The Working Mom by Kay Luna

This is a very happy day!

Babycakes is doing GREAT since having her ear-tubes surgery yesterday morning. No problems at all. In fact, I think she feels a ton better than she’s felt in a long, long, LONG time.

How do I know? Well, she’s running around and babbling and playing and eating and climbing and laughing and … well … just about everything … a lot more than she was even just two days ago. She hasn’t touched her ears since the surgery (and she used to poke at them a lot).

She even seems to be repeating more words and sounds, like she’s hearing a little better.

And the actual surgery? Turns out it wasn’t really that scary, for us or the baby, thanks to the wonderful nurses and doctors who took care of her. We can’t say enough nice things about the whole experience … other than we were taking our little girl in for surgery. That part kind of stunk.

But it felt like everyone was rolling out the red carpet for us. Everyone spent a lot of time explaining things to us, and they were so kind.

Before Babycakes even thought about getting restless as we waited, a nice nurse named Laurie brought her two stickers (which amazed her) and THREE little stuffed teddy bears, which she insisted on holding ALL AT THE SAME TIME … along with her favorite Baby Natalie from home. She had her hands full.

And they had this little red wagon that they let me pull Babycakes … and her babies … around in through the halls until the doctors were ready to go. When it was time to take her back to the surgery room, she didn’t flinch, because one of the nurses just took over the reins of the red wagon and wheeled her away. She wasn’t scared at all.

They all warned us that when she came back from surgery, she’d probably be crying and maybe even unconsolable and confused because of the anesthesia. I was prepared for the worst.

But she surprised us all. She was very stoic and brave about it all, and didn’t cry … not at all! She had the groggy-eyed look at first, but she stayed calm and just let me hold her until the stuff wore off.

The procedure was short, and we were home about three hours after we arrived at the hospital. She hasn’t acted like her ears bothered her since. She did take a long nap in the afternoon (thank goodness, because she was awake a lot the night before … and so was I), but after that, she was up and running and rarin’ to go.

And her activity cranked up a few notches this morning. She was running around like a little wild woman, wearing this crazy pair of pink-lensed sunglasses with “bling-bling” diamonds on the corners.

They are darling little glasses and she loves them, after becoming fascinated with my mother-in-law’s reading glasses. This morning, Grandma was wearing her glasses to read Babycakes a book, so the little girlie thought she needed to wear her’s, too. I got a picture of them together in both sets of glasses. Very cute.

I should also say THANK YOU to my mother-in-law, who essentially halted her own life to stay at our house and watch Babycakes for us for the past two weeks, so we didn’t have to take her out of the house and get her sick again. She had to be free of any sickness to be able to get the surgery, and without my mother-in-law’s help, you know she probably would have caught SOMETHING. There is so much nasty stuff going around.

Thank you all, too, for your kind thoughts and well wishes. Hopefully, Little Miss Luna is going to be a lot healthier and happier now.

But … now my husband’s sick. If it’s not one thing, it’s the other, right?!

Ahhh, parenting. Gotta love it.

One of my co-workers, who sits beside me — so we can’t help but hear each others’ phone calls — just got the most hilarous phone call from home. He told me I could share the laugh with you!

His 6-year-old daughter, Katie, was on the line, saying her 4-year-old cousin had something important to say, putting her on the phone.

“I sneezed,” she said, “and it took FIVE Kleenexes to clean my face!”

In the background, his daughter was yelling, “That’s GROSS!”

When he hung up, we got a good laugh from those girls! I seriously miss getting gross phone calls like that from my son, who is 16 now and way too cool to say stuff like that anymore. Can’t wait for Babycakes to learn to talk! ha!

Aggressive teens and their brains

Hey, this is good to know: A story on the health wire today says teen aggression might be all in our minds — literally.

Some Australian scientists have found that when key regions of the brain that control emotions are bigger, teens tend to be more aggressive — and that means being more argumentative and unfriendly with Mom and Dad. This seems to happen especially when brains are developing during the teen years, according to the story.

