Sticky Fingers

Holy hell.

Allow me to sum up the past few weeks thusly:

I gave birth, went home, whereupon I contracted some sort of mutant virus, rendering me with sundry stomach issues which--fortunately--lasted for exactly 24 hours. I’d been healthy all of two damn minutes when T caught it. In his case, it lasted much longer than 24 hours. (Of course.) Fearing that Ella (hereinafter referred to on this blog as “Lo” for reasons too dumb to get into) would catch it too, I fled to my parents’ house, baby in tow, leaving J to cope with a cranky, barfing toddler. Fun! I felt awful about leaving T so soon after coming home with a new baby, but I didn't want to chance her getting sick. He seems to have gotten over it, though.

Finally, once everyone was better, I returned home, whereupon I started to notice something funny with Lo’s breathing. I mean, she WAS breathing, she just sounded loud, raspy and congested each time she inhaled. To truly “get” the sound, imagine a cross between Woody Woodpecker, a squeaky chew toy, and a seagull. I AM NOT KIDDING EVEN A LITTLE BIT.

I took her to the pediatrician, where she was diagnosed with reflux and something called tracheomalacia. Essentially, the flap at the top of her windpipe is very floppy when it should be rigid, and that’s what’s causing her breathing to sound freaky every time she inhales. She will grow out of it in a year or so, but all the same, our pediatrician had us take her to a gastrointestinal specialist just to make sure that her diagnosis was on point.

While we pretty much had our pediatrician’s assurance that all was well, it’s still pretty scary to have to take your kid to any kind of specialist, especially your two-and-a-half-week-old baby. And you know, people handle stress in different ways. Some might bite their nails, others smoke…

I apparently steal books. AWESOME ones.

Now, before you judge, let me give you a little backstory.

I don’t know if it’s only a New York City thing, but doctors here seem to love to keep you waiting for a looong time. The office was lovely, and the receptionist was very friendly and ushered us into an exam room fairly quickly, but once there, we waited for over an hour and fifteen minutes to see the doctor. We tried to pass the time by talking, but since J had to run out every few minutes to feed the parking meter, it sort of cut into our conversation. I tried to pass the time by learning about the marvels of my digestive system from the colorful (and graphic!) wall posters, but couldn’t concentrate, due to my nervousness.

And then I found it.

THE BEST BOOK EVER WRITTEN. Right there! In my kid’s exam room! What are the odds?

Ladies and gentlemen, I bring you…A Bunny’s Tummy Trouble: The Journey of Pete’s Tummy Ache!

Let me tell you, if you’re stressed about something and need to distract yourself, THIS IS THE BOOK TO READ. It’s a charming and heartwarming tale of a young rabbit with gastrointestinal reflux, told through the magic of awful rhymes, including my personal favorite, “We test pee-pee, Pete/For things like infection. Some things aren’t detected/Under normal inspection.”

Do you think I’m kidding? I ASSURE YOU, I AM NOT.

Read on for more of The Awesome:

As you can see, the book is awesome, but puzzling. For instance, I have no idea why the author chose to make the protagonist a rabbit, but the doctor human with a rabbit-y name (Dr. Fuzz). Also, Pete the bunny has bunny slippers, which strikes me as redundant and weird.

I saw that there were six or seven more copies of the same book (which was really more of a large, book-like pamphlet for a pharmaceutical company hawking a prescription antacid), so I decided I could take one for my very own. It’s not really stealing if I truly want to learn more about the silent epidemic of bunny-related reflux, right? RIGHT?

No sooner had I stashed the contraband inside my diaper bag, the doctor made an appearance. And people, he looked EXACTLY like Napoleon, the choreographer from So You Think You Can Dance. Frustratingly, my husband doesn’t watch the show with me, so I had no one with whom to share this exciting observation. Dr. Napoleon conducted a preliminary exam, and then brought in another doctor, both of whom confirmed that our daughter was really going to be just fine.

We celebrated by stopping off at Magnolia Bakery to devour a metric ton of red velvet and vanilla cupcakes with buttercream frosting (being good parents, we saved some for T)…

...And then headed home with her.

On another note, does anyone have any good short story recommendations (besides David Sedaris, since I've already read everything he's written)? Or some fluffy book that doesn't require too much of my brainpower? I need something light to pass the time while nursing, and I can only watch so many reruns of Frasier and Will & Grace. (My god, they're on ALL DAY LONG.)