Kate’s famous!

Or perhaps “notorious” would be a more apt description.

Back in June, I wrote a post about Kate’s obsession with her belly button, complete with pictures. Somewhat in jest, I wrote this:
“Today I was actually contemplating calling the pediatrician to see if it’s possible for her to do permanent damage to her body, but I just couldn’t bring myself to pick up the phone and say “Um hi, I was just wondering if it’s possible for my daughter to untie her belly button… what? No, this is not a prank call! Why do I care if your refrigerator is running? Hello????” So I guess I will just wait and see and call 911 if she draws blood.”

Well, it turns out that I do need to call the pediatrician!

Our good friend and faithful commenter Karen suggested I email my question to her husband, Dr. Mike of Pediacast.org, and see what he thought. In this morning’s edition of his podcast, he answered my question (although he made it clear that he can’t diagnose Kate based on a blog post!).

Dr. Mike said that she might either currently have or had at some point had an umbilical hernia, which is usually not a problem but can sometimes become one. And since I have this
hypo-wheel.jpg
“A Hypochondriac’s Key to Worst-Case Scenarios” hanging up in my cubicle at work, needless to say I am a tad bit freaked out!

So I guess we will need to get this checked out – here I thought it was just a manifestation of one of the many neuroses she no doubt inherited from me and her father, but it could really be a medical condition! Actually now that I think about it, I’m not sure if that’s bad news after all!

A big thanks to Dr. Mike for taking time out of his busy schedule (busy as in moving-across-the-country-in-a-few-days busy) to read my crazy ramblings and alert me to this situation. And in a wondeful coincidence, the segment on the podcast immediately preceeding Kate’s belly button was his take on the Ferber method. It brought tears of relief to my eyes, and I am not even kidding. I can’t tell you how much I needed to hear it.

And now I am off to call the pediatrician to tell her that Kate is unbuttoning her belly button.

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I can’t take the drama!!

Our lives are completely consumed with drama… serious, world-ending drama.

Like what Kate is going to wear each day, for example.

She must have stood in front of her closet for 20 minutes this morning. A closet full of clothes and she can’t find one decent thing to wear.

She is four years old! Everything looks cute! I mean, I could understand such activity if she were, say, 29 years old and four months post-partum. Then what is wear is a true quandary. But she could pull off a swimsuit, tutu and rainboot ensemble – this is not a big decision!

It kills me how dramatic she is. Yesterday I told her she couldn’t wear a frilly skirt to the park. She looked at me with the utmost seriousness and said “All. My dreams. Are dead.”

Lest I kill her dreams, I consented to the skirt.

She couldn’t find her favorite shoes this morning (I don’t know where they could have been… but let’s just say I am glad she didn’t look in the trash can). Anyway, Andy showed her the footwear choices for the day. She picked up a pair of Nikes and said, “Well, these shoes won’t make me very popular, but I guess I’ll wear them anyway.”

So this drama, it gets better, right? Surely she’ll outgrow it any day now. It can’t last forever. I mean, look at me. I’m totally drama-free. And I never stare at my closet for extended periods of time.

Oh crap. I am so in for it.

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A slightly traumatic morning

For me, anyway. The kids were fine.

Andy’s back to school this morning, so this was the first time I dropped the kids off at the sitter’s.

Fortunately, we all got a great night of sleep last night. Oh wait a minute, we were up the whole freaking night! Ugh. Sam is still waking up every hour or so, and last night he decided that he’d stop being so easy to get back to sleep, too, and would pop his eyes open every time we had the audacity to lay him down. (Someone help me, please!)

Then the morning got off to an awesome start – we overslept. For an hour. Yeah. Then we had to wake up both the kids, as they were still snoozing when it was time to run out the door. Oh, the irony.

On the way to the sitter’s, I said, “Kate, I’m going to miss you today.” She responded, “I’m going to miss you more, Mommy, but at least I’ll have my Sammers!” Warmed my heart.

Everything went fine when we got there – I drug in 1,000 pounds of baby crap (I had forgotten how much fun that was – now I just drop Kate off with the clothes on her back, but unfortunately Sammy requires a little more stuff), gave the sitter the run-down of Sammy-care, and watched Sam smile as I walked out the door. Thank God he has not yet hit the separation anxiety stage. I don’t think I could have handled it. It was much more difficult for me than it was for either of the kids.

We love the kids’ sitter. This is Kate’s fourth school year there, and I know Sam will thrive there the same way Kate has. Intellectually, I know he will be fine. More than fine. Emotionally, though, I am sad.

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