apparently, this gargantuan bump I am sporting is exactly where I should be size-wise at this point. Too bad absolutely nothing fits, and I am reduced to wearing Monkey, Sr.'s oversize Brooklyn Brewery T-shirts. Nothing says "glowing pregnant mom" like a t-shirt advertizing your friendly neighborhood brewery.

Unfortunately, this appointment involved bringing the little monkey along for a ride. There I was, in the waiting room with monkey in a stroller, and huge belly. Other patients waiting included several young mothers with their significant others in tow. Clearly these were novices. They had the fresh, earnest-faced looks of first time mommies-to-be. While they nervously chatted with their partners, I read aloud to the monkey from "Moo, Moo Brown Cow." Of course, adding all the appropriate sound effects he so loves. Ignoring the looks of surprise from the other women, I consoled myself with the smug assurance that it wouldn't be long till these same women would be making the same stupid farm animal noises to their babies when they needed to keep them quiet. Enjoy the calm now ladies, you won't be looking so perky in a few weeks.

The monkey handled the long appointment like a champ, and even got to listen to the baby's heart beat. Can't imagine what, if anything, he thought about that. The nurses found his antics highly amusing. He, in turn, put on a good show, even gracing them with one of his trademark super-cheese smiles. Nurse B, read to him from his dinosaur book while I snuck out to the bathroom. Monkey tore his shoes off about a dozen times and threw them around while the doctor came in.

"All done!" monkey announced, as we departed the office. Yes...all done, till next week, when we get to go through this all over again. I'm still in denial. I can't believe we've got another monkey coming in four weeks.

Down under the Manhattan-Brooklyn overpass, is a section of Brooklyn referred to as "DUMBO." Once a dilapidated and industrial hideaway for artist lofts, shady car repair stores and film scouts seeking "gritty" city scapes, DUMBO has long since gentrified into a fashionable neighborhood for the young and upwardly yuppie, babies included.

We visited DUMBO again recently to have brunch at BUBBY's. There the monkey quenched his thirst with his very own plastic cup of water. Buttermilk biscuits, fruit, and french toast soon followed.



After brunch, we walked around the recently created park and shorefront walking path, and I considered how much the area had changed in such a short period of time. The last time the monkey was here, he looked like this:



He won't let me put bunny ear hats on him anymore. Time goes by so fast.

We've been remiss about posting. We meaning me, I guess.



As a token apology of sorts, we offer you the following: PUMAS!! Sneakers which have been in our collection, awaiting that special moment when little monkey feet finally fit into them. Today was that day, my friends.




And this is what they look like with a completed outfit. You'll note that the blue prepster belt appears overextended. The reason for this is that the monkey's freakishly small waist would permit me to wrap the baby belt around it twice, and still leave room for the belt to dangle. Despite our best efforts, the belt slips out of its loop.



And my latest favorite video of backyard monkey shenanigans.


Seemingly random pictures and vid - I know. We've been up to a lot of projects, I've had a lot on my mind, etc. Among the myriad of thoughts that have crossed my mind lately (I pause for a second to reflect on the use of the word myriad, and its cameo appearance in the movie Heathers.)

There's something incredibly endearing about the monkey at this age - his antics, his smile, the little things he does every day that completely crack me up and break my heart at the same time. All his raging cuteness and quirky little mannerisms, his ever increasing vocabulary and efforts at communicating ... all the pictures I try to take to remember this by ... it crushes me to think how fleeting this time is. Do other parents remember all the little things their kids did when they were this age? It makes me sad to think that a day may come when I won't remember the way monkey smiles gently and announces, "home!" when we pull into the driveway after an adventure.

There are so many seemingly trivial things monkey does that just make me want to grab him and hug him - after I've laughed my head off, of course. Being who he is though, the best I can do is give him a quick squeeze before he's off and running again. Those long, dreamy days of holding him in my arms and rocking him to lullaby tunes are over. It seems I was too sleep deprived at the time to fully appreciate them.

In no particular order, here's what Monkey's been doing to make me smile lately:

1. Always ready for a rousing game of "Where's Jordan?" the monkey will take advantage of you if you dare to sit down on the floor even momentarily. He'll run behind you, bracing himself against your back and "hide." He apparently thinks you won't hear his little giggles back there.




2. The way he pronounces the word "socks." Somehow, he's managed to add a few consonents in there, a baby lisp, and a monkey grimace-smile, all at the same time.

3. I know he's manipulating me, but it completely cracks me up to watch him smile cheesily and come running at me when I open up his soy ice cream container. He hears the freezer door open a mile away, and no matter what he's doing, he'll drop it in the name of "ka-ka!" For the uninitiated, this is monkey's abbreviated way of saying - "Yes, mummy, I would like some Tofutti Cutie ice cream."

4. I love that he snorts when he's laughing really hard.




Anyway...so that's my epic post for today. This pregnancy is making me seriously hormonal.