Pride, pride, and poo
My baby talks! He says “dada” “ang” (grandma) “angAH” (grandpa) and “ack!” (cat). I’d thought I was imagining things, but no, the “dada” is extremely clear - he says it to say hello, and when we march upstairs from Carl’s office in the basement he says “dadadadADADADA” in indignation. The ang and angAH came out yesterday when they appeared, as they had on Tues when we met them on a walk, and not in between.
I’m so - wriggly proud. My boy! Communicating in words!
Pride week is this week and Pride weekend is this weekend though and we will be missing it because of - the poo. Noah’s and my crankiness may have been us getting sick ’cause we both did starting Wed night. And here I thought breastfeeding meant never having to change a diarrhea-y boy (just a joke, that last, but some people would have you believe “increased resistence” means “never gets sick. I wish!). So yesterday was all about the liquids. Noah took a 3! hr! nap! which goes to show how sick he was; I ran in and out every half hour while also having pleasant hanging out online. Then I freaked that perhaps I should have been waking him to nurse and both nursed and tried to get pedialyte into him.
He hates pedialyte. But he’s fine in the hydration department. And he’s on the rice and bananas diet otherwise, after -all- the breastmilk he can take. And I am on copious amounts of rice and bananas and tons of liquid and rest, so as to produce the copious amounts of breastmilk required.
Telehealth Ontario says likely Noah will have decreasing amounts of diarrhea for - up to two weeks! Gah! But for sure 3-5 days.
Then this morning my parents’ dog, who is staying with us for two weeks and was dropped off yesterday, had nervous diarrhea, because he’s scared of the cats. Making my official title Poo Manager.
Sooooo - no Pride for us, except that we can lie around at home and watch L-Word and Queer as Folk. And no pool party today which sucks because it was with a really cool mom and her freelance writer friends, at her pool. But she has promised me more hangouty goodness, which is really sweet and I am glad.
And here’s my weird confession of the day: two Prides ago I had a great, great day and night - a day hanging with Lohr; a night out dancing with N. and revelling in the whole Pride thing. And it was the first time since Emily had died that I felt alive and it was the first real hint I had that I could be happy again. And now Pride is all wrapped up with that for me: it’s an affirmation for so many people that who they are is Okay, and for me too but in this different way - that it was okay to - not move on, because nothing could do that, but keep going even so.
And so I would like to go down and dance again. I didn’t last year ’cause I was really feeling sick and pregnant and fearful with labour soon upon me. But this year! I thought I would at least go down to kids’ Pride and get Noah’s face painted.
But - here’s the wierd part - I’m actually okay staying home and nursing Noah and watching shows about gay people on DVD instead. Because it’s a quieter, privater celebration - the difference between a riot of colour and a simple clean linen cloth. But it is living fully, too.
Comments
One Response to “Pride, pride, and poo”
Leave a Reply
very cool on him talking!!! mine baby was 2 years and 4 months before he finally hit 10 years– course now he wont shush