With the hot mess holiday behind us, I had high hopes that the first few weeks of the new year would go by easy. Should. Have. Known. Better.
Let’s start with my eight month old. She’s been in physical therapy for torticollis- which is a tightening of the muscles on one side of the neck/body. Infants & Toddlers – an organization run through the school system, provides the therapy at no charge and we’ve been blessed to have a wonderful therapist. Six months into her physical therapy, a teacher had to come out and evaluate her development across the board: speech, fine motor skills, gross motor skills, etc., etc. And this is where things get interesting.
It turns out that Baby Girl – who is eight months old – is delayed with some fine motor skills that generally develop from being able to sit up without assistance. BUT – she’s not expected to sit up without assistance until she’s 11 months old. So she’s behind in her fine motor skills because she can’t do something she’s not expected to do for another three months. Color me confused.
Oh….and here’s my favorite. She’s also speech delayed. That’s right. Speech delayed. At eight months old. Because she’s not making “cah” or “gah” sounds. She’s making every other guttural sound; has intense, babbling conversations with her reflection; and growls. But she’s speech delayed – at eight months – because she’s not making those two sounds.
Every now and then I look at her and say, “Baby, can you say cah? Can you say cah cah for mommy?”
Baby girl always smiles and if her smiles were words I’m pretty sure they’d translate to “No mommy. I can’t say cah cah, but if you look in my diaper, we might find a compromise.”
Last time I wrote about how my poor four year old was both constipated and infected with a stomach virus over Christmas. I’m happy to report that she no longer has a stomach virus and has her appetite back. Unfortunately, she’s still battling constant constipation. Asking her doctor about a probiotic (which was suggested by one my fabulous readers) is on my things-to-do list.
Last Friday, she started complaining of constipation again. I was up with her all night long, getting her on and off the potty. She was so miserable. I felt so bad for her. Finally, at 6 a.m, she pooped. A big. Massive. Poop. It was the largest bowel movement I’ve ever seen.
It was so huge, it wouldn’t flush. I decided I’d let things sit for a while to see if it would soften up.
As I was waiting, I went about doing my normal routine. I emptied and reloaded the dishwasher. Then I filled the sink up with hot, soapy water and dumped all of the dirty baby bottles in so I could wash them. I left them to soak for a bit.
Normal Saturday morning chaos ensued.
Someone was screaming. Someone was stealing toys. Someone needed to be burped. The usual stuff. I forgot about the bottles.
I went upstairs to see how the giant turd was doing and it was still there and still too big to flush. I grabbed the plunger and used it to break the turd up. Then I flushed the toilet.
(Flashback to six months ago.)
We did some work in this particular bathroom that required my husband to caulk around the base of the toilet so that when the kids splashed in the tub, the water wouldn’t run under the toilet and into the ceiling below as it has in the past. Husband took measures to safeguard the floor from bath time splashing but never got around to the caulking.
(Back to the present)
After breaking the poop up I flushed the toilet. The poop clogged the toilet, causing it to overflow and the water ran under the toilet and straight into the light fixture hanging from the ceiling below.
I panic. I run into my bedroom and yell at Alexa.
“Alexa! Drop in on basement Echo.” (My husband fell asleep in the basement the night before.)
Alexa: I’m sorry. I can’t help you with that right now.
“Alexa! DROP. IN. ON. BASEMENT. ECHO.”
Alexa: Fine. But I’m not telling you the forecast when you ask for it later.
Alexa drops in.
“Chris! Get up here right now! The toilet is overflowing and leaking into the hallway below.”
My husband appears lightening fast and takes action. I run downstairs with towels to mop up the wood floors that are now wet.
After getting the toilet straightened out, my husband comes downstairs to remove the light fixture that’s now filled with water. And what does he do with it? He dumps it into the kitchen sink – where the baby bottles are soaking.
“Don’t worry,” he says to me. “It’s just water.”
Just water? Um….NO! It’s not just water that the bottles are in. It’s water that our four year old’s massive turd was floating in.
I drain the sink and remove the bottles, placing them in the dishpan my mother bought us. Filled the dishpan up with more hot, soapy water and vinegar (because vinegar is mother nature’s ultimate disinfectant.) Within ten minutes, the bottles are clean and drying on the drying rack and all has returned to normal at the Silver house.
So to recap. It’s still January of 2018 and I have an eight month old who is speech delayed and a four year old who has record-setting bowel movements.
How’s your year going? Please tell me in the comments!
(P.S. – The five year old is still alive and well – in case you were concerned.)