This was the boy’s pre-birthday weekend, also known as The Third Birthday! Family Edition.

It would have been a lot more enjoyable if the boy hadn’t been recovering from the gastro and fighting the humidity (hello high summer, you were not invited to this party). He wasn’t at his best. We don’t see my parents very often, so there were things scheduled pretty much every moment the boy was awake: a picnic, home for nap, visiting with friends, bedtime, brunch, nap, the family party with both sets of grandparents. His naptimes and bedtimes were all over the place, and so many people around him all the time was a stress too. He’s also still feeling stressed from last week’s final resolution of potty training and the end of the sippy cups. The poor kid couldn’t focus on everything, and there were one or two meltdowns. On top of that, the kid is only three! We tried to keep him calm and give him the reassurance and comfort he needed when he asked for it, despite remarks about it.

There’s a reason I don’t hype up parties or Christmas: it’s not fair to either the child who can’t understand the need for things to happen in a certain order or the requisite passage of time, or to the adults having to deal with a hyped-up child. So I directed presents into my office and didn’t mention the cake, otherwise dinner (my father-in-law’s excellent ribs!) would have been completely miserable for everyone. I only told the boy that there would be a surprise after dinner. Well, the surprise of dessert got ruined, but fortunately near enough to serving the cake that we didn’t have to field a hellion of a child. He was thrilled with it, especially the Smarties spelling out his name, and didn’t wait for us to finish singing Happy Birthday before he started blowing out his candles. The surprise of presents was also ruined but by Liam himself who ran into my office after his nap and saw the gifts (not completely out of sight around the corner, alas), then gleefully sank his fingers into one and started ripping the paper off. He cried with frustration when I made him stop and told him to wait until everyone was sitting down with a cool drink. He was very enthusiastic about all the presents when he was allowed to open them, though, and wanted to sleep with most of them: clothes from both sets of grandparents, an easel and art supplies from my parents, and Thomas the Tank Engine pieces from HRH’s parents.

We also enjoyed a quick visit from Ceri and Scott in the late afternoon, as they were borrowing our cat carrier, and so Liam got to open his gift from them while they were there. I am so glad, because they got to see Liam’s joy when he took off the paper and found handmade Totoros and soot sprites!

So Ceri continues her streak of awesome handmade gifts! In the end he agreed to sleep with only all the Totoros and soot sprites, some of his new train cars, and a book. This morning, right after his cereal, he insisted on painting at the easel that HRH had finished setting up after the boy was in bed last night. It was half an hour before I could tidy it all up and get him out the door.

Thank you, everyone! Overall it was a good weekend, through the ups and downs. There was lots of laughter, walking in the sand on a tiny beach at Windmill Point where I used to play when I was small, bubbles, swinging, playing, watering the plants, many cuddles, and stories.

ETA: How could I forget dancing in the thunderstorm last night, after such a hot, hot day? HRH deliberately stood out on the balcony in the heavy rain while the rest of us stood in the shelter or the kitchen and watched the lightning. Liam jumped out and back in again while laughing, and even splashed and danced in his bare feet for a bit before seeking shelter again. There was much giggling and shrieking. The kids next door were doing it, too, and counting between the lightning and thunderclaps to see how close the storm was. It was a fabulous way to end the weekend, and the birthday celebration.

Well, the fever went down a bit yesterday, but other problems arose. He seemed fine in the afternoon after a three and a half hour nap (!), so off we went to the shops. After we went to the post office we did the tour of the pet store, where he saw a strawberry Abyssinian whom he promptly identified as Gryff Too, and played with the energetic kitten through the glass. “I’m hungry!” he announced as we left. “I need ice cream.” As I’d already privately decided to offer this same treat off we went, and he ate his little chocolate sundae neatly. Halfway through it he looked up at me and said, “Mama, you look hungry, too. Here.” And he fed me three generous spoonfuls of sundae.

We went to HMV where I picked up my Sound of Music CD, and discovered to my astonishment that I hadn’t used a cent of the gift card I’d been carrying with me since Christmas. It shouldn’t have surprised me; I don’t go downtown any more, and the selection at the local HMV outlet does not in any way reflect my musical interests. It’s good to know I can pick up a couple of DVDs when I feel like it, though.

Liam refused dinner, though, and not because of the ice cream. I’d offered it to him partly as a way to get something inside him, because his appetite was non-existent. While we were out he started periodically pressing his hands to his lower abdomen, but insisted that he didn’t have to use the bathroom. Finally, during his bath he grabbed his lower abdomen again and doubled over, crying “It hurts! It hurts!” HRH and I looked at one another, and HRH called to cancel his appearance at the evening’s game while I packed a bag with books and toys. A fever through the day and abdominal pain that spiked suddenly meant seeing a doctor, and just in case it was appendicitis I wasn’t willing to wait to make an appointment with our GP the next day.

We spent five and a half hours in various hospital waiting rooms last night. I can’t believe how wonderful the emergency department of the Montreal Children’s Hospital is. The staff was terrific. I’m also very proud of the boy who soldiered on relatively cheerfully through the night, lying in our laps, cuddling with us, reading books and watching whatever movies the waiting room was showing, asking periodically if we could go home, and generally being a trooper. From the location of the pain we suspected that it might have been a urinary tract infection, and let me tell you, trying to get a preschooler to pee into a cup when (a) he hasn’t had much to eat or drink all day, (b) is in a strange place, and (c) at the tail end of potty training and therefore resisting, is no fun. About half an hour after he finally provided a sample, he surprised everyone including himself with projectile vomiting. “Mama, what is happening?” he said in astonishment in one of the brief pauses between heaves. (At least it was mostly bile, because all he’d consumed in the last sevenish hours was water. Still not much fun, for us or the people around, although they understood. And of course I’d taken an extra diaper and some wipes, but not the extra change of clothes.) By this point our suspicions were turning to gastro. An hour later we were called into an examining room, where the doctor rechecked the boy’s temperature and did a quick abdominal exam, then asked us all a few questions. By this point it was eleven-thirty, and the boy was tired and just wanted to go home, despite all the neat things he’d seen. (He thinks doctors are very exciting.) The doctor told us that it was indeed most likely gastro, to watch for dehydration, and said to wait until they had the urine test back. Fifteen minutes later we were given the all-clear, and we went home. He was asleep by twelve-ten and slept till nine this morning.

No fever today, but he threw up his first cup of water almost immediately, probably because he went at it with his usual gusto and his tummy wasn’t ready for it. We did the small sips of Pedialyte, juice, and water through the morning, tried a small Rice Krispie square around eleven, and moved on to chicken broth with alphabet noodles ( “Mama, there are letters in my soup!”) for lunch. Then he decided he was Very Hungry and asked for a bowl of Rice Krispies and milk, then Cheerios, and strawberries. I gave him a bit of each, and so far so good. There’s no danger of dehydration; all systems are go. We’re just being careful. He, of course, is as happy as a clam and can’t understand why I won’t give him a proper meal. Poor kid.

My parents are on their way up here as I type, and will be here for dinner. I’m really looking forward to spending the weekend with them. On Sunday HRH’s parents are joining us for an early family-only celebration of Liam’s third birthday. At one point in the waiting room I said to HRH, “I’m just glad this happened this Thursday instead of next Thursday; I would have hated cancelling his first kids-only birthday party.” And I’m glad his stomach is settling, too, because having to skip serving cake at a birthday party of any kind is just wrong.