Bubble Boy

I am so upset.

I am so upset I could scream.

I am so upset I could scream because my baby has the flu.

I am so upset I could scream because my baby has the flu AGAIN!

This time, Evan has Influenza A (H1N1). No need to alert the media, we are locked inside our home and don’t plan on coming out until we are better.  

I really just don’t get it. I am one of the most germaphobic people and take extra precautionary steps with Evan when it comes to staying away from cooties. How is this happening? Why am I being tortured?

Doesn’t he look so helpless?

The above picture was from last night after we came home from our emergency room visit.

The good news is that by this morning my little buddy was feeling a million times better.

Evan and I were in my bedroom (this morning) cleaning and putting away toys and I decided that it was time for the walker to go into storage (since Evan can practically put himself in it and then remove himself). I folded it down and Evan thought he should sit it in one last time.

I have no clue where his legs are.

Hopefully it won’t be too much longer and I can blog about something else besides our family ailments. Lovebug has an outpatient surgery this Friday and after that I just pray there are no more.

Now I must go and try to find a bubble for Evan to live in.

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What’s It All About?

Over the years I’ve been asked quite often about my husband’s job. And since this blog is titled “Living the Knight Life” I figured I should share more of what Lovebug does since it is a daily part of our lives.

Here are the top 3 questions I get asked:

What exactly does he do?

Don’t you worry about him?

Can I pet the dog?

Answers:

Lovebug’s title is Corporal over the K-9 unit. He and his K-9 partner, Eiko, spend most of their days looking for drugs and bad guys. It is undeniable that this is his love and passion and that this is definitely his calling. Why you might ask? I’ve been asking God the same thing for almost 9 years and have come to realize I may never know. All I do know is that God has blessed him with an incredible nose so sensitive to smell that it is beyond scary and bizarre all at the same time.  

Just like any other wife, I will always worry about my husband. Since the very beginning of his law enforcement career, God has always given me a great deal of peace about his safety. This is not to say that I enjoy the occasional phone call from my husband that goes something like this:

Him: “Hey babe, whatcha doing?”

Me: “What happened?”

Him: “Oh, nothing much. I have to go to the hospital because ________.

The fill in the blanks usually range from: “I slammed my car into the bad guy’s car during a chase”, “I got in a fight”  to “I accidentally inhaled iodine crystals (used in methamphetamine production) while searching a car.”

The dog’s name is Eiko and yes you may pet him, but only if my husband is holding him. The dog and I usually have a “love / I like to pretend you’re not there” relationship. I’m very thankful that he is their to help protect Lovebug but on the flip side, he poos a lot. And they are really big poos. And Lovebug sometimes forgets to scoop them up out of the backyard.

So there you have it, that is it pretty much the gist of it. Lovebug has precisely 43,576 (and still counting) stories over his years in law enforcement, varying from writing Darius Rucker a speeding ticket to seizing 176 marijuana plants from a single wide trailer. His stories are always different, random and interesting. Needless to say, there is never a dull moment here.

What a Day, What a Week

My husband always seems to find the perfect time to leave and go out of town for work…for a whole week.  We had to wait a whole month for Evan’s ear wax removal procedure at MUSC and it just so happened to fall on the day Lovebug was going to be out of town. I’m beginning to think he does this on purpose to me.

Evan’s appointment was this past Tuesday and since my dearly beloved husband was in Florence performing drug interdiction stops on the interstate, my wonderful mother and mother-in-law accompanied Evan and I at the hospital.

Let me first say that the nurses at MUSC were beyond helpful, caring and sympathetic. The sympathy was for me. I will confess now that I cried the whole time. All I can say is I thank God I had backup because I was a complete nervous wreck.

Here is my baby on the hospital bed. It was a challenge keeping him content. It may be hard to tell but he was a little fussy. The fussiness began when he woke up that morning and was denied his milk and anything to eat (no food or milk before surgery, doctor’s orders).

Next, they gave Evan some medicine in a drink to make him relaxed. Also, we had to give him a quick breathing treatment because he was a little asthmatic. Note the blue mark reminding the doc which ear needed to be worked on.

Evan trying to fight the sleepy medicine.

Once they took my baby away from me back into surgery, my mom made the nurses give me some loopy medicine.

Evan did really well. It was literally a five-minute procedure but seemed like a lifetime to me. The doctor informed us that he removed a large amount of wax and this is something we will have to monitor with Evan. He said many times it only happens once with babies, but knowing waxy boy Evan, I have a feeling we have more to come.