You can read more about the study by clicking here.

Cross your fingers for Babycakes

Please think of Babycakes early Thursday morning, when she’s scheduled to have outpatient surgery — at the CRACK of dawn! — to get ear tubes put in her poor little constantly-infected ears.

They say all the ear infections she had between September and December, which they suspect were linked to a cat allergy that we didn’t realize she had, left her ears ripe for infection. She had a stretch of wellness when we removed her from the cat situation, but her ears got infected again in January — and it’s been constant sickness since then.

The specialist says the surgery will end that cycle, and her health should turn around “like night and day.” We really hope so! I’ll give you an update when I get back to work on Friday.

Anybody else had experience with ear-tube surgery? Did your kids see a big turnaround afterward?

When my husband is changing the baby’s diaper, she never moves an inch … or so he says.

She just lies there, looking around, waiting patiently for him to put a clean pantie on her. He says when he’s putting back on her pants, she even cooperates by picking up her feet and helping herself back into the pantlegs.

If I ever witnessed something like that, I think I would turn around and leave the house and then check the number outside, just to make sure I was at the right place.

She is the opposite with me. Unless I can divert her attention with some deliciously-naughty item, like a tube of Desitin or a vial of Vaseline to look at, she immediately tries to jump up and escape, rolling around on the bed like a little worm — a fast one, too.

I spend most of our diaper-changing time saying, “Oh, my goodness, let’s sit still for a few more minutes. We really HAVE to wear panties. Mommy wears panties. We both wear panties. Don’t you want to wear some clean panties, too?”

She usually responds with a vigorously headshake, meaning “N-O!” She would really rather NOT wear panties, come to think of it, Mommy, thank you very much. And those pants? Well, you can just forget those, too. Most of the time, she howls like a crazy lady when I pick her up to put those pants back on.

When the dust settles, we talk a lot about toilets, and how someday, she’s going to want to go potty on the “big girl pot,” but for now, she needs to wear these very festive panties with Elmo and Big Bird on them. She isn’t buying it.

I thought of her — and her yearning to run without panties — when I saw a story today in the Chicago Sun-Times about parents who swear that they were able to potty-train their infants … yes, I said INFANTS! You can check it out yourself by clicking right here.

A mother quoted in the story says her 1-year-old son makes a “sssss” sound when he has to go potty, and she runs him to the toilet and lets him go. She says he started doing this when he was 4 months old. My mouth dropped open when I read that.

Apparently, parents who do this are trying to be eco-friendly. A source in the story says if all parents of babies let them “go” in the toilet at least once a day, it would make a tremendous impact on the landfills.

All I can think of is the MESS I’d have on my hands, because I’m certain my little girl WOULD NOT follow along with this now, at age 1 — and especially wouldn’t have as an infant.

What do you think??? Would you try this out with your kids?

Until just a few minutes ago, when the TV news brought everything to a grinding halt in the newsroom, I was all set to tell you about the lighthearted hour I spent this afternoon at a Valentine’s Day party with my grandparents.

I wanted to tell you all about how sweet Grandma and Granddad Stubbs looked as they sat next to each other, listening to a jazz band and eating truffles and chocolate-covered strawberries at their assisted-living facility in Silvis.

It was a huge party for the holiday, very festive, with flowers and Valentine’s hearts and candies all over the place. There were some people who stood up and danced.

Grandma and Granddad — almost 90 and 95, respectively — mostly watched other people. And I watched them, soaking up the moment that I got today … to sit next to my grandparents and enjoy a party. Some people don’t get to be with their grandparents anymore. I’m lucky, and I know it.

And they’re lucky. They’ve been married 70 years — longer than some people get the privilege of living.

That thought really hit home when I got back to the newsroom, and the TV started blaring about a shooting on campus at my old college, Northern Illinois University in DeKalb, Ill.

