No, really officer, he did it to himself!!

Dawson just got over his first real illness, helpfully diagnosed as a viral infection** of unknown origin. He woke up one morning with a 102 fever, which went up to over 104 within 24 hours. And that was the axillary temp so add whatever particular figure you been told to, and you've got one sick little lad. It was so sad. The first day he spent the entire day sitting on my lap, which wasn't that bad.

The next day the rash started.

Not too bad at first, just some flat splotches mostly on this forehead. Then they spread over his face and into his hairline.

Then got more red, and closer together.

Then behind the ears, all over the scalp, then neck, down, down, down.... In 36 hours it looked like he had the measles.

*insert pic of mottled child here when beloved mother emails them to me, as she promised  3 days ago*

At one point he was so weak that he just laid in my arms, staring into middle distance. His eyes were bright and glassy, but unfocued. His lips were so red, but chapped and dry. When I'd call his name he'd give me the briefest of glances, then let his eyes fall away again. He was beyond exhausted, but would sob hysterically if I tried to put him in bed. (This was the worst part. He wouldn't sleep anywhere but in my arms! In 3 days I got 11 hours, total. The cramp in my arm was excruciating the next day, like I'd smashed my funny bone to smithereens.) The only thing that let me know he was still in there was that he snapped to attention whenever he heard the theme song to his most very favourite show in the whole wide world, Waybuloo.

BTW, I will be eternally grateful to my wonderful fellow-commonwealther Beck who learned of Dawson's obsession with the British TV show, and sent, from Australia, a DVD unavailable on this side of the pond. It saved our life! My next child shall be named Cattermole, regardless of gender. Actually, that's kinda bad-ass. But I digress.

Ooh, funny story: I called Telehealth at one point in this adventure, and was only half-listening as the nurse asked me the standard questions: is he having any trouble breathing; do his lips or nails have a bluish tinge, etc. Then when we got to the specifics of the rash, the questioning took a turn that snapped me back to attention:

Telehealth Nurse Lady- Are the spots raised or flat?
Me-  Some flat, but mostly raised.
TNL- Are they fluid-filled?
Me- Not really, but there are a couple that look like they're going in that direction.
TNL- Would you say they look like blisters or pimples?
Me- Most of them look pimples, but the worst ones, I'd say like blisters.
TNL- *pause, typey typey type* 
TNL - Are any of the blisters purple? (Sproing! Purple blisters? Quoi?)
Me- No...definitely more red.
TNL - *typey typey type!!*
TNL- The red blisters, would you say they're blood coloured? (OMG! Seriously??)
Me- No! Just red, like acne.
TNL-Ok! *type type*
Me- Wait, were you asking about the PLAGUE??
TNL- *pause, no typing*
TNL- ...Perhaaaps...

Can you imagine?? THE PLAGUE! I think the only disease that would possibly have freaked me out as much would be Ebola,. 

So, after 4 days, 3 tentative diagnoses and 2 trips to the doctor, we ended up getting through all that. The fever cooled, the rash cleared. Yesterday we were finally able to venture out without people gasping and pulling their children close. Huzzah!

Today he fell and smashed his face into the arm of the couch.

Black eye.

Teeth right through the lip.

Blood everywhere.

Sigh.

One day, we'll reach a point where I can go a week without having to wonder if a trip to the ER is in order. At least that's what I keep telling myself. Considering we still rarely make it that long without Jamie putting himself in mortal peril, maybe I'm just fooling myself.





**"A viral infection?" said my mother, "that's nothing to worry about at all, then! Stop complaining. The common cold is a viral infection!"
"Yes, mother," I replied, pinching the bridge of my nose in a gesture of exasperation as old as time, "so's AIDS."

AUGH!

I don't know what y'all do with your kids when you need to use the facilities, but as a rule I plunk Dawson in front of the TV with a sippy and some puffs and void as quickly as I can, praying for minimum damage when I return. He can climb out of his crib, playpen, and high chair so there really is no 'safe'  place for him. But alas, mamma has to pee. Today we reached a new level of 'OMG, is this really what the rest of my life is going to be like??'

He seemed happy enough with his snack, watching Caillou. But when I came back from the washroom (15 feet away for maybe 30 seconds) he wasn't there. I listened for his typical rustlings- nothing. I called to him- no reply. Just as my heart was beginning to beat a little quicker, I glanced at the front door.

It was open.

My heart officially jumped into my throat.

I bolted out the door in my PJs, thanking God that my incredibly fashionable gay neighbours are in Boston. (Whether I can keep their plants alive while they're gone is a topic for another day.) My apartment is pretty much in the middle of the hall, and I can see down to one door to the stairwell. No baby. I ran to the other side of the hall (which is offset, and not visible from my place) and there he was, trying to open the door to the garbage chute. He succeeded just as I reached him, and man was he pissed when I took him back to our apartment. Despite looking like an angelic little elf, this kid has a mean temper on him!!