15 Months and 5 am Conversations

Evan had his…wait for it…wait for it…15 month check-up on Tuesday! The doctor visit went very well…minus the screaming. As we enter the pediatrician’s office Evan immediately starts crying and having body convulsions. It always makes for a fun visit.

Here are his stats:

Weight: 32 lbs

Height: 34 1/2 inches

Head: 20 1/4 inches

As usual, Evan is off the chart in all three categories. The nurses are always so sweet and feel the need to reassure me that even though his growth line is off the chart, it still has a healthy curve. I appreciate this, as I have said numerous times before, I worry Evan may have a form of gigantism.  

In other and totally unrelated news, Lovebug is back working nights. I knew his prior day shift wouldn’t last too long.  His work day ends when he comes in at 5 am, and that is when mine begins.  He always says that he doesn’t purposely mean to wake me up but I find it hard to believe from all the opening and closing of doors, throwing things down onto the floor, walking upstairs, having his radio on, having his cell phone ring, taking a shower and being just generally loud.

So as the freight train I refer to as my husband entered our home the other morning, I woke up. I asked him how his night was, and he begins telling me another outrageous story. He met a 64-year-old woman who was upset because her husband of 27 years has recently told her he feels like a woman trapped inside a man’s body. The husband has been recently wearing his wife’s bras and panties, and recently purchased a lovely pair of women’s sandals. Furthermore, the husband has been consuming female hormones he purchased via the internet.

Wow! And sometimes I think I have it bad.

I’m so glad my husband could help.

I really need to stop hearing these stories at 5 am.

Not so Utterly Good!

I’ve come to realize in life that I hold many titles. Wife, mom, sister, doctor, friend, lactitioner, horticultrist…these are just a few. Some are real and some are titles I give myself when I see fit.

When my father-in-law asked for some assistance the other day on the farm, there was no way I could deny him my services. He began to tell me that a baby calf was born several days ago and the mama cow was swollen.

I said to him, “Swollen?”

He replied, “Her utters. We need to make sure the baby is getting milk.”

Let me first say this. My father-in-law was almost literally born in a barn. So was my husband. Thus, both are very knowledgeable about the ins and outs of farm life.

Anyways, back to the story.

I immediately began having flashbacks.

I knew that feeling all to well! Being engorged with milk!

I could sympathize with this mama cow. I’ve been in those same hooves before. And those aren’t any hooves you want to be in!

I had to help her!

Then I remembered the baby needed to eat too.

After we got mama cow pinned up in a stall, we got a bucket of warm water and washed, massaged, soaked and even tried to milk her.  Poor mama cow, she had the “Clogged Breast Duct of the Century”.

We really didn’t have any luck helping mama cow. At this point, I sadly apologized to her. Thankfully, cows have more than two utters and baby cow was able to nurse off the others.

After we got that all done, I thought my services were done for the day. Apparently, my self-proclaimed “lactitioner” title was so impressive that my father-in-law asked if I wanted to help “band” the other baby calf.

To clarify, banding a cow is a nice, politically correct way of saying neutering.

My father-in-law intrusted me with the handy-dandy banding tool. He showed me how it worked.

First you open.

Insert the band over you know what.

(no picture is really necessary for this).

Then you close.

The band stays on for about a week, then the boy cow’s pride will no longer be there. Allegedly, according to my father- in-law, this does not hurt nor cause harm to the cow. Its imperative that all boy cows on a farm get banded, except for the bull. If not, just like human boys with a lot of testosterone, they will fight. Also, there is only allowed one bull on the farm to hanky panky with the ladies.

Once boy cow was pinned up in the stall, my father-in-law grabbed him by the tail and lifted his hind end off the ground. By lifting a cow up by its tail causes the back legs to briefly exhibit paralysis, therefore not allowing them to kick. Well, this was the line my father-in-law fed me.  At that point, I could only hope and pray what he said was true because I’ve never been kicked by a cow and I didn’t want this day to be my first either.

Once boy cow’s rear end was hanging in the air, I slowly made my way towards him. I began to separate the back legs and tried to find his jewels. I kept looking, and looking and looking. After about two minutes of searching around back there, it finally dawned on me that there were no jewels to be found. All I saw were little utters hanging down. He was a she!

(Sorry, there are no pictures of the banding process as I was a little busy and there was no else to take the pictures)

So that day on the farm, I added some new titles to my list.