Just Add Merlot: YAY!

This post is brought to you by the letters Z and W, for zombies and wine. Which I can have at full volume (and full glass) at 8:30pm. Thank you, Ferber!

A couple weeks ago, I told you all that we were going Ferber Method in the Coke House. It’s been 10ish days of Ferber, and I feel moderately confident to say: MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.

So how did we get this Ferber stuff to work? It was actually pretty easy (jinx, I know). Our son is totally awesome, and that helps. Also, Miles has always slept in his crib, so we didn’t have the co-sleeping nightmare to deal with. Not that there’s anything wrong with co-sleeping; I’m not judgey about any parenting style, whether you cry it out, co-sleep, babywear, use disposable diapers, only let them eat green foods until they’re a year old…as long as your child is loved and cared for, it’s all good in my book. Except that attachment parenting stuff…that’s a little weird. If your kid can easily eat dinosaur shaped Tyson chicken nuggets and tie his own shoes, I don’t quite get why you’d still breastfeed…but that’s just my opinion.

Back to Ferber. Since Miles already sleeps in his crib super well, this was more about getting a consistent bedtime established. He tends to fall asleep between 8-8:30p every night; the problem we were having was our own, because one of us would just continue rocking Miles in the recliner until we thought he was sleeping really well, and then we’d put him down.

While this system worked, there are some issues. Issue number one: having to watch all of my vampire-zombie-toddlers and tiara shows in an acceptably low volume. Miles can sleep through most anything, but if a toddler suddenly starts hollering for her “tinker tea” (Google it…seriously) or a hoard of zombies comes crashing through the roof of an abandoned IGA, the volume might be too loud for a sleeping bambino.

Issue number two: falling asleep with Miles in the recliner, waking up at 10:30p and realizing you still have Miles. While this didn’t bother Miles, losing all feeling in my arm for the next half an hour wasn’t fun.

And so, out of my need for louder zombies and two free hands, a bedtime was born!

First three nights: Superawesome. We did bath time, bottle time, story time, and then bedtime. Miles babbled for 10-15 minutes, and fell asleep.

Night four: 6 minutes of crying. Now, that might not seem like a long time, but I can tell you that when it’s your sweet, little baby in there crying, six minutes is an eternity. But we made it.

Night five: 5 minutes of crying. This time, more hysterical. I caved; I picked him up, I rocked him for 20 minutes, he fell asleep. Ferber would have been disappointed.

Every night since then: Asleep within 10 minutes.

People: BEDTIME IS THE BEST THING EVER. I can watch zombies, fold laundry, jump on the sofa, yell at the dog, drink wine, and trip over 1,487,633 baby toys without having to worry about waking the baby in the living room.

Some of you think Ferber is mean. I’m going to tell you to stop being a baby. Bedtime is important; routines are important, consistency is important. Kids like knowing what to expect (and guess what – SO DO GROWN-UPS!) It’s also important to give your child their own space. Well, right now. When they’re teenagers, that’s different.

You know those kids you see running down the street barefoot at 8pm drinking Mountain Dew and eating Cheetos? They don’t have a routine. They also have high blood sugar. And they’re probably poor sleepers. AND THEIR PARENTS NEVER GET TO WATCH ZOMBIES! Or, they’ve given up and watch zombies with their kids. Don’t do that, either.

Does not have a bedtime.

Seriously.

GO TO BED!

Like I said, I’m supportive of whatever works for your family…but don’t disregard Ferber until you’ve tried it. Your zombies and non-Honey Boo Boo children will thank you.

Ferberization Complete,

Kristin

Welcome to the Round-Up, weekend edition…late, because that’s my favorite way to arrive to anything (just ask my husband). Today we’re going to talk about how much I loathe pumping gas, why I love October, and of course, poop. I’ll bet you thought there’s not much left to say about poop, right? Well, you were wrong.

Lights on the Dash

People like me are the reason car manufacturers have lights on the dash to tell you when to do certain things. If it weren’t for those lights, I’d never know when my left tail light is out, when I’m low on washer fluid, when an oil change is needed (because there’s a different light to tell you it’s required) and, most importantly, when I’m low on fuel.

Oh yes, I’m one of those.

I am one of those people because I don’t like doing anything automobile related. This probably sounds old fashioned (read: setting the feminist movement back 60 years) but I’ve always viewed car stuff as boy stuff. I have zero desire to learn how to do anything. If I get a flat, I’ll call AAA, and a boy will come and change the tire. If I need an oil change, I’ll take the truck to Goodyear, and a boy will change the oil. I don’t want to get dirty, sweaty, smelly or greasy.

My least favorite car related activity is pumping gas. That’s one of the reasons I let the low fuel light come on…it reminds me to remind my husband that I need gas. Of course, there was a brief time in my driving life that I did not know Evan, which meant I did have to fend for myself. So if I absolutely have to pump gas, I will.

