and you should have seen this poop!

I handled the drop-off this morning, not because I had any doubts about Steve’s observations, but because I wanted, NO needed, to see it for myself. I knew that my presence would in no way make it easier, in fact I knew it might make it worse. The tears began at breakfast when we calmly and cheerfully asked her if she was excited to see her friends at school today. She was clearly NOT excited in the least. No sooner than we pulled into a parking spot in front of the building did the waterworks begin and my heart sunk. I reminded myself that if I played into her emotions too much it would only make it worse, so I forced a cheery smiley attitude all the way to the door.

… and Mr. Eric was not there, he’s out sick today.
… and Michelle still wasn’t and still won’t be for a long time. (we made a card for her over the weekend, but I think the exercise's meaning was lost when faced with a long day at school)

I scurried around unpacking all her belongings, putting her lunch into the fridge while Mr. Eric’s stand-in (the director) eased her into the room by asking her to be a special helper and getting her involved in an activity with the other kids who had already arrived. I could have slipped out and she would have been fine, but I had to tell her about the terrible poop.

Yes, in addition to all the insanity of school, we’ve got a poop issue and not the usual 5 days between kind. OH NO, quite the opposite actually. Since the flu mist. An incident at school on Thursday. Another on Friday. Several more over the weekend. We’re seeing some improvement, but LO the poop. I’ve tried to limit her to the BRAT diet since Friday afternoon; bananas, applesauce, toast, plain rice/pasta, and cheerios because HOW in holy hell can you NOT give a toddler cheerios? Not surprisingly, she’s pretty much done with that and has been requesting goldfish crackers and cheese and yogurt and things that I cannot give her. It’s frustrating. I’ve caved and given her a couple bites of this or that because have you seen her? She’s a bean pole!? After 5 days of this modified diet, I honestly wonder how much weight she may have lost because when presented with yet another plain thing she would prefer NOT to eat. I don’t blame her. I cannot even coax her into sharing a banana with me anymore and while she’ll still happily put away a bowl of applesauce, I know that time is ticking away on that being acceptable. She’s asking for fruit snacks, for glasses of milk, for a bite of whatever I am having. So, it should come as no surprise that my own food intake has been somewhat limited too because how can I eat an apple in front of her, or a piece of cheese. I’ve eaten a lot of peanut butter this weekend – the one thing I know she would not want.

I worry. I guilt.

I am mad at myself for not standing up the Health Department and forcing them to stick her instead of misting her with the seasonal flu vaccine, a mistake I will not be repeating with the H1N1. I’ll take my kid’s virus good and dead as opposed to weakened, thank you very much.

I worry because my kid is so prone to constipation that it just feels WRONG to be giving her things that on a regular day I would rather stick a pen in my eye than feed her.

I worry because without a thorough cleaning post poop incident, approximately half a package of wipes, and a good douse of triple paste - the path to the evil terrible nasty yeasty diaper rash is lurking just around the corner. I can actually feel it watching me. I know school will be as attentive as they can be to this, but I still worry because imagining that rash actually makes me quiver in fear.

I guilt because on top of her clearly feeling icky, we’re still coping with the school anxiety and I want to call and check on her every 5 minutes. Things at work are less than positive right now and that does nothing to help me from wanting to rush over there and save her. I know that she needs to work through this. We all need to work through this. I know it will get better. I have to believe that it will and yet, the guilt.

On a much needed lighter note because WOW – if you just got through an entire post about separation anxiety and horrific poop you deserve something from the light and silly category.

Caroline was playing mommy to one of her babies last night. It’s funny because as much as she is playing the role of the mommy, she doesn’t really see herself as the mommy – more the daycare caregiver. She often refers to the baby being sad because she misses her mommy and reassures her that her mommy will be there soon. She suddenly announced that “this baby is crabby! This baby is a crabby monkey!” Totally must be a school thing because I have never once in my life said anyone is a crabby monkey. Hilarious!

I have a love hate relationship with the sassofrass – love that she isn’t passive, hate that she sasses me. The sass has reached new levels in the area of her saying “Uh UH” with great dissatisfaction, a face that shoots daggers that looks oddly familiar (ahem) whenever she's not in agreement with the parents. This has led to MANY a time out because I do not tolerate sassing. Steve asked me last week, “what is sassing?” after I told her not to sass me and pointed her in the direction of the time out step. How do you explain sassing? Can you? At nearly 10 last night when he went up to remind her that bedtime was two hours ago she did the “uh UH” and he called her out for sassing. I laughed out loud. Seems you just need to experience the sass to recognize it.

So can we talk about 10PM! She went without a nap for most of the weekend and went down easy both nights before 8. She napped yesterday for about an hour and was wide awake until nearly 10. She totally doesn’t need the nap anymore. I will miss my afternoon break to reset the house, stuff food into my belly, fold a load of laundry, check my email, watch the Barefoot Contessa, but I think I will enjoy my quiet evenings that start at 8pm much more, especially since quiet evenings that begin at a predictable hour are on time limited basis right now. I think on days she is home with us that the naps are GONE. G-O-N-E. A moment of silence for my daughter’s nap.


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