Ballot Box

I finally registered to vote. I should have done so when I got my PA license, but when I was given the option, I said "no" because I feared it would add even more time to the hours I had spent at PennDot.

So now I can vote against Rick Santorum. Hooray!! The newspapers articles about him and his anti-abortion, anti-gay blathering were a constant reminder that I needed to register. Thanks, Santorum! (If you don't know much about Santorum, I recommend this enlightening article, though it is full of naughty ideas. Beware.)

I'm glad to have moved to a state where my vote actually matters, though I miss being safely ensconced among my blue blue neighbors in a blue blue city in a blue blue state. Sigh. Then I stand outside my house and look at the fields and the trees and the setting sun, and I don't miss the city at all.

Maybe I need a country house and a city house. It would be especially nice if the former could be in the French countryside and the latter in London or Munich or Paris or Edinburgh. I guess I'll keep dreaming.

By the way, the squeaker is doing great. The eczema is virtually gone. The cough seems to have vanished. And he's still eating plenty of wheat and eggs, though we have cut down on the milk, and he isn't eating soy or peanuts. Who knows what's going on.

Books and More Books

The squeaker and I went to the library yesterday. I think we’ve both tired of reading the same books over and over again, and our appetite for books exceeds our disposable income. So I decided it was time to seek out the local library.

We had visited it once before, but since I didn’t have a PA driver’s license back then, we couldn’t get a library card. At the time, we could only look longingly at the books. And the squeaker met some other kids who were there for story time and a project (the squeaker even joined them for the project, though he couldn’t sit still for story time).

Anyway, we arrived at the library yesterday just as they opened for the day. When we went in, there was no one at the desk, so we went into the children’s room and looked at books. After a few minutes, I told the squeaker we were going to find a library lady and ask for a library card. So I scooped him up and we headed for the desk. There were now two women at the desk, and as I opened my mouth to make my request, the squeaker piped up: “Library lady, may I have a library card, please?”

I hope she didn’t mind being addressed as “Library Lady.” I hadn’t intended to have the squeaker make the request. After a moment of confusion (“Does he mean a card for you?” they asked me, as if he really cared WHO got the card – he just wanted some books!), we got our card, and we checked out 10 books, which had to be read in succession that very afternoon.

So our library trip was successful, though I’m not sure how clear the squeaker is on the concept of “borrowing.” I guess I’ll find out when we try to return them.

Hey mama

This is how I'm greeted when I get home after a day of work:

Squeaker: Mama, I missed you!!! Where you were?

Mama: I was at work. Ugh!

Squeaker: Did you have a fun day?

Mama: It was OK. How was your day? Did you have fun?

Squeaker: Yes, I did. Nurse, nurse!!

For a few minutes there, we actually have a conversation. How weird is that?

Wake Up!

The squeaker recently spent a whole day with nana while mama and papa were at work. He napped with nana on the couch, and while he slept, the little dog who lives with nana and poppop hopped onto the couch to snuggle up to them.

When the squeaker awoke, he saw the little dog. He poked her and prodded her. He tugged her little puppy paws.*

She didn't move. She didn't even open her eyes.

Finally, the squeaker looked at nana in confusion. "Nana," he said. "Is she a pretend dog?"



* Don't worry about the little dog! No dogs were harmed in the events recounted here. Really. The dog is fine. Nana was supervising.

Last Word on Allergies

What a surreal week it has been.

We went to the allergist on Friday, and the squeaker suffered through a “scratch test,” a skin test to see if he reacted to different allergens. We were told that based on this test, he is allergic not only to peanuts and soy, but also to wheat, milk, eggs, sesame seed, shellfish, and possibly tree nuts. We were given pages of ingredients to avoid and told that the squeaker should not eat any foods with any of these ingredients.

We were stunned and confused.

Then we had to take the squeaker to have blood drawn, because the “scratch test” is followed with the RAST test, which associates some sort of numeric value with the allergy. Watching the nurse draw blood from the squeaker’s thin little arm was awful.

He’d also tested slightly positive for an allergy to dogs, which didn’t surprise us since we have seen him cough and sneeze after being around dogs.

Anyway, after Friday, the more we thought about this whole thing, the stranger it sounded. The allergist seemed very fixated on his eczema. But we’re more concerned about his chronic cough, which only happens every other day (or night), but disrupts our lives significantly. We’d like the eczema to go away, but the squeaker seems able to live with it.

And I know that for me, if the alternative was subsisting on rice cakes, I’d rather just deal with a little eczema. So while our initial reaction was to run to a high-end grocery store to buy lots of rice flour and other strange, not-very-tasty products, we’re re-thinking that.

Then today, we get a call from the allergist about the blood test results. She said they confirmed the peanut allergy, but that the test was negative for soy. (Um…we are 100% certain the kid threw up after eating soy protein.) And he is mildly allergic to wheat and eggs, and slightly more allergic to milk. She recommended completely avoiding the former for 9 months and the latter for a year.

The squeaker is only 23 pounds at two and a half years old. Other kids his age tower over him. And we’re supposed to eliminate most of the foods he eats so that he doesn’t suffer from relatively mild eczema? It just sounds crazy.

I have a lot of questions about this whole thing. Is the scratch test reliable? (I understand it can result in a lot of false positives.) Is the blood test reliable? (I’ve heard it can result in false negatives.) More importantly, what’s the real purpose of complete avoidance of these foods? Is it to avoid a more severe reaction? (According to the allergist, an anaphylactic reaction to wheat or eggs is theoretically possible for the squeaker.) Or is it to encourage him to outgrow the allergies? I’ve read that complete avoidance is recommended in order to encourage outgrowing an allergy, but it’s not clear what the scientific support for this is, or how it works. Does complete avoidance mean the kid outgrows the allergy faster? Or that it’s more likely that the kid will outgrow the allergy? Is it a spectrum – complete avoidance is best, but some avoidance is good – or is it all-or- nothing?

We can’t seem to get the allergist to see the whole picture. The squeaker is so tiny. Getting him to eat anything is tough enough without limiting his options severely. I find it hard to believe that the benefits of complete avoidance of all these foods would outweigh the nutritional sacrifices involved.

So we’re going to ignore the allergist, and follow our own instincts. No peanuts, of course. No soy, because we saw the squeaker’s reaction. We’ll take some care not to overload him with the other stuff, but we’re not going to radically change his diet.

To make the whole thing worse, the squeaker has been really sick for the last few days. Because we think it’s likely that his cough is associated with an allergy to dogs, we’ve been pulling up the carpeting, which is presumably covered with dog dander since the former owners of our house had two dogs. Though we had the squeaker outside as much as possible, we stirred up a lot of dust and dander, and when he began wheezing yesterday, we took him to the pediatrician. The doctor said he has asthma, which sounds scary to me, but which seems to be fairly mild and easily controlled. We were given some treatments, and we are hoping that using those and getting the carpeting out of the house will reduce or eliminate his cough.

So that’s where we are. I feel better for writing it all out. And since there is so much more to the squeaker than these allergies, I’m done blogging about them. Who wants to read such boring stuff? Some parents make their kid’s health problems their life. I don’t plan to do so, myself. The squeaker is too funny and clever and squeezable.

Venting

Today I am grouchy.

We have an appointment with an allergist tomorrow, which is good. But in the meantime, we’ve been advised to avoid all peanut and soy products in all foods. That’s not so hard for peanuts, but soy is in practically everything the squeaker typically eats.

And the whole thing is making me mad and sad and depressed. A few weeks ago I had a perfectly normal kid who pretty much ate whatever we ate. And now we’re scanning the ingredients of every food and trying to explain to a two-year old who had chicken nuggets and M&M’s yesterday that he can’t have them today.

I don’t want to be a neurotic mom, jumping between my kid and his cake or candy bar – or bread, or pizza – saying, “No, you can’t have that!” And yet all food suddenly seems scary and unpredictable. A stupid candy bar could kill my kid. Kill my kid! A candy bar!!! How stupid is that?

I’ve been reading about anaphylaxis, and what I’ve learned has left me weak and queasy with fear and relief at our good luck – fear because the squeaker’s reaction IS anaphylactic, which I didn’t know before, and relief because I now know how lucky we were that his reaction wasn’t more severe. Next time, it could be.

And I’m frustrated, because I want answers, and allergies defy answers. I want to know how likely it is that he could have a severe reaction. I want to know exactly when we’d need to use the epipen (obtained yesterday). I want to know exactly what’s in every food I see everywhere – the donuts in the glass case at the bakery, the pizza dough at Bertucci’s, the lollipops that are given as treats to kids everywhere. I want to know if the cough that has plagued the squeaker now for 6 weeks could be a low-level reaction to his perpetual exposure to soy – or to some other allergen, thus far unknown to us.

But no one knows. I mean, there are answers – you can be instructed as to when to use the epipen, and many food manufacturers provide good lists of ingredients. I can only imagine how tough it was to have a kid with a food allergy 5 or 10 years ago, when food manufacturers and schools and other parents weren’t really familiar with what it means. I am grateful to the trailblazing parents who will make this easier for my family.

And I don’t want an allergic kid. I obviously don’t mean that I don’t want the squeaker. But I want the squeaker as he was 8 weeks ago! The squeaker with no cough. The squeaker whose mouth was blue and green and orange from eating M&M’s. The squeaker who loved cashews at bedtime and chick-fil-a nuggets for lunch. It’s like I’ve lost something. I feel a nagging sense of grief that I’m reluctant to acknowledge because it seems so self-pitying. I want my squeaker back!

I feel like I’m being a big baby. It’s not like my kid was diagnosed with leukemia. I didn’t have to watch him stop breathing from anaphylactic shock. And there are kids with truly crippling allergies, so how can I complain? I should be happy that he’s OK, and grateful that he doesn’t appear to be allergic to other common allergens (though we’ll find that out tomorrow). And yet I just can’t believe that I have to deal with this. I can’t believe that my most precious little thing is vulnerable to something as banal as FOOD. I’m scared of feeding him. I’m scared to leave him with anyone else. I’m scared that I won’t have the epipen if I need it, and I’m scared that I’ll be too reluctant to use it when it is needed, I’m scared that if I try to use it I’ll mess it up, and I’m scared that if I use it successfully, my tiny boy will suffer dangerous side effects.

So that's where I am.

Ugh. I feel a little better now. Not much, but a little.

Giving Up the Beloved Chick-Fil-A

The squeaker has loved Chick-Fil-A ever since he was in the womb. I ate a chicken sandwich right before my 20-week ultrasound, and he was bouncing happily all over the place during the procedure.

He eats chick-fil-a nuggets at least once a week, and sometimes several times a week. And he loves the waffle fries.

It's one of only two foods he's ever specially requested (the other is salmon).

And I've just been told by the pediatrician that he should no longer eat any products containing any traces of peanuts or peanut-derived products.

Chick-fil-a fries everything in peanut oil.

The web is full of chatter from parents of kids with peanut allergies and their hostility towards chick-fil-a. Apparently, the process by which peanut oil is refined makes it unlikely that it would cause a reaction. But what parent wants to take that risk for a fast food meal?

So no more chick-fil-a for the squeaker. It will break his heart.

the W.C.

The squeaker wants to know: why do we call rooms that only have toilets and sinks "bathrooms"?

Is a public "bathroom" really a bathroom if it doesn't have any bathtubs in it?

How does the squeaker think of these things?!?

One Peanut Butter and Honey Sandwich, Please

So it appears that I have pointlessly avoided my beloved peanut butter and honey sandwiches for the last three years. My son is allergic to peanuts anyway.

Or at least that’s what we suspect. We’ll probably confirm it next month when we meet with an allergist, but the evidence is pretty clear: he ate a candy with peanut butter filling and promptly threw up. This probably seems like slim evidence, but we’d already observed a similar reaction to soymilk. After eating cereal with the soymilk, the squeaker seemed very ill very suddenly, and then he threw up. His reaction to the candy was so uncannily like his reaction to soy that we are pretty convinced he is allergic to both. Apparently, it’s not uncommon to be allergic to both soy and peanuts, since they are in the same family of foods.

At least he didn’t experience anaphylaxis, which can be deadly. His reaction seems to be limited to his digestive system; he does not seem to suffer any respiratory effects, which is a relief.

And while I’m grouchy about the peanut butter and honey sandwiches, I knew even in my abstinence that there was very little evidence that a mother’s consumption of peanut products while pregnant or breastfeeding made any difference in her baby’s likelihood of allergies. It’s all about the genes, and with a family medical history of asthma on his father’s side and eczema on his mother’s side, the cards were stacked against the poor squeaker.

So no Reese’s peanut butter cups for my boy. Poor baby.

We took him to a small private zoo earlier this week. It was very rinky dink, with cages that were small and cramped enough to leave me cringing a bit for the animals’ sake. But we also were able to get very close to the animals, which was cool. While I prefer the animal-friendly exhibits at larger zoos, it was nice to see the animals up close. I thought the squeaker would have been enthused about the alligators and baby tigers and cute raccoon, but mostly he wanted to gather rocks and throw them into the pond.

Gross?

"Offensive," "gross," and "disgusting" were several words used to describe the cover of the August 2006 issue of BabyTalk magazine.

One woman ripped the cover off the magazine so her husband wouldn't see it. Another woman said the cover photo made her husband "uncomfortable."

The offending image?

A baby nursing at the breast of his or her mother.

I chuckled to myself while reading the article until I got to these statistics: "A national survey by the American Dietetic Association found that 57 percent of those polled are opposed to women breastfeeding in public and 72 percent think it is inappropriate to show a woman breastfeeding on television programs."

Suddenly, the "controversy" didn't seem very funny anymore.

Breastfeeding Linked to Lower Childhood Anxiety

More evidence of the importance of breastfeeding

Ouch

Sometimes it seems like the very conventions of modern life breed a peculiar apathy and detachment from the things that really matter.

I've been reading a series in the Baltimore Sun about the dangers facing marine life as human activity continues to alter their environment. Yesterday's article was about plastic in the seas and its deadly consequences for baby albatross, seals, whales, dolphins, and other marine life.

One disturbing quote:

"Of the 500,000 albatross chicks born here each year, about 200,000 die, mostly from dehydration or starvation. A two-year study funded by the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency showed that chicks that died from those causes had twice as much plastic in their stomachs as those that died for other reasons.

The atoll is littered with decomposing remains, grisly wreaths of feathers and bone surrounding colorful piles of bottle caps, plastic dinosaurs, checkers, highlighter pens, perfume bottles, fishing line and small Styrofoam balls. Klavitter has calculated that albatross feed their chicks about 5 tons of plastic a year at Midway."

And from today's article, about the increasing acidity of the oceans due to industrial pollutants:

"As industrial activity pumps massive amounts of carbon dioxide into the environment, more of the gas is being absorbed by the oceans. As a result, seawater is becoming more acidic. . . . The greenhouse gas, best known for accumulating in the atmosphere and heating the planet, is entering the ocean at a rate of nearly 1 million tons per hour — 10 times the natural rate.

Scientists report that the seas are more acidic today than they have been in at least 650,000 years. At the current rate of increase, ocean acidity is expected, by the end of this century, to be 2 1/2 times what it was before the Industrial Revolution began 200 years ago. Such a change would devastate many species of fish and other animals that have thrived in chemically stable seawater for millions of years."

