The New Year rang in and I wrote here for a couple of days and then the crickets set in, didn’t they? 

Yeah.  Consider yourself lucky you’ve been hearing crickets around here.  You could have been hearing what I’ve been hearing.  An average of 4-6 hours a day of mind-numbing, ear-drum-blowing, top-o-the-lungs, neighbors-calling-the-cops-about-the-happening-right-now-murder-next-door screaming.

The G has been having panic attacks, for lack of a better terms, and let me just tell you, they have been stellarly impressive.  Who knew my child had lungs like that? 

It started about three weeks ago with typical, 3-year-old monster dreams.  She’d come into our room about 4 in the morning, climb into our bed, tremble a little, and go right back to sleep.  There was no screaming, no crying, no dramatics.  Just “i wanna sleep with you” snuggle snuggle.  She was still going to bed like she has always gone to bed (yes, hate me now, but only for a brief moment) - without a fuss at all.  No tears, no excuses, no hemming or hawing or begging for another 15 minutes.  Pajamas, teeth, books, birdies, bed, sleep.  Wham bam, thankeemaam.

Then on Sunday (Sunday! Sunday! Sunday!!!!), I was taking a shower and she was watching, I don’t know, Higglytown Heroes or something?, in my bed.  I got out of the shower and found her under the covers, curled up in a fetal position, and absolutely sobbing her eyes out.  Two hours later, she calmed down enough to tell me it was monsters and she could hear stomping.  Something was stomping!  Mommy make the stomping stop!!

It was tramatic.  For all of us.  And Mama was too tired to deal with it, so, hey kid, come on and sleep in our bed tonight.  We’ll keep you safe.

That was a mistake, FYI.

The rest of the week was chock full of these two hour long “panic attacks” bad enough I at one point jokingly asked for an exorcist, only I wasn’t completely joking.  And she refused to even go IN her own bedroom, much less sleep in there, one night telling me her bed was “too fun!  It’s too silly!” in wracking sobs.  We went to the doctor to check her ears about the stomping (one loose ear tube floating around the ear canal pulled out with an ear spoon - no more complaints about the stomping), anxiety (was given the number of a child psychologist - haven’t called), and finally, reflux.

See, one night, she got upset enough that she started coughing.  And even after she went to sleep, she was still coughing.  And threw up her dinner from 4 hours earlier completely undigested.  And then dry heaved until bile started coming up.  And lightbulbs went off EVERYWHERE.  Oh, hai, didn’t this kid have reflux when she was an infant?  What if it’s back??  What if these aren’t panic attacks, but HEARTBURN that’s scaring the hell out of her?? 

So we took all of this to her pediatrician who was all, “Like, oh my god, that could explain why she had pneumonia twice in a month last year.  The reflux could have, like, ASPIRATED!  Like, DUH!”

What?  Your grandfatherly, bow-tie-wearing pediatrician doesn’t frequently give his diagnoses in valley girl speak?

Anyhoo.

Turns out in her coughing/vomiting fit the night before, he believes she aspirated some stomach acid which is now sounding like asthma.  We were sent on our merry way with an asthma inhaler, an inhaled steroid, a prescription for Zantac, and directions to give her Maalox and see if that helps.

And guess what?

She slept in her own bed last night.  Until 4, at which point she came in, climbed into our bed, trembled a little, and fell back to sleep until 8:30.

3-year-old monster dreams I can deal with.  Those won’t make me insane with worry for my child.  I can comfort those.  I can Supernanny those. 

It’s been a week of absolute hell around here, but things are looking up.  Here’s hoping for normal to return very, very soon.

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