There are two reasons I hate pumping gas: 1.) GERMS and 2.) Creepy guys. The first reasons is completely self-explanatory. If you actually considered how many unwashed hands have been on that gas pump…hands that could belong to people who shovel manure, handle raw meat, care for people with Swine Flu, or even an axe murderer, it’s just gross. There isn’t enough Purell in the world to handle all that nonsense.

Reason number two. On the rare occasion I have to pump gas, I always end up at a pump next to some creepy guy. And even better – Creepy Guy almost always thinks I want his attention. It’s probably because I have a staring problem (Evan likes to call me a “people watcher”) but really, it’s the Creepy Guy’s fault. Don’t paint a giant flamingo on your truck, get a neck tattoo declaring your abhorrence of law enforcement, or pump gas with no shirt on, if you don’t want me to stare at you. And that look on my face should be conveying, “SERIOUSLY?!” and not whatever else you’re thinking. Also, what’s up with guys and no shirts? It’s hot in Florida, but it is never so hot that you can have total disregard for clothing the top half of your body. PUT A SHIRT ON (also, pull up your pants while you’re at it). And those stupid tank tops don’t count.

Ryan Gosling: This does not apply to you. Feel free to pump gas, mow the lawn, fold my laundry or empty my dishwasher topless. Evan gives you permission.

OMGSRSLY MORE POOP?

On Wednesday, I took Miles to the pediatrician for the second time since he came down with this ear infection. The trip was to check on the cough he had developed (because, of course, I’m thinking it’s croup or whooping cough or some other weird thing). His lungs sounded good, his throat was fine, diagnosis was either post nasal drip or a cold. But his ear still looked a little infected…like there was still a little fluid in there. Not a real infection, but it would be easy to re-infect. At this point, I think the pediatrician (who was not Miles’ regular doc…I love the regular doc but we only see him for well visits) can tell I’m an OCD WebMDer, and he’s just playing games with me. I could’ve sworn I heard him ask, “Oh, have you heard of that new chicken flu? These symptoms are exactly like it…” (there is no chicken flu, that I know of).

The pediatrician writes a prescription for a second antibiotic, and instructs us to start it on Friday, if the cough hasn’t improved. I don’t want to start another antibiotic. I know it hurts the good bacteria in Miles’ little tummy. Also, he’s not a good sleeper when he’s on antibiotics (anxiety and insomnia are common side effects for most meds) and trust me when I tell you that we were all equally exhausted after the last 10 day round.

Friday arrived, and the cough was most certainly overstaying its welcome. No amount of Vicks BabyRub, Simply Saline, steam baths or prayers were getting this cough to hit the road. I begrudgingly picked up the antibiotics, and read the label: TWELVE DAYS. Yes, the Twelve Days of I’m Never Sleeping Again.

Thankfully, this one is a once-a-day dosage. We started Friday night, and he had his second dose Saturday morning.

Around lunchtime Saturday, Miles and I were playing on the floor when he casually told me he needed a diaper change. His morning constitutional was complete.

He’s on the changing table, and I’m singing our usual diaper changing song. I open the diaper, and just stand there, horrified…his poop is red. Not bright red; more of a brick red, but red nonetheless. A thousand thoughts are running through my head (chicken flu, followed by internal bleeding, and ending with zombie apocalypse) so I do what any sensible and rational parent would do…I fold the diaper back over (like in a “IT’S GOING TO GET ME!” fashion) and tell myself to calm down. Then, I change his diaper. I save the red poop diaper.

Miles is laughing and playing and looking at me like, “Make with the baby powder, woman!” This is the only thing keeping me from putting him in my purse and sprinting to the ER.

In my happiest, sing-songy voice, I put Miles in his crib and tell him I’ll be right back, I just need to check on something. I head to my laptop (you already know where this is going, right?) and immediately go to WebMD. I look up the antibiotic he’s taking: Cefnidir. Finally, I find the page with “possible side effects/precautions.” And I find the usual suspects…but buried at the bottom, under the “precautions” I find exactly what I’m looking for:

This medication may cause stools to turn a reddish color. This is common, and not harmful.

ARE YOU SERIOUS? If poop turning RED is a possible side effect, you’d think that a pharmacist, pediatrician, nurse, somebody, would make that the first side effect listed on the bottle. And not only that, but everyone should have to remind the parent or patient that this could happen. A dozen times. Because if you had red poop, you’d probably freak out, too. They should just call the antibiotic "redpoopacillidin" so we'd know not to totally panic. Right?

Miles is fine, we’re on day three of antibiotics/red poop and the cough is clearing. Nine days to go…

OCTOBER IS HERE!

I love October…it’s the beginning of Fall, which is my favorite season. But I do not love October for its pumpkin spiced lattes, pumpkin cream cheese, pumpkin donuts, pumpkin bagels, pumpkin yogurt or pumpkin toothpaste. I love October for the return of this: