I Get Blown By Orrin Hatch
Nothing really irritated me yesterday, which is nice enough for me but bad for the blog, because I’m starting to realise that my surest source of writing inspiration is bad customer service. I got a little annoyed when the dog kept standing in front of the stereo and blocking the remote signal, but I can’t see building an entire post around that. Well, maybe.
Anyway, I don’t have to resort to that today, because we already had some excitement this morning. Our first parental health care crisis. Baby Dog slept soundly after a midnight swaddle, had a good 6 a.m. feeding and then snoozed until after 9:30. When I took her to the changing pad for her morning nappy inspection, she cried rather more than usual and then barfed up a small lake of yellowish by-product. We cleaned her up and took a look at what Mr. Spock’s Baby and Child Care book had to say on the subject.* Mostly, it seemed to say it was no big deal, but then again mostly it seemed to be talking about spit-up which this certainly wasn’t. We lay her on the bed to see if that might calm her down a bit and it did, but maybe a little too much. She seemed listless and pale. Her head was cool and a tad clammy. It was worrisome enough that we called our paediatrician’s advice nurse, who said to take the temperature and call back if it was over 100 or if she barfed again. It was a struggle to get a reading…babies seem to hate thermometers even under the arm…but it eventually showed us a temperature of 96. Didn’t seem like that could be exactly right, but at least it wasn’t a fever. Also she was crying, which was a good sign; the listlessness was kind of freaky. Then she barfed up again. Not as much this time; we thought maybe it was just a sort of aftershock. She was crying some more, so we figured maybe she was hungry. Mama Dog sat down to feed her and -- whup, there went barf number three. I called the advice nurse back, and she said to come in and see the paediatrician. Okey doke. We had barf number four on the changing pad getting her ready to go.
Happily, Baby Doc didn’t find much wrong. The nurse took Baby Dog's temperature with some sort of gizmo that goes in the ear, and it was a solid 98. Baby Doc checked heart and lung sound, examined the abdomen for masses, and so on, and found nothing out of the ordinary. She said that flu was a possibility, and that we should watch for further vomiting, diarrhoea, or signs of dehydration. Worst case scenario is pyloric stenosis, a grody intestinal problem that I’ll give you a link for rather than attempt to describe. Apparently this is more common in boys, but it remains a possibility and would require surgery to correct. Most likely, though, it’s just “one of those things” and might not recur at all. We have to wait and see. I will, of course, keep you posted.
Newspaper Update: I’m back in the saddle again. Finished the August 4 paper, which means I went through three days’ worth yesterday. At that rate, I could actually catch up before I finish my leave.
I guess that’s it – oh, wait, right, the title. Shamefully, I must admit that I was not in fact blown by Orrin Hatch, nor have I ever even met him. What happened is, yesterday somebody using the “next blog” button at the top of the Blogger interface came across my rant about the Post Office and liked it so much that he linked to it from his page. I got a bunch of hits that way. Well hell, let’s return the favour. Here’s his page. Now the thing is, while I’m sure that it’s the sterling quality of my puckish persiflage that made him link to my page, I’ll bet you anything that it was the dirty word in the title that caught his attention in the first place. Operating on that theory, I’ve decided to use saucy titles for a while and see if I get any further increases in hits. It’s just something I’m experimenting with, and I’m sure I’ll get bored with it quickly.
______________
* “Crying is an illogical emotional response and should be firmly suppressed.”
Anyway, I don’t have to resort to that today, because we already had some excitement this morning. Our first parental health care crisis. Baby Dog slept soundly after a midnight swaddle, had a good 6 a.m. feeding and then snoozed until after 9:30. When I took her to the changing pad for her morning nappy inspection, she cried rather more than usual and then barfed up a small lake of yellowish by-product. We cleaned her up and took a look at what Mr. Spock’s Baby and Child Care book had to say on the subject.* Mostly, it seemed to say it was no big deal, but then again mostly it seemed to be talking about spit-up which this certainly wasn’t. We lay her on the bed to see if that might calm her down a bit and it did, but maybe a little too much. She seemed listless and pale. Her head was cool and a tad clammy. It was worrisome enough that we called our paediatrician’s advice nurse, who said to take the temperature and call back if it was over 100 or if she barfed again. It was a struggle to get a reading…babies seem to hate thermometers even under the arm…but it eventually showed us a temperature of 96. Didn’t seem like that could be exactly right, but at least it wasn’t a fever. Also she was crying, which was a good sign; the listlessness was kind of freaky. Then she barfed up again. Not as much this time; we thought maybe it was just a sort of aftershock. She was crying some more, so we figured maybe she was hungry. Mama Dog sat down to feed her and -- whup, there went barf number three. I called the advice nurse back, and she said to come in and see the paediatrician. Okey doke. We had barf number four on the changing pad getting her ready to go.
Happily, Baby Doc didn’t find much wrong. The nurse took Baby Dog's temperature with some sort of gizmo that goes in the ear, and it was a solid 98. Baby Doc checked heart and lung sound, examined the abdomen for masses, and so on, and found nothing out of the ordinary. She said that flu was a possibility, and that we should watch for further vomiting, diarrhoea, or signs of dehydration. Worst case scenario is pyloric stenosis, a grody intestinal problem that I’ll give you a link for rather than attempt to describe. Apparently this is more common in boys, but it remains a possibility and would require surgery to correct. Most likely, though, it’s just “one of those things” and might not recur at all. We have to wait and see. I will, of course, keep you posted.
Newspaper Update: I’m back in the saddle again. Finished the August 4 paper, which means I went through three days’ worth yesterday. At that rate, I could actually catch up before I finish my leave.
I guess that’s it – oh, wait, right, the title. Shamefully, I must admit that I was not in fact blown by Orrin Hatch, nor have I ever even met him. What happened is, yesterday somebody using the “next blog” button at the top of the Blogger interface came across my rant about the Post Office and liked it so much that he linked to it from his page. I got a bunch of hits that way. Well hell, let’s return the favour. Here’s his page. Now the thing is, while I’m sure that it’s the sterling quality of my puckish persiflage that made him link to my page, I’ll bet you anything that it was the dirty word in the title that caught his attention in the first place. Operating on that theory, I’ve decided to use saucy titles for a while and see if I get any further increases in hits. It’s just something I’m experimenting with, and I’m sure I’ll get bored with it quickly.
______________
* “Crying is an illogical emotional response and should be firmly suppressed.”
posted by PapaDogDuvalier | 12:26 PM
1 Comments:
yeah, "fucktard" is a pretty impossible word to resist. but i was also drawn in by the cuteness of "papa dog" and "mama dog." thanks for the link back!
-marc
balgavy.com
Post a Comment
<< Home