Still patched
The kiddo went back to the eye doctor, who saw some signs of improvement, meaning we won't be going under the knife just yet. Hooray. Now we have to keep patching him for three more months. Sigh.
After three months of patch/rip patch/rip until we've gone through five or six a day -- and he's only supposed to wear them for two hours! -- I was not especially looking forward to another three months of it. And then the doctor suggested something so simple, yet effective, that I'm smacking my forehead for not thinking of it first.
Mittens.Duh.
So every morning I patch him up, feed him breakfast and stick his mittens on. They're Velcroed shut, so he can't get them off, and with them on he can't pull the patch off either. Sure, he looks like a climate-confused pirate -- am I outside or inside? -- but so far we've only been using one patch a day so who cares. We'll see how this goes.
In the meantime, as though I needed any more reasons to be neurotic, a Mayo Clinic study recently found that kids with exotropia, eyes that point outward, have a noticeably increased risk of mental illness in early adulthood. Esotropia, eyes that point inward, not so much. Guess which one my kid is. They say it might be a genetic link, and don't recommend doing anything about it except being aware of the situation. So I guess if he becomes bipolar in college, we can say, "Oh right! His eyes! So that's why!" Which will undoubtedly be a huge help, because hindsight, after all, is 20/20.
Actually after three months of (more or less) wearing the patches, his eye, when it does turn at all, turns inward. I wonder if that breaks the curse.
To poke a few holes, because that's what I do, it is possible that one thing has nothing to do with the other. It's also possible that treatment of strabismus and ambylopia has changed from when the now-adults profiled in the study were kids. And since I apparently can't see the whole study without subscribing to Pediatrics magazine, I don't know at what age these kids were diagnosed with strabismus, how many of them had surgery or what exact kinds of mental illness we're talking about here. Ah, nuance.
I think for now I'll just file this information away in the back of my head, in the big cardboard box titled "Things to worry about later maybe." Right there with how we're paying for his college education and how I should react when I meet his first girlfriend. For now I'll stick to worrying about which new toys are on the "recalled on account of being fatal" list. You know. The usual.
Fighting the urge
At what point do you step in?
The First Cardinal Unbreakable Rule of Parenting Forever and Ever is "Do not judge other parents." Not on their disciplining methods, not on their vaccine theories, not on the way they dress their kids, nothing. Because we're all under a yachtload of pressure and stress here, trying to do right by our families in an age where you can't even trust the baby bottles, and it would be unkind and hypocritical to critique other parents, since no one is perfect and etc. And of course everyone breaks this law with impunity: they're too permissive, they're giving their kids mumps, they're dressing their kids like hobos, what's wrong with them? I would never do that to my kids. And etc.
But snarking on people behind their back (heh) is one thing; taking direct, public action is something else. I was waiting on line at Trader Joe's when I noticed a little girl sitting in the cart one register line over. And by sitting I mean squirming all over the place. Up, down, over, back, legs up there, legs down here. She looked about the age of my kid, which means she wasn't old enough to understand that cracking her skull on the floor would be a bad thing. I looked for a seat belt and realized the cart didn't have one; the two frayed ends of it hung off the back of the basket.
The parents were both at the other end of the register, dealing with the groceries. Neither one was watching. I kept an eye on her with increasing distress as she contorted ever further outward: Should I say something? Tell her to sit down? Run over to catch her if she falls?
Then her daddy finally clued in and walked up to scoop her out of the cart. Which was good, because I was leaning toward option C, and I don't think I would've been quick enough to catch her. Picked last in gym class and all that.
In retrospect, what were the parents thinking, letting the kid sit in a cart with no belt? We were out at dinner last night and received yet another Highchair of Death, in that it also had no belt. I made the waitress get another chair. Just because these places won't shell out the money to replace shoddy equipment doesn't mean I have to put up with it. But not only did these parents put up with it, they then left their kid effectively unsupervised, because bad accidents only happen to other people's kids, I guess.
Still I'm relieved I said nothing and nothing happened. Because by the time that girl's dad trotted over, he'd clearly figured out there was a problem. Anything I said would've just embarrassed him. And, possibly, me.
But he did see me watching, I'm fairly sure. That may have been what prompted him to move. Which means that whether I meant to or not, I was being ... judgmental. And there you have it.
Look with your eyes ...
Not your hands. I seem to remember that when I was a kid. Be careful. Don't touch. You might break it. It isn't yours. Respect other people's things.
So why is it that the senior citizens who would've said those things to me then, have no problem getting all grabby-hands with my kid now?
Is their eyesight that bad? Are they reading his face like Braille when they tweak his cheek or touch his nose?
Listen, I appreciate that they think my kid is cute. I think my kid is cute too. I think he's the most adorable child on the planet forever and ever. But he's a lot less cute if he's sick from the germs of some total stranger who felt compelled to feel him up at the grocery store and may or may not have washed their hands first. Geez, at least ask before you touch. Then I'd have the time to say "I'd rather you didn't, but thanks for asking." Instead they go "Aww, how cute!" and dive in before I can react, then walk away, leaving me quietly seething.
I guess this is karmic payback for avoiding the grabby-hands when I was pregnant. I didn't really show until wintertime, and the belly was more or less hidden under sweaters and bulky coats. Also, I've been told I'm intimidating-looking. (How shocking, you say.)
My kid, on the other hand, is a great beaming ray of sunshine who thinks the entire world is his friend. This clearly is pollen for buzzing grandparent-ish types.
Of course, the most recent time this happened, kiddo had the sniffles. Kvetching about the touchy-feely on the way home, DH noted that if they picked up kiddo's germs as a result, it was their loss.
"No, it's their gain," I said. "They gained a cold."
Kiddie camo
So these eye patches the little pirate is wearing -- and I use the term "wearing" mockingly -- come in boy patterns and girl patterns. Among the boy patterns are little soccer balls, little rocketships -- and camouflage. For the junior Army pirate.
I'm starting to feel conflicted about this camo thing. It's everywhere. So far the kid's received camo shoes, camo overalls, camo sweatshirts and a sing-along DVD of "Apocalypse Now." (I kid.) Not to sound like a latte-drinking arugula-eating tree-hugging pinko commie liberal freak of nature and I'll keep going till I run out of obnoxious adjectives, but if we're at war, is it really the most appropriate thing to dress kids for playtime in what is, essentially, war wear? Give the kids a few years and they can wear it for real.
Not to mention the implication that boy=camo. Really? The only way boys can be boyish is by fighting things? (Ferdinand the Bull just died a little inside.) Women join the military too, you know -- if I open up a package of the girl patterns, will I find some pink camo eye patches? Or is it all teddy bears and flowers and smiley-faced kittens?
This is of course all irrelevant because no matter what's on the patch, it's getting ripped off my kid's face 15 seconds after I put it on so he can crumple it up and run giggling around the living room and under the dining room table while I chase after him instead of finishing my breakfast like a normal person.
Can he see clearly now?
Good question. Kiddo has strabismus, meaning one of his eyes doesn't quite focus properly and has a tendency to wander off in a different direction from the other. Left unchecked, strabismus can result in ambylopia: vision loss. Yeek.
This was, naturally, one of those things I didn't know was common in our families until we started telling people our kid had it -- "Oh, I had that when I was a child, we did vision therapy and I was fine" or "Well, so-and-so had that too, how about that?" My sister, in fact, *still* has it but was just diagnosed; now she knows why she was getting headaches and had trouble reading all these years. Moral of the story: If large numbers of people in your family are four-eyes, get your kid to an eye doctor right now right away move it.
Fortunately kiddo has the intermittent kind, meaning it only happens occasionally, when he's tired or trying to focus on things far away. Opthalmologist seems to think surgery is inevitable; some of the reading I've done indicates that should be a last resort, as it doesn't always work.
At the moment we're patching the good eye, trying to build up strength in the weaker eye. That's been a learning process. First we learned that latex eye patches can cause an allergic reaction. (Coverlet brand, in this case.) Then we learned that there is a whole cottage industry devoted to making patches -- some for adults, but mainly for kids -- that are latex-free and come complete with cute/goofy/trendy patterns so the kids don't feel stupid wearing them. Some attach directly to the skin with adhesive or a strap; others attach to the child's glasses frame. This site offers a good rundown of companies. What's fascinating is how many people got into the biz by making patches for their own children, got compliments and decided to sell them to others. Can't decide if that speaks more to the triumph of the entrepreneurial spirit, or to the gaping void of options open to parents of afflicted kids before these entrepreneurs came along.
At the moment we're using these patches. And by "using," I mean going through three to five of them a day since kiddo has figured out how to rip them off. He only has to wear them two hours a day, but you try explaining that to a 17-month-old.
"Now honey, you have to leave that on for another hour and a half --"
Riipp.
"Now sweetie, you need to leave the patch on this time --"
Riipp.
"Kid, do that again and the teddy bear gets it."
So not too sure what to do next. I could get one of those reusable fabric patches with a strap, but it takes him all of five seconds to remove his sunglasses -- which have a similar strap -- so I don't think it would make a difference. One blogger I found recommended these arm immobilizers, which should keep the child from bending the elbows enough to reach the patch. Of course I imagine that would also prevent kiddo from feeding himself, which would cause all sorts of calamity and angst in the mornings, when I normally patch him. (Could switch to evenings, but same problem with dinner.) His eye does appear to be doing less wandering about, so maybe this is working anyway.
I mean, I knew he'd have eye problems. I just figured he'd be out of diapers first.
Another day, another toy of ours on a recall list. First up: a rattle from Habermaass that is A. wooden and B. made in Germany, so apparently geographically profiling your toys doesn’t work either. Second: a rattle from Manhattan Toy that was made in China, so, uh, maybe it does. Ironically the problem is the same in both – parts can break off, causing a choking hazard.
This comes after the recall on the lead-encased bib we brought back to the store and the recall on the Bumbo chair, because some kids discovered a chair without a safety belt is not incredibly difficult to wriggle out of. (To be fair, you're not supposed to use the chair on a raised surface. But the packaging used to be less than clear on that fact.)
So I’m supposed to, what, obsessively scan recall lists and burn my eyes out poring over every single parenting magazine on the market to make sure my kid’s toys won’t kill him? Because this information doesn’t get regular widespread exposure unless there were deaths involved. Frankly I’d rather find out about a potentially fatal object before it becomes fatal, not after.
Tempting to blame the media but I don’t think that’s the full story here. I think these recalls are considered more or less routine. Rattle is a choking hazard, stroller might collapse on you, teddy bear has a ticking bomb inside, oopsie! Call the company for a refund. Because when you discover you’ve been sold a shoddy product, don’t you want to ask the maker of that product for a different product? I’m sure there’s no way it will also be shoddy!
I think people have come to expect this sort of thing. For the life of me I can’t understand why. These aren’t display items. They aren’t collectibles. They aren’t sitting in a curio cabinet somewhere. We’re taking them out of the package and giving them to our kids. Under the apparently mistaken impression that someone, somewhere, did something resembling quality control before dropping the things on store shelves. Recalls happening at all is obnoxious; that they happen all the time is disgraceful.
My kid, of course, is fond of both of those rattles. Fortunately he hasn’t noticed their mysterious disappearance.
