cranky pixels

Right now Not So is somewhere in the sky* between Portland and San Jose, eating peanuts and reading a book. There is no one kicking him or demanding to run up and down the aisles, and he got to carry all his baggage on the plane with him instead of having to check all the myriad accessories that must accompany a trip with a toddler. That, my friends, is the way to travel.

While he’s gone, it’s just me and the munchkin. Four days of solo parenting. Woo hoo! I am looking forward to it, let me tell you. Except if I told you that, it would be a lie. Really the only perk that I can see is that I only have to share the bed with one person for the next few days, so maybe – just maybe – I will actually get to roll over during the night. (I’m not counting on it, though. Happy Fun Baby is a bed hog.)

Before Not So left this morning we took the kid to his 18 month Well Baby appointment. The involved getting up at 7:30 (not popular with the baby) and hopping on the Max out to Kaiser. Oh, wait – did I say hopping on the Max? I meant waiting for 45 minutes at the station a mile from the clinic and cursing TriMet for being utterly and completely useless. Apparently, a signal wasn’t working. Could they have told us this when we got on the train, instead of unceremoniously announcing that they were going out of service and dumping us at the Rose Quarter? Did they actually believe that there was a train “right behind us,” or was this a bald-faced lie? Because 45 minutes for a train that is supposed to come every 15 really doesn’t count as “right behind us.” Also: screw you, TriMet.

So we were late to the appointment. Very, very late. Happily the doctor had time to see us anyway, and he assuaged most (but not all) of my concerns about Happy Fun Baby’s development. He said he wasn’t worried about the fact that the kid isn’t talking all that much, and that if he keeps growing at this rate he’s going to be very tall indeed, and that we should feed him whatever he’s willing to eat (within reason, of course) and not try and force the issue with foods he’s not into at any given time. I love our pediatrician. Pretty much the only thing he said that wasn’t all “Go, Ellison!” was when we asked him about the headache-looking thing Ellison’s been doing:

Us: He’ll squeeze his eyes shut and press his hands to his head like it hurts or something.

Ped: Headaches are pretty uncommon in babies. It’s hard to diagnose unless he’s got a secondary symptom, like copious vomiting or sudden loss of muscle control, like leaning to one side or losing use of one leg.

Us: And that would indicate…?

Ped: You know, nothing good. A brain tumor or something like that. He seems fine, though. I wouldn’t worry.

Thanks, Ped. I am totally not going to spend the next four days obsessively Googling “toddler brain tumor symptoms” and anxiously monitoring my child’s every movement. Good day to you too.

*I mean that in the literal sense, not in the metaphorical “Daddy’s looking down at you from the sky” sense.