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Wednesday, June 25, 2008
What the Hell Wednesday: Safety Scissors
Cutting off a finger with kids' safety scissors-- we've all heard this myth. And it's undeniably an urban myth, right? So why did my parenting magazine feature an "It happened to me" column about a dude whose one kid chopped off his other kid's finger with safety scissors. Safety Scissors!!! Have you tried to cut anything with those things? I can barely get them to cut paper!
Now, I'm sure there are studies and technical data about the pounds per inch needed to chop off a finger and how much pressure scissors can exert, yadda yadda yadda. But this would entail much more research than this subject warrants. So I've designed my own protocol-- Safety Scissors for Dummies. Like the choking standard about not giving a baby anything small enough to fit into a toilet paper roll. Which never really worked for me because on my paranoid days I shove everything into the toilet paper rolls including Moxie's four inch stuffed monkey. And testing Moxie's stuffed monkey as a potential choking hazard is stupid because I would probably notice her cramming the monkey down her throat before it got so far I couldn't fish it back out again with my fingers. Probably.
My own scissor test is simple: how easily can you cut a carrot with your scissors? I dragged out my four year old's safety scissors, my own super awesome scissors, and a couple of carrots. Then I sat down with Tallulah and started chopping fingers...I mean, carrots.
Here's the scoop: I was able to cut the carrots with both my scissors (easily, quickly, and decisively) and Tallulah's scissors (slowly with lots of sawing action.) Tallulah was unable to cut the carrot with her safety scissors even after lots of sawing and chanting of "cut, cut, cut!" And even my super scissors were difficult for her to get enough pressure to cut the carrot. She was eventually able to cut the carrot, but only after a lot of sawing and chanting and I think whoever's finger she's trying to lop off would probably notice, what with the blood and the pain and the screaming.
Conclusion: That column in parenting magazine was total bullshit unless the dad regularly pits his children against one another, tells them to prove which one is the more manly child, then locks them in a room with freshly sharpened scissors and ignores the screaming. In which case, sure. It could happen to you.
Now, I'm sure there are studies and technical data about the pounds per inch needed to chop off a finger and how much pressure scissors can exert, yadda yadda yadda. But this would entail much more research than this subject warrants. So I've designed my own protocol-- Safety Scissors for Dummies. Like the choking standard about not giving a baby anything small enough to fit into a toilet paper roll. Which never really worked for me because on my paranoid days I shove everything into the toilet paper rolls including Moxie's four inch stuffed monkey. And testing Moxie's stuffed monkey as a potential choking hazard is stupid because I would probably notice her cramming the monkey down her throat before it got so far I couldn't fish it back out again with my fingers. Probably.
My own scissor test is simple: how easily can you cut a carrot with your scissors? I dragged out my four year old's safety scissors, my own super awesome scissors, and a couple of carrots. Then I sat down with Tallulah and started chopping fingers...I mean, carrots.
Here's the scoop: I was able to cut the carrots with both my scissors (easily, quickly, and decisively) and Tallulah's scissors (slowly with lots of sawing action.) Tallulah was unable to cut the carrot with her safety scissors even after lots of sawing and chanting of "cut, cut, cut!" And even my super scissors were difficult for her to get enough pressure to cut the carrot. She was eventually able to cut the carrot, but only after a lot of sawing and chanting and I think whoever's finger she's trying to lop off would probably notice, what with the blood and the pain and the screaming.
Conclusion: That column in parenting magazine was total bullshit unless the dad regularly pits his children against one another, tells them to prove which one is the more manly child, then locks them in a room with freshly sharpened scissors and ignores the screaming. In which case, sure. It could happen to you.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
My Odd Porn
I have a breast pump I borrowed from a friend for this new job. It's a super sweet one with dual pumping action and simulated sucking rhythms. I could geek out on this breastpump like my college boyfriend could geek out on VW Type III's. It's beautiful and top of the line.
And I hate it.
Don't get me wrong-- I would hate any breastpump. They are weird and they change me from a loving peaceful mommy bonding with baby into a lactating milk-cow hooked up to machinery for maximum output. Rreee-yuh. Ree-yuh. (this is the sound the breast pump makes.) I actually enjoy breastfeeding Moxie. Nursing her is a quiet oasis in my day. She plays with her feet and de-latches to give me gummy, toothless grins, sprawled across my lap. I hum to her and rub her cheek and remember why I love being a mommy. But using a breastpump reminds me of my physical responsibility to my baby. It is a leash, a chain, and I am on the chain-gang. It is also uncomfortable for me to balance the double horns attached to my breasts and I inevitably lose my grip at some point which makes the suction break and it starts giving the side of my nipple hickeys until I can juggle the other breast and pump horn and readjust the loose one. Then there is the whole 'output' issue. I don't have much. Output.
