Anthony's Big Adventure

At least that's what we're trying to tell him.

Unfortunately, he had to check into the hospital Monday due to a high fever, labored breathing and refusal to eat. He'll likely be here until tomorrow (Wednesday). We don't have a firm diagnosis yet, but it's apparently some type of virus.

We took him to the ER on Saturday evening when his fever spiked a little high. The ER doctor -- who had a soap opera name (Drake or Ridge or something) and was all of 16 (one of the disturbing things about getting old...people you need to trust, like ER doctors who are poking and prodding at your firstborn, look half your age) -- diagnosed pneumonia.

Doogie told us to give antibiotics and fever-reducing meds, but the high fever continued Sunday, accompanied by a refusal to eat and other symptoms that led us to fear dehydration (I won't go into the gory details). So, we dragged Anthony to his pediatrician Monday, and the pediatrician admitted him to the hospital.

Check in was a bit of an ordeal. The man who checked us in was very nice -- and I know part of my impatience can be blamed on the fact that I was holding my listless, feverish child -- but it took FOREVER. First of all, no one in South Florida can spell Josephsen. After repeating "it's s-E-n" 12 times, we were onto Brandon's email address: "Hotmail? Is that two words? With a dash? No? One word?" Seriously? I though 90 percent of the world's email accounts were on hotmail. Then, when we were finally done, we discovered he'd used Brandon's middle name on the form. So, after re-inputting all the information he somehow managed not to run out of toner and finally we were on our way.

But really, everyone at the hospital has been great, even though the Joe Dimaggio Hospital motto is to provide "Very Good" care. So they need to start giving worse care to even out to "very good." But still, there's nothing sadder than a children's hospital and its' accompnaying tiny medical stuff (tiny blood pressure, tiny IV, tiny hospital gown).

Anthony has been a trooper through it all, even managing to play with his toys using his bandaged IV hand.

That said, I know we're so lucky compared to a lot of the people here, and we're so grateful for that. The doctors say Anthony is going to be fine, and he does seem better today -- perkier, breathing better, less feverish, etc. Hopefully, he'll be back to his old self before we know it.

Some more pics...the little guy rests in his crib as jealous mom and dad try to sleep on the cold tile floor:

Anthony's pediatrician ordered the BRATT (Banana, Rice, Applesauce, Tea, Toast) diet at the hospital. No one seemed to think it was odd that they were bringing a whole banana, cup of tea, plate of rice and piece of crunchy toast to a 7-month old. I at the rice and banana and applesauce for lunch (I asked Anthony first):

Anthony when we first arrived...he was so lethargic...now he's scooting around his crib and trying to charm all the nurses:

What's so funny?

Random thoughts on the last few days as Kelly takes the week off from blogging.

Is my bath time comedy routine really THAT funny?

Angel Child?

Or Devil Child?

Grandpa Dave and Grandma Char hooked Anthony up with some cool Illinois State Redbirds gear for Christmas...

...and this cool Caterpillar dump truck
Meanwhile, the little guy made his first trip to South Beach (winter in Miami DOES have its privileges). As we left the beach, we were lucky enough to get advice from this fellow beach-goer who gave us a stern warning about not over-exposing our child to the sun.

Heeding the advice, we took some quick beach shots and returned to the safety of the covered stroller.

Even luckier -- when we reached the sidewalk, I proudly alerted everyone to the presence of this Euro-tourist behind Grandma Char. The back view is even sexier (but NSFW).

Anthony also spent some time behind bars...

...while Javier wished we would have kept him there longer, yet encouraged the little fella to keep playing with the ideal toy for a 7 month old--a plastic bag. Did I read something about that in one of the baby books Kelly told me to read?

We bought some new wheels for the little guy...

And Aunt Ellen, despite being 9-months-pregnant at the time and having a 2-and-a-half-year-old to look after, made Anthony this beautiful blanket for our belated Christmas celebration. It's been a funny couple of weeks.

Anthony is 7 months old today!

Anthony is enjoying life as a 7-month-old! Here’s what the little guy is up to these days:

He’s on the move...

Anthony isn't exactly crawling, but he’s definitely no longer confined to where we put him. He started by turning around in a circle, like a little baby sundial. That progressed to rolling over and over to relocate by a few feet. Now he does a little shimmy/scoot, which enables him to go pretty much where he wants, provided he has the patience for the time it takes him to get there.

