bodily fluids

Being a working parent sucks sometimes (news flash). I hate the sensation of my child's illnesses being an INCONVENIENCE for me. In fairness, I imagine they're an inconvenience for stay-at-home parents, also. I hate the fact that my first reaction when Lizzy tosses cookies, or I notice the telltale signs of an ear infection (I was going to spell them out, but I decided to spare you -- you owe me one), etc., is not a feeling of sympathy for my child. No, it's, "What is this going to cost me in terms of time off from work, effort in getting to the doc, pain and agony in getting my child to down a course or two of antibiotics, etc.?"

As I figure it, from talking to other parents of small 'uns, our child is among the healthier of her age set. But she has her own little health foibles. The biggest has been (thanks, day care!) ear infections. Mom says I got them frequently, as well, when I was small. I can vaguely remember the painful sensation of trying to fall asleep with that icky ache in the side of my head.
Lizzy's had, sheesh, I don't know how many. I'm not even sure we treated them all. If certain rather disgusting things didn't clue me in to the fact that she had an earful of pus, I didn't know to take her to the doc. She never told me her ears hurt. She's a pretty tough kid, I suspect, when it comes to pain.

So, on the advice of a doc, we had ear tubes put in about a year and a half ago. In theory, they maintain a hole in the kiddo's eardrums so fluid can't build up in there. Don't ask me how she can still hear that way... As it was, she had a near-constant pool of liquid -- a 'come and get me!' invitation for bacteria to camp out.
So, great. We got the plugs. That was fairly minimally freaky, considering they had to render my 2-year-old unconscious to do it. As the doc said, "At least when they're screaming, they're inhaling the anesthetic more rapidly!" How comforting.

We returned to the doc on Monday to see how the tubes were doing. Last I heard, one looked like it was coming out. Well, they're both out now. And, yep, fluid has once again settled into the back of her ear. Which makes me feel bad for assuming that all those times lately she's been saying, "What? What?" and making me repeat things three times, she was just messing with me. I mean, she talks pretty well; obviously, she can hear. Or used to be able to?
Now we're going to watch, and wait, and see if she still has le fluid buildup in six weeks. A doc is going to administer a hearing test. I can't imagine that this will go well. She will understand what they want of her, sure; but will she respond? Who can predict a 3-year-old's mood? She can be a perfect angel in the dentist's chair, and a little hellion at a restaurant when her favorite food (whatever it is that minute) is put in front of her. You just never know.

And yet, I'm grateful for her health in other ways. The leg that seemed, when she was born, to have a major circulatory issue, but now is hardly noticeable. Etc.
I hope to have another one sometime "soon" (whatever soon means). How the heck to keep up with the needs of two little petri dishes o' disease? Thank God for an understanding boss.

I was going to end the post here, but while I'm at it: What do two working parents do when their kids get to be primary school-aged, and then they're released for the summer? Yes, we've seriously considered having one of us stay home with the kiddo(s) -- I'd love that plan, in theory. Part of me would be driven slowly mad, but part of me would love it, etc. All the parts of me will never be happy at one time. That's just life... But, how then to pay a mortgage? How does everyone else do this?
I asked a friend with school-aged kids this recently, and she gave some vague answer about how there are "camps" -- riding camp, sports camps, what have you -- and how we parents can pack our kids off to one camp after another until school opens again. (why this should bother me more than day care, well, I don't know.) "But it's kinda tricky," she said. "You have to schedule them just right, or you have a few open weeks."
Or maybe you try to twist your neighbor's arm to watch your kid for you. I remember my mom doing that for a lady she knew -- she had a girl, Julie, spend the summer days with us one year. Julie was, as I recall, about three years older than me. I'm thinking we were maybe 8 and 11? Something like that. She taught me waaay more than I wanted to know about a few things, most memorably menstruation. I was terrified of the whole concept. She had me read "Dear God, It's Me, Margaret." (have I mentioned how much I loathe Judy Blume books? Coming-of-age tales have never, ever appealed to me.) I could never understand the character who was desperate to "become a woman" in that, er, way.

Oh, the compromises of life. The decisions. Oh for the halcyon pre-Starbucks days of $70,000 mortgages.