When Tallulah was six months old I went back to work for a short period of time. I set myself up as well as possible; I got a serious, expensive, top of the line breastpump. I scheduled a time to begin pumping before I returned to work so I would have some reserve in the freezer. In the little picture pocket window in the breastpump bag I placed a picture of Tallulah making her "feed me" face; she would purse up her lips and shake her head back and forth saying, "huh, huh, huh." It cracked Kent and me up because she would do this with the desperation of a starving man even if it had only been 20 minutes since her last feeding. [sidenote: this is either a general baby thing or at the very least a Bonifield baby thing. Moxie makes the same expression and even the same sound. She also does it whenever she catches sight of my boobs, like if I'm changing my clothes, even when she's not hungry. Kent finds this hilarious and has started doing the same thing. My boobs are a hot commodity around here. When the breastpump starts doing it, I'm going professional.]
So imagine my frustration when, after all this preparation, I was only able to pump an ounce or two at a time. Do you know how much an ounce is? Not much. I would do the pumping and try to relax and look at pictures of my baby and think about her and try to relax some more and turn up the pumping action or turn down the pumping action and then after 20 minutes I would turn off the machine and take my measly ounce and a half and pour it into a breastmilk baggie and stick it in the freezer. And the top of the baggie would have so much room it would droop down, dejected to be used for such a pitiful amount of milk.
With Moxie, I refused to be sidetracked by the output issue. With Tallulah it really clouded the entire work momentum-- I worried about it, debated supplementing, researched type of supplementation, etc. This time around I decided, "forget it. Moxie is still nursing around every two hours. Rather than stress about getting enough Momma Milk, I'll supplement and pump for breastmilk buildup relief." And that's what I've done. I try to schedule my appointments so I only miss one feeding at a time and when I'm about to miss a second one, I pump. Meanwhile she happily drinks whatever is put in front of her because she is the best baby in the history of all babies. (and did I mention the most beautiful? This is not just the gushing of a biased mom. This is fact.)
So pumping this time around is a totally different experience because I'm less stressed about it and there is no pressure for me to 'perform.' But I'm feeling kind of funny about it for a different reason. See, when I borrowed the pump from my friend, she left the picture of her baby in the breast pump bag picture pocket-- you know, the one to help visualize your baby, relax, and get the milk to let down? And I've been so casual about pumping that I didn't bother to take it out or put Moxie's picture in, so the other day while pumping, I was thinking about Moxie and I found myself looking at the picture of Baby Eli.
"Babies at that age look so similar," I thought. "He kind of looks like he's about to make that 'feed me' face. I wonder if he makes the sound, too." Anyway, before I knew it, the pumping session was over and I had pumped THREE ounces, a miracle for me. Maybe it was just that I was distracted and had pumped longer. Maybe I was particularly well hydrated. Maybe it was just a fluke. But Moxie, it didn't mean anything to me. It was just physical. You know I love you. This was just pumping-- with you, I make milk.
And I hate it.
Don't get me wrong-- I would hate any breastpump. They are weird and they change me from a loving peaceful mommy bonding with baby into a lactating milk-cow hooked up to machinery for maximum output. Rreee-yuh. Ree-yuh. (this is the sound the breast pump makes.) I actually enjoy breastfeeding Moxie. Nursing her is a quiet oasis in my day. She plays with her feet and de-latches to give me gummy, toothless grins, sprawled across my lap. I hum to her and rub her cheek and remember why I love being a mommy. But using a breastpump reminds me of my physical responsibility to my baby. It is a leash, a chain, and I am on the chain-gang. It is also uncomfortable for me to balance the double horns attached to my breasts and I inevitably lose my grip at some point which makes the suction break and it starts giving the side of my nipple hickeys until I can juggle the other breast and pump horn and readjust the loose one. Then there is the whole 'output' issue. I don't have much. Output.