From the news we’ve heard so far, the gunman is dead. Up to 15 others are injured.

One minute, students were sitting in class. The next minute, someone started shooting people. I just can’t get my mind wrapped around it.

Northern Illinois University is the first place I lived away from home. And it’s the place I lived with my then 3-year-old son, who went away to college with me. Back then, I used to worry about people hurting little kids — it was the mid-90s, about the time of the Oklahoma City bombing, where little preschoolers like my son were killed at their daycare.

I worried about our safety. But somehow, I never dreamed something so ugly could happen at a place I thought was so beautiful.

I couldn’t even count the number of times my little son and I walked together across that very campus, probably very near that lecture hall where the shooting happened — heading toward the perfect spot on the green grass to have a picnic, or to some other nook for me to study and him to play.

Now, that sense of safety has been shattered. Innocent people, just trying to go to school, are injured or dead.

And other people all across the country are busy right now, celebrating life and Valentine’s Day. My grandparents are probably enjoying leftovers from their Valentine’s Day party, eating the little swan-shaped chocolates and watching TV together, probably unaware that this even happened.

It’s times like these that really underscore how precious life is — and that you just never know when it’s going to last, or when it’s going to end.

You might have already picked this up, but Babycakes is strong-willed (who in the world do you think she gets that from?? tee-hee!).

That personality trait is coming out more and more, as Little Miss attempts to communicate, expressing her EVERY WANT AND DESIRE to her doting parents.

For one, there are some foods she just doesn’t like the feeling of in her hands. She will turn up her nose and throw it on the floor, and then immediately watch for the dog to lap it up.

The other day, when she wasn’t very hungry anymore, she purposely squished one of her favorite spinach-and-cheese pasta pieces in her hand, and then said, “Eeeeuuuuwwwww.” I cracked up.

Last night, while I was changing her diaper, she decided she wanted to spring up — before I got her new panty on. I gently maneuvered her back down, saying, “No, no, nopey, no.” She smiled and said, “No, no, no, no” right back to me, clear as a bell. Again, I laughed out loud.

But the most headstrong thing she’s doing lately isn’t so bad, really. Babycakes suddenly is obsessed with her books, and makes no bones about it when she wants a story read to her.

She goes for the same two books usually — Happy Baby Colors and Happy Baby 123 — and knows right where to find them in her room. She then carries them to me, following me around the room if necessary, grunting and pointing at them so I will understand …. very clearly … her strong desire to hear her book.

It doesn’t satisfy her to just look at the pages. She must hear the words, anticipating the next page and sometimes going back to one of her favorite previous pages before we finish.

Ah, but we’re never finished. Silly me. She wants to hear the story again and again and again. And she’s so into it, that she points at the pictures when I say, “Where’s the yellow hat? Where’s the banana? Where’s the macaw?”

Don’t get me wrong. I am VERY proud of my girl for loving books. I always loved reading and writing, and it ended up paying off in my journalism career. And I think her love of books is excellent, as far as exposing her to more words and expanding her vocabulary.

But, dang, eventually a person wants to be DONE reading for a while. haha! And of course, I can’t reason with her about it.

So, here’s what I’ve been doing (and I’m probably going to the bad place for it): I’m hiding her box of books now! Every day, I read several of them to her … but then I distract her and put the books away for a while.

Is that terrible of me? Did your kids ever go through phases like this? What did you do?

Sometimes, when I get around my Mom, I revert to my kid self. Probably, a lot of people do. But the other day, this happened just by coming into contact with her HOUSE.

I had stopped at Mom’s over my lunch hour to drop something off. And let me preface this by saying that she lives in town, while I live in the country — meaning, I’m used to seeing weird animals/bugs/other nasties in the house now and then.

So, I go upstairs for something and am heading back down when I get to the landing on her staircase, and I see what I think is a squirrel laying on its side. Why a squirrel? I have no idea, but that’s what the shadowy shape looked like to me.

