About a year ago, I consulted a number of baby preparatory tomes on essentials to have in the household. Of course I put a list together and that’s how we’re stocked with everything from gripe water and rubbing alcohol in our bathroom cabinet, to a pack of ready-to-use Pedialyte in our fridge.
For the uninitiated — as I was a year ago — Pedialyte is a flavoured liquid that is pre-mixed oral rehydration. This is the kind of stuff that they ought to make for student consumption, to minimize the after effects of what humourously goes by such euphamisms that include talking on the porcelain telephone, a technicolour yawn, pavement pizza, barking at the ants etc.
Without getting into too many stomach churning details (especially considering it’s breakfast time for some of you), it was with great sorrow that my preparations proved to be foresightful. This is one occasion in which there is no joy in being right, and limited comfort in having stocks prepositioned.
Tonight I broke out one of those bottles and snapped off the top. You see, after having christened both his dad and I multiple times with a warm gush of partially digested goop, Calvin was feeling thirsty.
Right now he’s settled, bedded down and sleeping peacefully… who knows for how long? So far, long enough to enter this post. Wish us luck!
Hot and heavy
The best laid plans of blog postings and Christmas mail… have been set aside. That’s because our poor Calvin has been waylaid by some sort of infection. Suffice to say we’ve spent the entire day tending to his heart-wrenching cries…