When Tallulah was six months old I went back to work for a short period of time. I set myself up as well as possible; I got a serious, expensive, top of the line breastpump. I scheduled a time to begin pumping before I returned to work so I would have some reserve in the freezer. In the little picture pocket window in the breastpump bag I placed a picture of Tallulah making her "feed me" face; she would purse up her lips and shake her head back and forth saying, "huh, huh, huh." It cracked Kent and me up because she would do this with the desperation of a starving man even if it had only been 20 minutes since her last feeding. [sidenote: this is either a general baby thing or at the very least a Bonifield baby thing. Moxie makes the same expression and even the same sound. She also does it whenever she catches sight of my boobs, like if I'm changing my clothes, even when she's not hungry. Kent finds this hilarious and has started doing the same thing. My boobs are a hot commodity around here. When the breastpump starts doing it, I'm going professional.]
So imagine my frustration when, after all this preparation, I was only able to pump an ounce or two at a time. Do you know how much an ounce is? Not much. I would do the pumping and try to relax and look at pictures of my baby and think about her and try to relax some more and turn up the pumping action or turn down the pumping action and then after 20 minutes I would turn off the machine and take my measly ounce and a half and pour it into a breastmilk baggie and stick it in the freezer. And the top of the baggie would have so much room it would droop down, dejected to be used for such a pitiful amount of milk.
With Moxie, I refused to be sidetracked by the output issue. With Tallulah it really clouded the entire work momentum-- I worried about it, debated supplementing, researched type of supplementation, etc. This time around I decided, "forget it. Moxie is still nursing around every two hours. Rather than stress about getting enough Momma Milk, I'll supplement and pump for breastmilk buildup relief." And that's what I've done. I try to schedule my appointments so I only miss one feeding at a time and when I'm about to miss a second one, I pump. Meanwhile she happily drinks whatever is put in front of her because she is the best baby in the history of all babies. (and did I mention the most beautiful? This is not just the gushing of a biased mom. This is fact.)
So pumping this time around is a totally different experience because I'm less stressed about it and there is no pressure for me to 'perform.' But I'm feeling kind of funny about it for a different reason. See, when I borrowed the pump from my friend, she left the picture of her baby in the breast pump bag picture pocket-- you know, the one to help visualize your baby, relax, and get the milk to let down? And I've been so casual about pumping that I didn't bother to take it out or put Moxie's picture in, so the other day while pumping, I was thinking about Moxie and I found myself looking at the picture of Baby Eli.
"Babies at that age look so similar," I thought. "He kind of looks like he's about to make that 'feed me' face. I wonder if he makes the sound, too." Anyway, before I knew it, the pumping session was over and I had pumped THREE ounces, a miracle for me. Maybe it was just that I was distracted and had pumped longer. Maybe I was particularly well hydrated. Maybe it was just a fluke. But Moxie, it didn't mean anything to me. It was just physical. You know I love you. This was just pumping-- with you, I make milk.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
what the hell wednesday: microwaves and plastic
I received an email warning me about the dangers of microwaving in plastic containers. The email said researchers at Johns Hopkins linked microwaving plastic to toxic levels of dioxin leaking into food. It was forwarded to me, along with a list of other moms, from a concerned mutual acquaintance.
Oh dear.
Step number one when forwarding research based emails-- double check the validity of the research. The main page of the Johns Hopkins website refutes the email.
Here's the skinny:
Dioxins are not the problem. The actual problem with plastics is pthalates, which can leach into water and food, particularly when heated, and cause hormone disruption.
Here's the no-no list:
*Try to use glass or microwave safe ceramic containers when microwaving. If you use plastic, make sure it is microwave safe.
*When you put Saran Wrap on top of a dish to reheat, wrap it loosely and don't let the wrap touch the food.
*Don't use a straw with hot liquids.
And don't worry about freezing water bottles or storing foods in plastic in the freezer. Cold decreases chemical leaching.
You can apparently also stop worrying about pthalates in baby toys-- the particular chemicals are banned. Of course, lead is a whole other issue. And while baby might be safe, mommy and daddy need to practice safe sex-- pthalate-safe, that is. Sex toys often contain pthalate filled plastics. Hormone altering toys? Hmm, sounds like a whole new market, especially for the transgendered.
So, although this email was inaccurate, still use caution with plastics. Remember, you can't always believe everything you read; some sources are easily found to be misleading while others, like the Center for Food and Nutrition Policy web site, use mystifying and ambiguous statements to cover any contingency: "We...believe the benefits of using plastic wrap to protect food safety and quality on the shelf to far outweigh the imagined risks..."
Oh dear.
Step number one when forwarding research based emails-- double check the validity of the research. The main page of the Johns Hopkins website refutes the email.
Here's the skinny:
Dioxins are not the problem. The actual problem with plastics is pthalates, which can leach into water and food, particularly when heated, and cause hormone disruption.
Here's the no-no list:
*Try to use glass or microwave safe ceramic containers when microwaving. If you use plastic, make sure it is microwave safe.
*When you put Saran Wrap on top of a dish to reheat, wrap it loosely and don't let the wrap touch the food.
*Don't use a straw with hot liquids.
And don't worry about freezing water bottles or storing foods in plastic in the freezer. Cold decreases chemical leaching.
You can apparently also stop worrying about pthalates in baby toys-- the particular chemicals are banned. Of course, lead is a whole other issue. And while baby might be safe, mommy and daddy need to practice safe sex-- pthalate-safe, that is. Sex toys often contain pthalate filled plastics. Hormone altering toys? Hmm, sounds like a whole new market, especially for the transgendered.
So, although this email was inaccurate, still use caution with plastics. Remember, you can't always believe everything you read; some sources are easily found to be misleading while others, like the Center for Food and Nutrition Policy web site, use mystifying and ambiguous statements to cover any contingency: "We...believe the benefits of using plastic wrap to protect food safety and quality on the shelf to far outweigh the imagined risks..."
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Oh crappy tv, how I love you.
Thanks to hulu I discovered that a tv show I watched as a kid is indeed as awesome as I remember it-- even if now the awesomeness is for different reasons.
I watched Fame when I was a kid. (the tv show-- not the movie. I think they said 'ass' in the movie. Or maybe they showed one. Anyway, as a child my mom protected me from ass. Now I'm all grown up and nobody protects me from ass.) We were a household of girls so we also got the soundtrack and acted out all the songs. Basically while my husband was geeking out by recreating X-men storylines, my sisters and I were geeking out re-staging Fame and Brigadoon.
So, watch this scene with the following knowledge:
1. I still know all the words to this song and can identify which character is singing each section.
2. I had a huge crush on the shaggy haired synthesizer player. Those eyes! That smile! His deep and gentle soul!
3. It did not even occur to me to smirk as a child when Leroy wore striped knee socks, a cut-off abdomen baring shirt, and shorts that must have had him tea-bagging all over the set.
And now I have to go. I've got some choreography to practice in front of the mirror.
Thanks to hulu I discovered that a tv show I watched as a kid is indeed as awesome as I remember it-- even if now the awesomeness is for different reasons.
I watched Fame when I was a kid. (the tv show-- not the movie. I think they said 'ass' in the movie. Or maybe they showed one. Anyway, as a child my mom protected me from ass. Now I'm all grown up and nobody protects me from ass.) We were a household of girls so we also got the soundtrack and acted out all the songs. Basically while my husband was geeking out by recreating X-men storylines, my sisters and I were geeking out re-staging Fame and Brigadoon.
So, watch this scene with the following knowledge:
1. I still know all the words to this song and can identify which character is singing each section.
2. I had a huge crush on the shaggy haired synthesizer player. Those eyes! That smile! His deep and gentle soul!
3. It did not even occur to me to smirk as a child when Leroy wore striped knee socks, a cut-off abdomen baring shirt, and shorts that must have had him tea-bagging all over the set.
And now I have to go. I've got some choreography to practice in front of the mirror.
Monday, June 16, 2008
The internal debate of a crappy housekeeper
Today while I was showering I saw a spider in the upper ceiling corner of the shower. A little, compact spider. Now, I'm not a big fan of the long legged, gangly ones, but I read Charlotte's Web as a kid and I have a soft spot for the cute ones.
"Hello, Spider," I said brightly as I looked around my shower for something to knock down and kill it.
But then I stopped. Spiders kill and eat bugs. Maybe I should leave that cute little guy in the corner to clean up any bugs that get in the house. That way I get to choose the bug that lives in my house. One teeny cutie pie spider, no flies, ants, or other odd assortment of creepy crawlies.
But. Does the fact that one spider lives happily in my shower imply that many other bugs live in my house? I mean, it wouldn't be living in my shower if it were starving, right? So if I let the spider stay in my shower, is it just a living emblem of bigger buggier problems?
