carl in casimirland.

Carl, who didn't quite get that pneumonia should make you look and feel crappy.

Hey, what do you know, it's still here! Well, I been busy. I began to write a blog entry a few days ago about my lovely Mother's day, which began with Carl dissolving into a little pile of fussy, suffering misery, and ended with my calling his doctor and being asked to mimic his wheezing while he wailed in the background. And it wasn't so hot in between. It wasn't a very exciting entry as I told the tale of how we wound up in the ER and how it was My First Emergency Room Visit Ever, and hopefully my last. So I deleted it.

Poor little pumpkin Carl had a mild case of pneumonia, which is all better now, but not without some adventure first. The following day involved the doctor saying dramatic things like "We're gonna break him up!" (I guess meaning, shake up the stuff in the lungs, with this breathing thing, or something...), heading on over to the ER in his vomited-on clothes, and basically spending the day in the doctor's office and then the hospital from 8am to 2. Fun! But 5 doctors, 3 opinions (He's all better. No, he needs to stay overnight. Well, he's on the fence, it's really up to you.), and five hours later (I guess they were busy, cuz "lotsa people dyin' here today" according to the nurse), we were allowed to go home with our drugs and a baby drunk with spastic overtiredness. And now we're better! Yay.

Then there were some days that God decided to make "leaky diaper day" and I'd clean up the sheets from Carl's random, overnight disposable leakage, and then Casimir would decide to wear training pants because he apparently tries to potty train about every other day, maybe, if he feels like it, and he'd pee in the training pants, and did you know those things hold a lot of pee but don't actually really absorb it? And then I'd clean that up while Carl fussed and then Casimir would poop a giant poop in the cloth diaper with no flushable liner, until I felt like giving up and just smearing the house in poo myself. And then when I actually have fun I don't feel like blogging. I think I used to like to write, anyway. Back when I used to be fun.

So then. What can I say. Much to my dismay, Carl is not remaining a 6 month-old forever and is nearly 11 months, which really shocks me despite my grasp of the idea that time keeps moving. And Casimir I think I could leave in the house alone for a few days and he'd be fine on his own, except for the toilet part. He's really good at dressing himself now too, although that means Mommy has to practice forgoing some control as he leaves the house with his Dockers on backwards, or really, really "matching" with his kelly green shorts, army green top, and green shirt over that. It's so hard to let go sometimes. Sometimes he stops what he's doing and says Mommy, I love you. Even when I'm mad at you, I love you. (I wonder where he got that?) and other times, well. If you hear a loud shrieking in the distance, guess what? That's him! Really.