Fever

feeling all better

Last weekend was by far our toughest weekend as parents. Jesse was down with high fever and he was practically puking his guts out. In the two years that Jesse had been in our world, he had never actually gotten sick, so you can imagine how disorienting and heartbreaking the whole experience turned out to be.

We took him to the doctor when he started puking the water he drank. By the time we got there, it had gotten so bad that the poor boy was vomiting bile. The doc suspected a stomach virus and our orders were simple - keep the kid hydrated without making him puke any further, otherwise he'd have to be admitted for intravenous drips. His prescription; 10 mls of 100 Plus every once in awhile!

"I'd give you oral rehydration salts," Dr Lee shrugs nonchalantly, "but he's gonna want the 100 Plus!" He gives me Clint-Eastwood-esque sneer that quashes whatever wussy concerns I had about his unorthodox methods. I fall on my knees and worship the very ground on which this brilliant man stands.

Then came our second problem; the fever. You can't give fever syrup to a kid who can't hold his fluids in. The good doctors tears open a paper sachet, and withdraws a small, white cylindrical object. He then holds it up to my face. This is the only way." I knew at once that it was a suppository. (That's an ass-pill in case you've never heard the word!) Poor Jesse. Thankfully for him, the doctor reassures us that the medicine will give our boy a 6-hour relief.

By nightfall, like clockwork, the fever resurfaces. Jesse was clocking 39.9 degrees Celcius - and we were all set to take him to the hospital. Fortunately, he had started eating again, stopped vomiting and was in pretty good spirits. We gave him a fever suppressant syrup and sponged him with luke-warm water. His fever came down quickly, but we stayed vigil all night to be sure. Thankfully, Sunday came, and the boy was up and about - completely restored to his regular monkey self and all was right in the world again.

Disclaimer: No toddlers, or monkeys were harmed in the making of this harrowing episode of A Day in the Life of Jesse. Thanks to Dr. Lee of Damansara Utama (same row as 7-11), good advice from MIL's doctor friend and the ever-dependable Baby Center, our boy was never at any risk.

On A Need-to-Gnaw Basis

Apparently, children grow teeth only when they need to use them. At least that what Stepmom tells me.

For the longest time, Jesse's had only 8 teeth. While other kids his age have been getting some serious oral hardware months ago, our boy's only got his 4-up and 4-down. Sure, incisors are lovely to look at, but they don't exactly do much except make the kid look less dopey. Heh. Other than that, it's really just good enough to bite through his baby biscuits and maybe cut a couple of Pringles here and there.

Still, in the last couple of months Jesse's entry-level teeth combo have been put to good use, chewing up Roti Canai and fish fillets, biting off chewy candy and gooey-cheese pizza, and crunching up the occasional bread stick we throw at him. And then just a couple of weeks back, lo and behold, we're seeing some new development in the boy's mouth.

Out of the blue, Jesse has developed a new set of cute little canines. And right next to them, we're witnessing the makings of a new set of pre-molars. This, I suppose, must be his body's way of preparing the kid for a whole new world of culinary experiences. We're talking steak, Char Kuey Teow, chicken drumsticks, Ramly Burger, and the works. What a glorious time it shall be for father and son as we enjoy my our favourite foods together.

So, I guess Stepmom must be right. The boy is getting ready for some serious chow-down. Either that or he's planning on gnawing at our cheap furniture.

Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia

Apparently, the fear of the numbers 666 is so vivid that someone actually came out with a name for the condition. Actually, this phobia isn't just confined to the number of the beast, but also to all stuff related to the Book of Revelation - Satan, End Times, Anti-Christ, Lake of Fire, bla bla bla.

Me, I'm more afraid of a time when I actually have to spell Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia!

But there it is anyway. Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia. And you thought you'd never learn anything coming in here, did you now?

Oh, btw, if this feels like a filler post to you, you're probably right. I haven't been blogging very much lately cos I have been working my butt off. But you'll be pleased to know that in the course of my work, I have been thinking about you, dear reader. (Heh, I always wanted to call you fellas 'dear reader'!!) I stumbled upon the word in the midst of doing some research and decided to blog it, just for you. Heh!

Anyway, some announcements: This week, Mae and I celebrate our 4th Anniversary. If you guess the exact date of our anniversary, we'll bring you along on our romantic dinner. (Hahah!) In other news, a nice pharmaceutical company stumbled upon my blog and decided to let Jesse sample some kiddy supplements - a review, if you like. If the boy likes it, I'll give it a glowing review. If it makes the boy eat like a normal human being, I will quit my job and peddle the product like a roadside medicine show with kungfu demonstrations where passersby will be invited to step up to kick me in the groin or something like that. How's that for commitment?

In the meantime, be well and have a happy Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia.

Big Little Boy

"Honey," and so begins one of Mae's late-night-can't-sleep-must-talk sessions. Getting almost no response from her near-comatoes husband, she decides to gun for the punchline. "I think Jesse is bigger than other boys his age," carefully emphasising "bigger", almost outlining, if that were possible, the word with her raspy late-night voice.

"Bigger how?" I had to know.

"You remember how Blunt was running around naked by the pool?" Mae reminds me of a kiddies party we had recently attended, "well, for a boy two years older, he certainly has a smaller birdy than Jesse."

I laughed. Because it was funny, and because my boy had a bigger dick than than Augie's kid. Hehheh... I'm still laughing. Still, I try not to encourage Mae. Nobody likes it when a soccer mom starts comparing their kid's... erm... underachievements.

"Maybe it's not Jesse," I rationalise, "maybe Blunt's just smaller than other kids." After all his daddy, Augie is a small-dicked man and the apple usually doesn't fall far from the tree.

Which also goes to explain why Jesse is a big little boy. *ahem*

Superman vs Loinboy

Mae and I saw Superman Returns on Tuesday. When that familiar John Williams theme played, I felt the same rush as I did so many years ago when I saw the first Superman as a 7-year-old. And just like those many years ago, I was awestruck.

This young guy in the row before us was completely unaffected. "This bugger was still swimming about in his father's loins when the first movie came out," I pointed out the disrecpectful young sprat and his father to Mae. Expectedly, Loinboy wasn't terribly moved by the whole John Williams thing.

Superman Returns is a love story disguised as a superhero movie. But, damn, it was good - beautifully shot and all. At times, it looked like it came right out of a comic. Even the poster you see up here - that must have been inspired by Alex Ross' Kingdom Come (Which is one helluva graphic novel that would surely have you... erm.. coming all over your... erm... kingdom. Hehheh!!!).

The hopeless romantic in me loved it to pieces - the lonely tortured guy thing, that bit about forbidden love, the heartbroken lovers angle, the tormented fathers and sons, and all of that crybaby shit! Watching it made me feel like Superman. Minus the good looks, 6-pack, and underwear outside, of course. Heh! So yeah, it was that good.

On the way out of the auditorium, Loinboy started looking at me funny. Faster than a speeding bullet, I grabbed him by the neck before he could react. Stronger than a locomotive, I hurled Loinboy out into the stratosphere where he shall orbit the earth for his remaining days. Then, I turned my heat vision upon Loinboy's daddy's crotch. Phhsshaawrkkksshh!!!!" And all at once, there was peace throughout the land.

No more shall the world be terrorised by the likes of Loinboy.

Girly Shoes

these boots are made for sashaying

"NooOOoOoOoOoOoooOo!!!!" we shrieked in horror as the world came to its devastating end. It was a natural disaster like no other. As we struggled to grasp the terrifying spectacle before us, we wondered where we had gone wrong.

Our boy likes girly shoes.

Jesse had been walking funny in his spanking new discounted Baby Zaras. "He must be uncomfortable in them," Mae observed. That's Mae for you - always trying to fix things. As far as I was concerned, the boy walks funny to entertain us. But no, Mae had to do something. And so we headed to the shoe shop.

I had picked up this cute but masculine macho-boy faux-leather loafer for the boy. Mae was looking at a more sporty Nike knock-off. But alas, little Jesse had other plans. We had left the boy on this own to do his thing and it turned out to be the biggest mistake. The moment we set him loose in the shoe shop, he had set his sights on the little white Hello Kitty booties.

The whole scene played out in slo-mo like some cheap, B-grade movie starring overweight and balding has-been, Richard Grieco and the still comely but long-forgotten Heather Thomas. "NooOoooOoooooooO JeesSssSssee, noOooOottt the whiiiiiiiiiiite giiirRRrrllly shhoOoooOoooes," her voice warbled like a walkman on old batteries as she lunged in slow motion to stop him. The boy reached out, grabbed the shoe, threw it on the ground and started forcing his feet in. It was the longest 2 minutes of our lives.

We coaxed him. We reasoned with him. We even threatened to put him up for adoption in Cambodia but the boy was unfazed. It was Hello Kitty or hello barefeet. *sigh* So no, we didn't buy any shoe that weekend. Everything else that we attempted to put on his feet would have him screeching like a monkey under torture.

First he likes pink and now he likes girly shoes. I'm starting to worry a little.

Weekend SMS

Two messages I got over the weekend. First one was from my father:

Don't miss Superman Returns. The new Lois Lane is gorgeous, not a dog like Margot Kidder.

And then there's Jeff:

One zero. Serves da brasil coach right. The gall of the man to suggest Pele Beautiful game was rubbish. Now he and his ugly football goes home.

Yes, yes, melodrama runs in the family.