And. What if my cutie pie spider starts feeling her biological clock ticking? What's to keep her from starting her family in my shower? And if she starts a family in my shower, does that mean that the food supply is big enough to feed her entire family? Do I have a huge bug problem? Is my house gross and teeming with bugs?
But, if I don't kill her, maybe she can keep the population of bugs down. Maybe her presence will be a deterrent to bugs. If I do have bugs, maybe she is the first line of defense to start mowing them down.
To kill or not to kill?
"Hello, Spider," I said brightly as I looked around my shower for something to knock down and kill it.
But then I stopped. Spiders kill and eat bugs. Maybe I should leave that cute little guy in the corner to clean up any bugs that get in the house. That way I get to choose the bug that lives in my house. One teeny cutie pie spider, no flies, ants, or other odd assortment of creepy crawlies.
But. Does the fact that one spider lives happily in my shower imply that many other bugs live in my house? I mean, it wouldn't be living in my shower if it were starving, right? So if I let the spider stay in my shower, is it just a living emblem of bigger buggier problems?
And. What if my cutie pie spider starts feeling her biological clock ticking? What's to keep her from starting her family in my shower? And if she starts a family in my shower, does that mean that the food supply is big enough to feed her entire family? Do I have a huge bug problem? Is my house gross and teeming with bugs?
But, if I don't kill her, maybe she can keep the population of bugs down. Maybe her presence will be a deterrent to bugs. If I do have bugs, maybe she is the first line of defense to start mowing them down.
To kill or not to kill?
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Working Mom
I know I have a good gig. I'm working three days a week. I'm trading child care with my husband. He is doing a great job. My six month old baby is adapting well to bottle feeding during the time I'm at work.
But I'm missing EVERYTHING!!
Wait, was that me? That sounded just like my four year old's whining. Sigh.
This weekend Tallulah went to a birthday party for one of her school friends at a gymnastics place. Normally I wouldn't whine about missing a children's birthday party, but the gymnastics place has teacher guided gymnastics play so the parents get to mill around and complete sentences with one another. Tallulah goes to a preschool where the parents really like their children and sometimes it's hard to complete sentences because they're always interacting with their kids instead of chatting with me. Bastards.
I really like the parents-- and their kids-- so I always want to talk more with them and it pisses me off that I couldn't go hang out.
AND some friends went to see Sex and the City without me this week because they wanted to go in the evening instead of for a matinee. I could have taken Moxie to a matinee because she'll just cuddle with me and stay quiet still (have I mentioned that she is the easiest baby ever?) but in the evening she needs quiet cuddles at home. And I don't want to leave her when I don't have to or give her more bottles than I have to because I'm leaving her and giving her bottles to go to work. So again, I miss out.
I've decided that anything cool that I miss out on is because of my stupid new job. Stupid. Which I think is starting to bug my friend, Robin, because everything she says she's doing, I immediately say, "Muh. I can't do that because I have to work." Even the things she isn't inviting me to do. [sorry robin!]
I'm missing things and I hate missing stuff.
I'm adjusting to a new schedule and I hate adjusting.
I'm being a responsible parent and I hate being responsible.
Muh.
But I'm missing EVERYTHING!!
Wait, was that me? That sounded just like my four year old's whining. Sigh.
This weekend Tallulah went to a birthday party for one of her school friends at a gymnastics place. Normally I wouldn't whine about missing a children's birthday party, but the gymnastics place has teacher guided gymnastics play so the parents get to mill around and complete sentences with one another. Tallulah goes to a preschool where the parents really like their children and sometimes it's hard to complete sentences because they're always interacting with their kids instead of chatting with me. Bastards.
I really like the parents-- and their kids-- so I always want to talk more with them and it pisses me off that I couldn't go hang out.
AND some friends went to see Sex and the City without me this week because they wanted to go in the evening instead of for a matinee. I could have taken Moxie to a matinee because she'll just cuddle with me and stay quiet still (have I mentioned that she is the easiest baby ever?) but in the evening she needs quiet cuddles at home. And I don't want to leave her when I don't have to or give her more bottles than I have to because I'm leaving her and giving her bottles to go to work. So again, I miss out.
I've decided that anything cool that I miss out on is because of my stupid new job. Stupid. Which I think is starting to bug my friend, Robin, because everything she says she's doing, I immediately say, "Muh. I can't do that because I have to work." Even the things she isn't inviting me to do. [sorry robin!]
I'm missing things and I hate missing stuff.