I shuddered and squealed a high-pitched squeal, and then tried to run down the long flight of stairs — in my high-heeled boots. Not a good idea, come to find out.

Losing my balance (like most of the women in my family usually do), I went tumbling down the stairs, bruising myself pretty badly on my left leg, knee and arm.

I couldn’t feel the pain at the time, though, because I was so creeped out. I jumped up, only to see my Mom’s cat saunter past me, looking like, “What the heck are you doing, you idiot? You woke me up.”

Suddenly, it hits me: If there was a squirrel in the house, the cat would be all over it. I laughed about this whole thing to myself, but didn’t have the guts — or the balance — to go back up the stairs and check it out again.

But my saga wasn’t over. While I’m at Mom’s, I figure, “Why not raid her kitchen and eat lunch before going back to work?” I noticed she had some potatoes on top of the fridge, so I thought I’d make myself a potato in the microwave and take it back to the office with me.

I get the potato down and go through all the motions of washing and cooking it, and then slice the piping hot little devil open to melt some butter in it. I take another look in the fridge, and I notice she’s got some cheese in there, too. I slice some off and set the pieces inside the potato, and the cheese was melting quite nicely when I noticed I had some on my finger.

I licked it off. And then I proceeded to gag and gag and gag and gag and gag. And then gag some more.

The cheese tasted AWFUL. It tasted ROTTEN. I was so grossed out.

So, like any kid-daughter would, I called Mom.

“I saw something gross and fell down your stairs, and then I ate rotten cheese,” I told her.

She tried to sound soothing, but I could tell she wanted to guffaw in my face. The thing on the stairs was a piece of clothing that she’d dropped on the landing, and the cheese wasn’t rotten — it just tasted different because it was SMOKED.

Turns out I don’t like smoked provolone cheese — not. at. all.

Other lessons learned: Turn on a light before you go running down a flight of stairs. Read the package before you eat something. And sometimes there’s no such thing as a free lunch — even at Mom’s! HAHA!

Babycakes “asked” me the first question I couldn’t answer the other day — and she’s only 1.

We were talking about belly buttons. Well, actually, I was talking to HER about belly buttons, since she really doesn’t converse in English yet. She mostly talks in grunts and gestures and a few words.

I was telling her in my sing-song way that we both have belly buttons, and that her belly button is exquisitely cute, and that she used to have a cord that connected her to me right at that belly button spot.

It seemed like she was really listening, looking at my belly button, and then pointing to her own.

And then, she looked out toward the hallway, where our dog was reclining on the floor.

“Dawh?,” she asked, holding up her hands and looking quizzical. It was like she was asking, “Does the dog have a belly button, too?”

I had to admit that, yikes, I don’t think Guinness has a belly button that we can see. But he had to have SOMETHING that connected him to his mommy, I’m supposing. Wow. I’m not sure, I say. I’ve never thought about it before.

Then, I pull out the Mommy Card that worked so well with my older child, who now is a teenager. This is what I always said when I was stumped: “Gosh, that’s something we’ll have to go to the library and learn more about.”

She didn’t ask what a library is. That will be next.

Can anyone save me a trip and answer her question???

I just read a news story that says scientists are studying the relationship between fertility and real estate.

They want to know if people have more babies when they own their own homes … or when they buy bigger homes than their last ones. If they want a couple to interview for that study, I guess they should call me and my husband.

I hadn’t thought about it a lot before, but it’s true: We bought a new house and moved closer to our families, and within six months of moving there, I got pregnant with Babycakes.

However, we had been married for many years, and owned two other homes together before we had the baby, so maybe that skews things a bit. I don’t know.

But THE STORY, WHICH YOU CAN SEE IF YOU CLICK HERE, does point out that real estate and babies have had a connection over time. When homes were scarce or beyond the means of young couples, like in the 1930s, couples historically delayed marriage or had fewer children.

What do you think? Is there really a connection? Do you have any stories to share from your own experience?