But people are too busy to pay attention, and even after they are made aware, they are too busy to make real changes in their lives to curb the devastating effect of careless human activity. Plastic containers, straws, toys, and bottles are cheap and readily available for our busy busy lives. We are so busy with the banalities of our daily lives that we are allowing our own carelessness to lay the groundwork for destruction of all living things -- including ourselves.

I know that sounds apocolyptic, but it also seems to me to be accurate. We are so obsessed with our own human culture -- whether it's watching hours of TV on the little boxes we've constructed or spending an immense amount of money and time to mold our physical appearance to our glossy magazine ideal -- that we have neither the time nor the mental prowess to understand the consequences of our self-indulgence.

You Forgot Me!

A few squeakerisms I don’t want to forget…

The squeaker has become intrigued about jobs. I’ve told him that I am a lawyer and that his papa is a teacher. He also knows about other obvious professions – doctors, construction workers, sales clerks. He seems particularly interested in doctors, so I told him that there are lots of kinds of doctors, i.e., doctors for animals called veterinarians, doctors for kids called pediatricians, and doctors for mamas called obstetricians.

He looked thoughtful, and then asked: “What about doctors for papas?”

I explained that papas don’t have special doctors.

Then he asked: “What about doctors for sting rays?”

This one stumped me a bit, but then I told him that maybe veterinarians would take care of sting rays. I’m not sure that my answer satisfied him, though.

Eventually, he fell asleep. But the next evening, when we curled up in bed, he said, “Mama, tell me about jobs.”

So I said, “Well, mama is a lawyer, which means that she sits at a desk all day and reads stuff, and papa…”

“No, no, no…” he interrupted. “Tell me about doctors.” So I did. Again. When I asked him what kind of job he wanted someday, he said, “A tomato job.” I asked him what that was, and he giggled and shrugged, saying, “I don’t know!”

Some other good questions from the squeaker: “What did woolly mammoths eat?” “Why does it get dark?” “Why does it rain?”

He also told me that he wants a “dog pet” and a “cat pet,” and that I should get a guinea pig.

It appears that he recently has become acutely aware that he is separate from mama and papa, and this seems to have awakened fears of being left behind. While we were packing up to leave the beach house, he clung to us the whole time. And if we’re getting ready to go somewhere, he’ll trail behind us anxiously in the house, squeaking “You forgot me!”

Now I need to go look up what woolly mammoths ate…

Back to Work

How sad when vacation is over. But it was lovely. The weather was good and the sand was hot. My husband struggled a bit to understand my family’s approach to vacation (“You mean that you just sit on the beach all day, every day? That’s it?”) But once he understood the breadth and depth of our lazy and single-minded beach-going, things went smoothly.

The squeaker seems to give the beach mixed reviews. He says that he didn’t like the ocean. But while we sat on the beach, he was fearless. He ran into the water on his own, and after we chased him and rescued him from oncoming waves, we held his hands and helped him to “jump” the small waves. This was apparently so delightful that he shouted, “We’re having fun!” We made sand castles and dug holes, but he was mostly interested in being the Destroyer, sometimes with T-rex sound effects and always with the result of complete devastation.

We did discover that our boy has figured out how to play his parents a bit. When his papa took him to buy a toy lizard that he had admired the day before on the boardwalk, he appeared to have a bit of a revelation: “Papa, we can share! Mama can get a lizard, Papa can get a lizard, and I can get a lizard, and we can share!” Or maybe the squeaker can then have three lizards, I suspect.

And he proposed eating the beloved French fries that his papa bought him from a shop on the boardwalk on the nearby benches, rather than on the beach with his family. When pressed for an explanation, he said that Pop Pop had eaten the previous day’s French fries. But his proposal suggested no such explanation; he merely said, quite brightly, “Hey, papa, we can eat the French fries on the benches!” No hint of the ulterior motive.

In any case, he seemed to have a good time, and we managed to avoid a sunburn despite the squeaker’s lily-white skin. He was very excited to get home, and he ran into his room and began pulling out toys as if he’d been away for months. But now he keeps asking when we’re going back to the beach house. Sigh.