I'm adjusting to a new schedule and I hate adjusting.
I'm being a responsible parent and I hate being responsible.
Muh.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
What the Hell Wednesday- Dry Drowning
Every now and then someone sends me an email warning me away from something so ridiculously farfetched and horrendous that I roll my eyes and complain vociferously to my husband for days. Like parenting isn't full of enough real dangers, we need to come up with some ridiculous things to worry about.
This is called Fear Factor Parenting and lots of people are doing it. TV stations run a segment in their local news reports, parenting magazines run anecdotal junk, and don't even get me started with the commercials for all the products we must own or our babies will implode. So just to give myself a little outlet for my disgust, I'm going to try to take these on semi-regularly and call them What the Hell Wednesdays. So bring it-- forward me all the emails, news articles, and ads you see that make you say, "What the hell? That isn't real...right?" And I'll find out just how much you need to worry.
For the first What the Hell Wednesday, someone forwarded me a link to this article about something called "dry drowning."
First, what it is. When water enters a person's airways, that is, when they inhale water, the body initially responds by constricting the larynx, or vocal cord, to keep more water from entering the airways and the lungs. As a person continues to gasp, the water goes into the stomach. This is called laryngospasm and can interfere with air getting into the lungs for as long as the vocal cords are constricted, usually 30-60 seconds. About 10-15% of drowning victims maintain a larynx seal until cardiac arrest-- this is called dry drowning because there is very little water in the lungs. An interesting description of the phenomena and its effect on drowning victims is here
Laryngospasm itself can occur regardless of swimming-- a bug flying in your larynx, for example. When this happens, it is very difficult to breathe in and easier to breathe out. The harder a person attempts to breathe in, the more difficult it will be to pull air into the lungs, At this point, slowing down the in breath and tilting the head back to lower the voicebox and prevent some of the clamping down may help. The spasms release usually after 30-60 seconds.
But dry drowning is NOT what this little boy died of. Here's where the news machine not only sows fear, but also spreads misinformation. What the article is describing, and the real problem for the boy, is Secondary Drowning. Secondary drowning occurs after fluid is aspirated into the lungs, damaging the alveoli's ability to uptake oxygen. The damage causes a relatively slow (compared to primary drowning) decrease in the body's ability to process oxygen. Over the next few hours-generally within 24-72 hours-- the person will show signs of decreased oxygen perfusion: altered behavior like confusion or inappropriateness (adults might take off their clothes or begin fingerpainting the walls with ketchup. In children this might just be the status quo) from the brain getting less oxygen, gasping or other changes in breathing, extreme fatigue and lethargy. These symptoms are similar to what you would watch out for after a head injury (concussion) or other trauma. Do you need to watch out for these symptoms every time your child takes a bath, goes swimming, or approaches a big cup of water? No. You watch your child for symptoms after a trauma. So, if your child has a drowning scare and inhales a bunch of water, keep on eye on her. Just like you would after she conks her head falling off the monkey bars.
The real threat There were 3,600 total drowning deaths in the US in 2005. Statistics aren't kept for secondary drowning that I could find. There are currently over 300 million people in the US which puts your annual drowning risk at about 1 in 100,000. Since there are 5,000 food poisoning deaths annually, you have a better chance of being killed by the macaroni salad at your beach picnic than the swim afterwards. Rather than staying locked indoors this summer and hissing with fear when someone turns on the faucet, use some common sense:
*Watch your children when you are swimming
*always have one adult designated for child watching when you are near water
*keep your child in ability appropriate water depths
*wear life vests when boating
*don't leave your child alone in the bathtub
*if your child has an episode of near drowning with gasping and struggling, watch for signs of decreased oxygen intake for the next 24 hours. Signs may include confusion, inability to stay awake, blue tinge around the mouth, difficulty breathing.
How much to worry Water safety is a very real concern and requires some planning and oversight. In the summer it's easy to let kids run off and play or think someone else is watching, so set some family water safety plan in motion. Should you worry about your child suddenly dropping dead days after going swimming? No.
This is called Fear Factor Parenting and lots of people are doing it. TV stations run a segment in their local news reports, parenting magazines run anecdotal junk, and don't even get me started with the commercials for all the products we must own or our babies will implode. So just to give myself a little outlet for my disgust, I'm going to try to take these on semi-regularly and call them What the Hell Wednesdays. So bring it-- forward me all the emails, news articles, and ads you see that make you say, "What the hell? That isn't real...right?" And I'll find out just how much you need to worry.
