Pardon The Interruption

For the past five days I have been a passable solo dad and a fairly poor pediatric nursing assistant.  Max and Audrey have been overtaken with one or more of the following: H1N1, regular ol' flu, pneumonia, un-named virus, random bacterial infection, or fifth disease.  Or not.  But they are both sad little lumps of exhaustion. 

Our house feels like Andersonville.  Endless crying, pain, sickness, and body fluids.  Sometimes you don't know it is going to be a terrible day when you wake up.  It just kind of turns out that way.

Oh yeah, Happy Valentine's Arizona Statehood Day.

Rhythm Is Gonna Get You..A Chance To Clean Up

Great disappointments in my life thus far:
1.  Have not summited Mount Everest.  Yet.
2.  Cannot properly throw a regulation sized football.
3.  Have not learned Spanish.  No habla, amigo.  Apenado.  The preceding message was brought to you by Google translate.

I don't know what Mana is singing about, but their mesmerizing musica has a good beat and I can dance to it.  Actually I can't dance to it.  I'm a terrible dancer.  I'm lucky to be able to tap my fingers rhythmically without looking like I was tonguing the terminals of a car battery.

But I like to nod my head and make up sounds in an attempt to accompany Mana as I drive through the barrio on my way to work.  Sort of like talking to Max.  I don't know what he is saying, and he doesn't know what I am saying.  But we're both having a pretty good time bouncing around and making silly sounds.  Until one of us throws up green beans.

Only Bananas And Ice Cream From Now On

Maxwell is ten months old tomorrow.  Maxwell still eats only baby food.  Uh oh, Maxwell.

After consulting extensively with both Yahoo and Google Answers, we were very confident with a diagnosis of dysphagia.  Out of medical prudence, we decided visit to the pediatrician for a second opinion.  The little guy pounded a few shots of barium, was looked at under an x-ray, and deemed perfectly fine by the doctor.  He is just a little slow learning to eat, which is really weird, because I can eat.

The poor little dude has a tendency to gag on anything solid.  The gagging leads to coughing which leads to a re-dinnering.  Vomit.  Puke.  Honk.  Technicolor yawn.  Every baby pukes, no big deal.  But just like with their poop, big boy food equals big boy smell.

Tonight, he let loose with most of his mac and cheese and green beans all over himself and a little bit on me.  It was the traditional gastric eau de toilette.  Yesterday, he returned all of his peach yogurt on me, which, in a relatively pleasant turn of events, still smelled exactly like peach yogurt.

If you care, or if like me you are wondering how the hell you can get rid of that stench in your car, I offer you this brief chemistry lesson.  The smell comes from butyric acid, which I might have already known if I was awake during any of my chemistry classes.  This is also the same stinky stuff that is being tossed around on Whale Wars.  So take that, Japanese whaling fleet.  My boy is coming for you and he just ate beets.