Not surprisingly, where he wants to go is rarely where WE want him to go. Although Anthony is a boy who is passionate about his toys...

...his impetus for getting a move on is often not a toy, but some baby-inappropriate item like a newspaper, pen, adult’s dinner plate or cell phone...

... another favorite, if I get lazy and change his diaper on the floor (yes, I do put a blanket down, and I do put it in the wash afterwards, I’m not THAT lazy), is to go after either the wipes, just-removed dirty diaper or the ready-for-installation clean one (this is my preference). He doesn’t yet protest being changed, but he’s certainly no longer a passive participant in the exercise...

Clearly, he finds this hilarious.

Anthony also enjoys journeying to the leg of his highchair, then hanging on to it as if for dear life, like – and I apologize for the cheesy movie reference – Rose clung to Jack at the end of Titanic.

Meanwhile, mealtime is also changing...

While I wouldn’t take Anthony for high tea with the queen, his eating habits are maturing, and the appearance of his first tooth means bigger and better things to come (like Tobin’s pizza!).

In all honesty, Brandon and I think it’s a struggle to give Anthony solid foods, largely because we both lack patience. But, when he returned to daycare after the two-week holiday break, two of his teachers, independent of one another, told me he’s "doing so great" with solids.

I don’t say that to brag -- not sure a kid's face-stuffing is something parents brag about, but I want to make that clear just in case -- but to express my shock. I didn't want to embarrass myself (or the little fella...his friends were right there, after all...), so I agreed with his teachers, all the time thinking, "If you think that's good, I don't want to be at your house at dinnertime..."

But it has been going better as of late, which led to the following conversation:

Brandon: Will you feed Anthony for the 167th time in a row while I lay on the sofa? It’s so hard to feed him. I hate doing it.
Me: Sure, darling, whatever you ask.
Brandon: Wow, he’s doing a lot better!
Me: That’s because his mother is patient and loving with him.
Brandon: No, it’s because his teachers at daycare have been feeding him for the past week and they actually know what they’re doing.

Surprisingly, Brandon is still alive after that exchange, which may or may not be mildly fictionalized. If you want to judge for yourself regarding Anthony's eating acumen, here is some before, during and after evidence:

All the books say give them their own spoon to play with while you feed them with another...that either leads to peas on the nose or Anthony grabbing both spoons and us getting nowhere.

How's a guy to focus on eating with so many fascinating distractions?

Anthony's tray table and the boy himself following some delicious squash.

Finally, and I apologize for my long-windedness, everything else is going well.

Anthony continues to grow well – he’s about 18-and-a-half pounds and over 27 inches – and adds new sounds to his repertoire all the time (blowing raspberries and saying something that sounds almost like "Hi": cute. Loud, shrill screech: not cute.)

He still shows ZERO signs of wanting to sleep through the night, but is making improvements in terms of sitting up by himself, holding his own bottle (really, really cute) and playing with his toys in the way they were meant to be played with (I hear this is a good sign of normalness).
Best of all, as we still haven't reached the onset of "stranger anxiety," he remains a social little guy who loved spending time with Grandma and Grandpa Lantau last month and can’t wait to see Grandma and Grandpa Schaffer tomorrow!

Is my child a brat?

I think it's a question every parent eventually asks themself (or should!), except for those who are delusional and think their kids are perfect, and who really wants to talk to them, anyway? Still, it's not a question I was expecting to have to ponder when my child was the tender age of six-and-three-fourths months...

However, in light of recent events, I'm forced to wonder, could it be possible that THIS LITTLE ANGEL...

...is actually a BRAT?

Monday Brandon greets me with the news that when he dropped Anthony at daycare, Anthony promptly kicked little Lorelei.

Wednesday, Anthony's teacher informs me Anthony wrestled a toy away from Jamieson, despite the fact that Jamieson is a month older and something like twice Anthony's size (seriously).

And there are the recent reports of hair-pulling (Aunt Kerry's) and juice-dumping (on Dad); plus incidents I have personally witnessed, like dish-throwing and attempts at kitty tail-pulling...

For now, I am telling myself the kick was merely reflexes in action, and the toy grab was simply innocent play. Same for the hair- and tail-pulling; and I'll attribute the juice-dumping to poor coordination and inexperience with the sippy cup. Because all in all, Anthony's sweet moments (like when he rolled over to me from across the room, looked up, grinned and put his arms up for a hug) still vastly outnumber his bratty ones.

But I'm watching you, Anthony!

(Who, me?)