Pooh and the Neglected Blog

I have been neglecting the blog.

"No kidding," you say.

I go by fits and starts. This has been a lengthy fit.

Reading over the previous two blogs I realize again how much fun it was. So, on again.

Nine days ago, Pooh celebrated her 4th birthday. She's 42 inches tall and probably about 42 pounds. She is almost through toddler-hood, chats up a storm, plays on the computer (now it's grandma's laptop), and is learning to read.

Early this fall Pooh, her mom, and her brother moved in with us. They are camping in the Sun Room, the largest of the three guest bedrooms. Mom and brother rise early so brother (she calls him Boy) can get to school on time. Marilyn gets up, fixes Johnathon (Boy) breakfast, and then goes back upstairs and crawls in bed with Pooh so she will sleep longer ("she" being either one you want to pick).

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It's gotten cold (for Memphis) in Memphis. The first year we were here I turned the A/C on on April 15th and turned it off on October 15th. This year it's been chilly enough that we've slept with the deck door open since September. It's too cold for that now, although I'm not turning the furnace on yet.

This morning Pooh came downstairs, clunked over to grandma's couch, and pulled a snug-sack over her. Yep, she's a survivor. Then she said, "I want to watch Dora." We've been watching Dora for 4 years now. I've seen them all -- and all again. Pooh has progressed from numbly watching to participating, which is neat to watch. She also remembers various episodes and will tell me which one she wants to watch. I often pray I still have it on the DVR.

Dora and Spongebob pretty much make up the day until Johnation comes home. Then we watch "his" shows for a while. Then, after mommy gets home and she drags her kids upstairs, Marilyn and I can watch some of "our" shows.

Pooh's been into bubble baths lately. Yesterday she took two. I'm thinking the savings in electricity from not running the A/C will be offset by the cost of hot water.

Pooh and the Doctor

Pooh went to the doctor this morning. She's had a cough for 4-5 days and mommy wanted her seen.

Pooh is slightly over 34 pounds and slightly over 35 inches long. She'll be 21 months in two weeks.

Good thing we went to the doctor.

Pooh has
(a) congestion in one lung
(b) an infection moving into her ears
(c) a throat infection.
All this with no fever and no indication other than the cough of being sick.

She had
(a) her thumb pricked for blood
(b) her throat swabbed
(c) a thermometer where the sun never shines
(d) an x-ray and
(e) a breathing treatment
and she was not a happy camper.

We dropped off prescriptions and came home with a breathing machine and instructions on how to use it. Mommy can handle that over the weekend.

She's upstairs now with her brother and cousins acting like nothing ever happened. I know she's tired, but I have to drag her out again for the better part of the afternoon. Mommy will get a tired baby when she picks her up this evening.

Monday Morning, 5:00 A.M.

Well, actually I rarely see 5:00 a.m. unless I have to get up and make a pit stop, so far have I come from my Navy days -- those halcyon times of mid-watches, working all night, and reveille at 0600 every day including weekends when the entire deck department rolls out to swab down the main deck. Ah, the good old days!

But I digress.

I have improved over my recent past. Once I was diagnosed with Meniere's Disease -- and it hit me hard enough that I couldn't work -- I took to sleeping in, sometimes until 1000 or so.

Then I took over day care for my baby grand daughter, variously named Rebecca (her first name), Jordan (her middle name), Becca, or Pooh (so christened by me). She was five weeks old at the time.

Now, the thought of a 61-year old, disabled grandfather soloing day care for a 5-week old baby girl might cause you to hold your breath. Indeed, the first day her mom dropped her off I was resting (prone) on the sofa. After dropping off the baby Mom was quick to call my wife in a panic. "Mom, he was asleep on the couch!" Marilyn reassured her.

Now, morning comes at 0730. Most of you will consider that unbridled luxury. That gives me time to get up and conscious before Pooh comes somewhere between 0800 and 0830.

In the beginning, when Pooh was little, there was little fuss at the transfer of custody. Actually, there still is little fuss. As Pooh got older we developed a ritual. Pooh would sit on Mommy's lap while we talked to her. Then, when she was ready, she would lean over for me to take her. Transfer complete. Then Pooh and I would walk Mommy out to her car and wave bye-bye.

In the evening, when Mommy came to get her, Pooh would sit on my lap while Mommy talked to her. When she was ready, Pooh would lean over for Mommy to take her. Transfer complete.

Note that the transfer was Pooh's idea. On the very few days when we tried to hurry the transfer along, on either end, there was trouble. Pooh was not to be hurried.

Now, with Pooh nearing 21 months, we have a new system. Mommy brings her in and Pooh waits for me to say something like, "My baby!" She walks over and I pick her up and hold her in my lap. She starts waving bye-bye to Mommy, who departs. Occasionally we follow her to the door, but mostly Pooh wants to go into the toy room to watch Dora Explorer.

Evenings, Pooh wants to stay with me until Mommy actually picks her up to change her. At that point Pooh starts waving bye-bye to me.

I think it's wonderful that Pooh is happy to come and happy to leave. What better testament could you have for loving care in both homes?

We were out together, Pooh and I, a while back and a store clerk was amazed that I was taking care of Pooh. She was even more surprised that I watched her every day and had since she was 5-weeks old.

"What about diapers?" the clerk asked.

"What about them?" I replied. "I change them."

"Dirty diapers too?" Apparently this was too much for the poor woman to fathom.

"Nobody else around to do it," I replied.

"Well, she seems to be thriving," the clerk conceded.

Now, when we return to that store, the clerk points out to all and sundry, "He takes care of her all the time!"

I never bother to tell people I have prior experience. Not only did we raise three daughters, I retired after 28 years in the Navy. So I'm used to being bossed around. Just now, it's Pooh doing the bossing.