The New Satan

Aww Mannnnn.....what the hell are these things? The Doodlebops? Dear God, please don't let Alina get hooked on these ... things. I don't even know what they are. Aliens? Insects? Canadians? Those gloved hands make it tough to play that bridged F chord, I imagine.

They seem like a reinvented form of the Bugaloos, a Brittish hippie insect rock band from the 70s. Then there was Barney, The Wiggles. I guess we were due for another LSD conceived, pre-school aimed musical group. There were probably others, I just never cared. But these things just scare me in more than the obvious ways. I think about the focus groups that probably decided which face paint resonated more with children. I think about seeing these people on some talk show five years from now, all strung out on tranquilizers to combat the artificial high they had to maintain to perform.

Evolutionary Trailblazer

Yeah, that's me. That's my title. That's my burden that I take on for all humanity. I am personally taking on the responsibility of evolving the human race to the point where they'll need less sleep to function. It's a slow process to be sure. But I'm evolved. I have no wisdom teeth. Had no use for them. They never showed up. They were introns to my exons. But hey, aren't they all? Yeah!

I'll keep sleeping less and less ... for all of you. It's okay. I'm used to it. Then perhaps one day, a few hundred thousand years from now, you'll all only need 28 minutes of sleep per day to make it through. I'm sure there'll be lots on cable then. But medical science, with all their lasers and machinery, will probably make a pill that you can take when you go to bed to get 8 hours of sleep in 4 hours. The body will do what it needs to do, just faster. And then the stores will be open longer. And we'll have more time on our hands to buy stuff, if I do prognosticate so myself. But I'm the evolutionary trailblazer. And I want to do it naturally. Take that, Pfizer.

Wordsmith

Why can't our daycare use common sense? If someone's mommy gets depressed and upset every time you tell them something their child did whilst they were at work, maybe the daycare should let the parents discover it on their own. Such is the case with the place Alina goes three days a week. It's basically a married couple and their mother running the place. Katrina does drop-offs and pick-ups because it's five minutes from the hospital where she works. But when she goes there and hears "Oh, Alina said Hula Hoop today. She's really talking up a storm," then that stinging feeling hits her right in the gut. I missed it. I'm missing everything. Then she starts with the I want to work part-time. Which would be great, if we didn't have six-figure debt. Maybe there can be some kind of clue-based system. Like, the daycare lady could leave a Post-it inside of an empty baby bottle. Or maybe she can just tell me in an email and I'll stage the discovery of the word when I get home that night. Manipulative, yes. But it may preserve Katrina's sanity.

Croup Croup ba-Doop

The Croup! Or is it just Croup? For those non-parents it's the kiddie form of laryngitis but with a fever and congestion. And since the larynx is swelled up, you can't execute a productive cough to get the phlegm (such a strange and wonderful spelling) out. The end result is usually difficulty breathing, a barking cough, and if you're really unfortunate your lips will turn blue from the lack of oxygen. Sometimes, the phlegm can come out of your nose after a good sneeze and you end up looking like a Garbage Pail Kid:
Doctors don't take chances with this kind of thing. So they asked us to take Alina to the emergency room because of her Stridor (labored) breathing to suck on some cool, medicated steam - A Nebulizer (more cool words)! Then they sent her home and said to come back if the breathing issues came back. Well, it did. And they kept her overnight this time and gave her some kind of steroid to open her throat more. I don't know what the side effects of that is, but by the time I got to Schneider's Children's Hospital, Alina was standing on her head, looking back between her legs saying "Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi!" talking to the Pooh characters stitched into her bedding. They kept her in this elevated crib made of metal so she looked like a carnival sideshow attraction - The Incredible Barking Baby. Alina's roommate had surgery on her shins and had a mother who watched TV all night long and continually asked for fruit punch. Anyway, doctors were saying Croup is the worst on day one and two and that it would be easier after that. So she's almost back to normal now.

Somewhere through all of this she learned how to say "Cracker". Her 2nd official word. The first was "Hot" because, you know, it comes up a lot. Is that food/bottle/bathtub hot? Don't touch that, it's hot! So for the last month or so, she has informed us when things are indeed Hot. But the interesting one came this weekend when she put her hand to her feverish head and said, "I .... hot." Oooooh, first person narrative. And also terribly cute and heartbreaking at the same time. So yeah, now Cracker. She was pointing to the cabinet where we keep them and kept repeating it over and over. Katrina wasn't facing her and was thinking she heard cracker but didn't know she was actually requesting one until she turned around and saw where Alina was pointing. "OH MY GOD, I'm sorry Alina, did you want a cracker??" Katrina then felt guilty because she didn't respond quickly enough. MOM, I'm saying a word over here. Can a baby getta snack?!