So, the front door now must stay locked at all times. This isn't the first time he's opened the door, but it's the first time he's gone on an adventure with his new-found freedom. He's not even 15 months yet. I don't even want to think about what the teen years have in store.

I declare today to be 'Make Out Like a Bandit' day!

Apparently I'm hiding horseshoes somewhere, because today has been rather fortuitous. First off, in the elevator today we met up  with a sweet family who gave Dawson a freezie! Yes it was 9am, and yes candy/strangers  blah blah blah,  but it's a scorcher out there and a freezies are Dawson's new favourite thing. So yay, and thank you Family from the 10th floor!

Then, I totally scored at Goodwill. I love me some Goodwill, and every so often you hit the jackpot! We have a wedding to go to this weekend, and since Jamie hasn't worn a suit since the day we were married, it was time to do some shopping. But while we don't really have the money to go buy a good suit right now, a cheap suit is often worse than no suit. Enter Goodwill! Last week I picked up a custom tailored jacket, Givenchy shirt and Tommy Hilfiger slacks for about $20. (Add dry cleaning for 10 bucks and you've got GQ for $30!) Today I went back for shoes and scored the most gorgeous Italian leather shoes for... wait for it... $7! My man looks like a million bucks, and it cost me $37. Woot woot.

Lastly, while I was leaving GW I got a text from my neighbour who is about to leave for 10 days. He was asking if I could  water his plants while he's gone, and in return he gave me EVERYTHING perishable in his fridge! Milk, hotdogs, oranges, cherries, peaches, pears, clementines, cucumbers, peppers, bananas and grapes.  I love friendships like this, where you feel comfortable enough to unload all your produce and the half bottle of wine you opened last night. I seriously wont have to grocery shop for a week. Thank you Mohammad! I promise to try to keep your plants alive!

Tomorrow's lottery  jackpot is $43M. The way today is going, I think I'm going to have to go buy a ticket!

Let's reserve the parking spot now...

Well, it happened. I knew it was coming, but had no idea of when, or how, or with what intensity.

Dawson's first trip to the E.R.

See that? That mussed up, broken, crushed looking thing? Yep, that's my soul. Please don't step on it. I'm not sure how much more it can take right now.

On Friday evening Dawson was being the spirited rapscallion (ahem) he always is, and was climbing on the dining room chairs. Just as I was crossing the room to get him down, it fell over backwards while he held on to the top rung. In the longest 3 seconds of my life I watched as all the weight of the chair, plus baby, came down onto the wood floor, crushing his little fingers and smashing his face into the floor. Blood spurted EVERYWHERE. The scream is permanently seared into my brain.

I'd like to say I was able to keep a level head and attend to the situation like the Klassymomma I am, but that's a lie. I absolutely broke down into hysterics as I scooped up my broken baby and barged in on Jamie in the shower. Huge amounts of blood followed us wherever we went. I didn't even know if all of his fingers were still attached. I couldn't look.

In a testament to why it take 2 people to make a baby, Jamie was completely cool and rational as he inspected the injuries, but the bleeding was too severe to really tell. I could see, though, that his fingertips were already turning black.

"What do we do?? Do we go to the hospital?? Can they even do anything for baby fingers?" I cried, wishing to God that I'd never bought such top-heavy and angular chairs and cursing the wrought iron accents. From now on, it will be folding chairs and patio furniture until my youngest is 40.

"Don't you have a mommy friend who was an X-ray tech?" asked my oh-so-calm husband.

Duh. So I called said x-ray tech friend, who was in Oklahoma. Bless her heart, she was able to calm me down and assure me I hadn't mangled his little hands for life. Evidently, kids don't really have joints as this point. Who knew? What they DO have is itty bitty little fingers that bleed like the dickens, so she suggested I go to the ER incase stitches were needed.

I went back in to the bedroom where Jamie had managed to calm Dawson a little, but the scene was still gutting. My beautiful son, covered head to toe in streaks of blood; my husband, looking more worried than I'd ever seen. We tried to inspect the wound again but every time it was uncovered the blood would just overwhelm the tip and we couldn't accurately assess the damage. We decided the ER was definitely in order, but Jamie couldn't come with us. It was his first shift in a new department and only his own loss of limb would have been an acceptable absense. We Cornelii really have a fantastic flair for timing. In the end, my wonderful grandma drove us to the hospital so I could sit in the back with my unbelievable trooper of a son. He'd calmed down completely by the time we got to the ER. We can't say the same about the mama.

In the end, it took 3 stitches to reaffix his semi-detached fingertip. 3 fingers are severely bruised and it looks like the nails might fall off.  X rays were taken, but nothing appeared to be broken. The stitches should dissolve in about a week, and then all that will be left is his very first scar.

As long as you don't count the one on my heart.

Anyone want to buy some chairs?