Unhappy Baby Monkey

Remember before when I said that I had reached my limit of finding things humorous when Zoe was sick.

I was wrong.

Unhappy Baby Monkey showed her face yesterday. I've decided that Happy Baby Monkey is zoe's superhero name and her use of her feet is her superpower. This is probably resultant of too many conversations with David about What Superhero Would I Be and What Would my SuperPower Be....blah blah blah.

So her evil ALTEREGO is UnHappy Baby Monkey. It's freakin' Friday people, give me a break - there's just not much left in the creativity well.

Upward and onward though...

Zoe hates her breathing treatments which consist of a box about the size of a See N Say, complete with handle that opens up to attach the tubing and what looks like a good old fashioned chloroform mask.

She KNOWS what's about to happen when she sees that mask. Mom asked if she could possibly have caught on that quickly and my answer is HELL YES. She starts drooling and crying. It's sort of Pavlovian.

The mask goes on and her eyes well up and the crying begins. It tears the very fabric of my heart to hear her cry that way. I will admit to being a complete wimp. I have to be the one holding her because I can't stand the look of recrimination on her innocent little face.

And then it begins.

First it's the "wringing of the feet". She literally wrings her feet like someone else might wring their hands.

Then she starts clapping them together. They turn red and hot and they seem to be everywhere at once (hence the superpower reference)!

UnHappy Baby Monkey has grabbed the tubing and almost ripped it, gouged me with her toenails, grabbed the mask connector and successfully pulled that out. The most devilish incident occurred when Mom and I were giving her a treatment. She had one hand and one foot. I had another foot and hand and she was literally up in the air, rigid, like when we used to play Light as a Feather Stiff as a Board when we were kids.

Giving her one of these treatments is like riding a bull! I keep waiting for some cowboy in chaps to scream "7 SECONDS" so I can let go. But no, the treatments last about 12 minutes each, with no respite from the howling of Unhappy Baby Monkey.