Skip to main content

The Weepiest Child in the World

Looks like we may have a lead on what's been ailing the Small(er) One. Incidentally she may soon be renamed Weepiest Child in the World, but let's see if the current amateur dramatics continue at their current pace before a firm decision is made.

The Small(er) One has been sick about once a month since last October with a procession of throat and ear infections; it's been antibiotic city around here and frankly if I never have to mix up another bottle of foul-tasting medicine again and coax it down her unwilling throat it will be too soon. As well as being constantly tired and prone to irrational rages and crying jags (her, not me - I'm a whole other story), the Small(er) One has also turned into Snorty Child which, as well as being incredibly unattractive and annoying, obviously indicates some kind of sinus problem.

To cut a long story short, the Small(er) One has been tested for pretty much everything that could possibly be wrong with her. She's had multiple vials of blood taken - since she goes into melt-down every time she so much as scratches herself this was a whole new smorgasbord of terror - things poked down her throat and swabs taken, sonic probes stuck into her ears to measure fluid levels and all kinds of other unpleasant procedures. Our doctor now welcomes us with open arms and keeps a constant stock of the Small(er) One's preferred flavour of lollipops, which is as it should be considering that we've made such a hugely positive impact on his kids' college fund (what's the cost of a party pack of Chupa Chups against that of an MBA?).

Alpha, being a lawyer and thus generally suspicious by nature, recently had his own special brand of tantrum and demanded that I seek out a second opinion. So off we trotted to a different doctor. It turns out that the Small(er) One has indeed had everything checked out... except for allergies. Reading up on allergy symptoms it all seems to fit, including the crazy mood swings (it's like living with another me around here, sucks I tell you), so we've got an appointment with yet another specialist in order to investigate.

I really hope we can get to the bottom of this soon. I hate seeing my child ill so often. And if a side-effect is cessation of the crankiness, all the better.

After all, there's only room for one crazy hormonal female in this house. 

Comments

rk said…
This comment has been removed by the author.
Kate B. said…
Thanks RK, that's exactly who we're going to see.

Popular posts from this blog

The Grim Reaper

Firstborn is obsessed with death. It started with the odd comment, such as; "Mummy, what happens when you die?" OK, I thought, I was expecting this at some point, what a cute little curious brain she has. So I trotted out all the cosy Heaven stuff and left out all the things that could worry her, such as worms and bones and holes in the ground. This went down pretty well, although somehow Firstborn made the jump from my view of Heaven (filled with love, joy, always warm, never rains, has a huge discount designer shoe outlet and I never have to pay my Visa bill) to her own view of Heaven; a wonderous place where small girls don't have to eat their vegetables before they're allowed pudding, and where Barbie dolls grow on trees. Anyway, I digress. Last week Firstborn started shouting "Kill! Kill!" in a bloodthirsty tone while bashing her hithero-beloved teddy against the wall. This was topped by her purposely flushing her favourite My Little Pony down the loo. ...

What Price Romance?

Let's talk romance for a moment. Manhattan Mama clearly feels deprived in this department and this is one of the most bewildering aspects of life with her. My latest attempt to remedy this is to make a reservation at A Voce--some interpretation of Tuscan cuisine--that the NYT recently gave three very optimistic stars. I've been a few times on my employers expense, so I know it's nice but I also know what it's going to cost. I'm thinking lucky if we get out of there for less than $150. Tack on another $50 for the babysitter. Then drinks, cabs, etc. Better not to do the math. It's not that MM wouldn't be perfectly happy with a kabab or a trip to the hipster taqueria, maybe some flowers from the corner stand. None of that would register in her mind as this mythic thing know as a DATE, and thus would win me no more points on her end than remembering to take down the recycling. Making a DATE means you're thinking of her, which means you're engaged with h...