For the first What the Hell Wednesday, someone forwarded me a link to this article about something called "dry drowning."
First, what it is. When water enters a person's airways, that is, when they inhale water, the body initially responds by constricting the larynx, or vocal cord, to keep more water from entering the airways and the lungs. As a person continues to gasp, the water goes into the stomach. This is called laryngospasm and can interfere with air getting into the lungs for as long as the vocal cords are constricted, usually 30-60 seconds. About 10-15% of drowning victims maintain a larynx seal until cardiac arrest-- this is called dry drowning because there is very little water in the lungs. An interesting description of the phenomena and its effect on drowning victims is here
Laryngospasm itself can occur regardless of swimming-- a bug flying in your larynx, for example. When this happens, it is very difficult to breathe in and easier to breathe out. The harder a person attempts to breathe in, the more difficult it will be to pull air into the lungs, At this point, slowing down the in breath and tilting the head back to lower the voicebox and prevent some of the clamping down may help. The spasms release usually after 30-60 seconds.
But dry drowning is NOT what this little boy died of. Here's where the news machine not only sows fear, but also spreads misinformation. What the article is describing, and the real problem for the boy, is Secondary Drowning. Secondary drowning occurs after fluid is aspirated into the lungs, damaging the alveoli's ability to uptake oxygen. The damage causes a relatively slow (compared to primary drowning) decrease in the body's ability to process oxygen. Over the next few hours-generally within 24-72 hours-- the person will show signs of decreased oxygen perfusion: altered behavior like confusion or inappropriateness (adults might take off their clothes or begin fingerpainting the walls with ketchup. In children this might just be the status quo) from the brain getting less oxygen, gasping or other changes in breathing, extreme fatigue and lethargy. These symptoms are similar to what you would watch out for after a head injury (concussion) or other trauma. Do you need to watch out for these symptoms every time your child takes a bath, goes swimming, or approaches a big cup of water? No. You watch your child for symptoms after a trauma. So, if your child has a drowning scare and inhales a bunch of water, keep on eye on her. Just like you would after she conks her head falling off the monkey bars.
The real threat There were 3,600 total drowning deaths in the US in 2005. Statistics aren't kept for secondary drowning that I could find. There are currently over 300 million people in the US which puts your annual drowning risk at about 1 in 100,000. Since there are 5,000 food poisoning deaths annually, you have a better chance of being killed by the macaroni salad at your beach picnic than the swim afterwards. Rather than staying locked indoors this summer and hissing with fear when someone turns on the faucet, use some common sense:
*Watch your children when you are swimming
*always have one adult designated for child watching when you are near water
*keep your child in ability appropriate water depths
*wear life vests when boating
*don't leave your child alone in the bathtub
*if your child has an episode of near drowning with gasping and struggling, watch for signs of decreased oxygen intake for the next 24 hours. Signs may include confusion, inability to stay awake, blue tinge around the mouth, difficulty breathing.
How much to worry Water safety is a very real concern and requires some planning and oversight. In the summer it's easy to let kids run off and play or think someone else is watching, so set some family water safety plan in motion. Should you worry about your child suddenly dropping dead days after going swimming? No.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
I amaze me
I am celebrating my accomplishments.
Those who know me well would never accuse me of being a fantastic housekeeper. But in my new house I'm trying to keep things lovely, so you can imagine my dismay when the countertops in my kitchen got random odd stains on them. I've been trying to use natural cleaners, but my poor cleaning skills plus the homemade cleaning products made me fear for my counters. Would they ever be clean? Was I doomed to a dirty hippy, stained countertop life?
Have you ever gotten directions from someone that you are sure are wrong? I do all the time because I think I know better than geography. So what I do is follow the directions but second guess them all the way: "Turn left? Well, that doesn't make any sense. 46th St is right over there and crosses Myrtle in another block. I should be turning right. Oh well, when I get completely lost, it won't be my fault." And then the directions invariably turn out correct.
Anyway, I feel the same about natural cleaners: "Rub the counters with baking soda and lemon? Well that won't work. That's crazy." But I did. I sprinkled baking soda on the counters and literally rubbed them with a slice of lemon. And it worked. My countertops are spotless. I am a cleaning, eco-friendly supermom. Hear me roar.
My other accomplishment from this past week-- and the reason I haven't written in a week-- is that I went back to working outside the house. I'm working three days a week and trading off parenting responsibilities with Kent.
It's a great gig because:
*the girls have continuity of care. They don't have to go to daycare or have different sitters.
*Kent has been able to really step up as a co-parent. Tallulah's babyhood was difficult and her constant nursing forced him into a mommy-support role. But Moxie is so much more easy going and more of a daddy's girl, that his confidence levels are high and he has really embraced the primary caregivver role. Yay, Kent!
*I can self schedule my appointments during the workday and manage to get home at least once during the day to nurse.
*the money is great.
*Moxie is showing her adaptability and easy going nature. Boobs? Yummy. Bottle? Great.
*the job is not stressful and the work slightly pleasant and rewarding.
*when I get home I am really happy to see everybody unlike most evenings when I'm ready to throw babies out windows if Kent doesn't take them quick.
So it's good. Really. And I will continue to list the good aspects of this job and not be a baby about going back to work even though I feel like a big baby and all I really want to do is cuddle my girls and take them to fun summertime places and plant my garden and keep our house running smoothly. And when I hit traffic on the way home I WILL NOT throw a temper tantrum and cry because it's taking me so long to get back home to my family. And when my boobs hurt from a missed feeding I WILL NOT worry that I'll lose my milk and Moxie will be screwed and have to drink formula laced with chemicals and poison every meal of the day.
Nope. I will, however, watch craptastic tv after the girls go to bed as an escapist treat to myself. I just discovered hulu.com which has a ton of full episodes of more crappy tv than you can wish for. Ahh.
So, in conclusion, my countertops are pristine, I have a new job, and crappy television pleases me. God Bless America.
Those who know me well would never accuse me of being a fantastic housekeeper. But in my new house I'm trying to keep things lovely, so you can imagine my dismay when the countertops in my kitchen got random odd stains on them. I've been trying to use natural cleaners, but my poor cleaning skills plus the homemade cleaning products made me fear for my counters. Would they ever be clean? Was I doomed to a dirty hippy, stained countertop life?
Have you ever gotten directions from someone that you are sure are wrong? I do all the time because I think I know better than geography. So what I do is follow the directions but second guess them all the way: "Turn left? Well, that doesn't make any sense. 46th St is right over there and crosses Myrtle in another block. I should be turning right. Oh well, when I get completely lost, it won't be my fault." And then the directions invariably turn out correct.
Anyway, I feel the same about natural cleaners: "Rub the counters with baking soda and lemon? Well that won't work. That's crazy." But I did. I sprinkled baking soda on the counters and literally rubbed them with a slice of lemon. And it worked. My countertops are spotless. I am a cleaning, eco-friendly supermom. Hear me roar.
My other accomplishment from this past week-- and the reason I haven't written in a week-- is that I went back to working outside the house. I'm working three days a week and trading off parenting responsibilities with Kent.
It's a great gig because:
*the girls have continuity of care. They don't have to go to daycare or have different sitters.
*Kent has been able to really step up as a co-parent. Tallulah's babyhood was difficult and her constant nursing forced him into a mommy-support role. But Moxie is so much more easy going and more of a daddy's girl, that his confidence levels are high and he has really embraced the primary caregivver role. Yay, Kent!
*I can self schedule my appointments during the workday and manage to get home at least once during the day to nurse.
*the money is great.
*Moxie is showing her adaptability and easy going nature. Boobs? Yummy. Bottle? Great.
*the job is not stressful and the work slightly pleasant and rewarding.
*when I get home I am really happy to see everybody unlike most evenings when I'm ready to throw babies out windows if Kent doesn't take them quick.
So it's good. Really. And I will continue to list the good aspects of this job and not be a baby about going back to work even though I feel like a big baby and all I really want to do is cuddle my girls and take them to fun summertime places and plant my garden and keep our house running smoothly. And when I hit traffic on the way home I WILL NOT throw a temper tantrum and cry because it's taking me so long to get back home to my family. And when my boobs hurt from a missed feeding I WILL NOT worry that I'll lose my milk and Moxie will be screwed and have to drink formula laced with chemicals and poison every meal of the day.
Nope. I will, however, watch craptastic tv after the girls go to bed as an escapist treat to myself. I just discovered hulu.com which has a ton of full episodes of more crappy tv than you can wish for. Ahh.
So, in conclusion, my countertops are pristine, I have a new job, and crappy television pleases me. God Bless America.
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