Do you remember when I said how awesome underwires were in supporting me in my curvy goodness?
Well, that might have been true 2 days after weaning, but here 7 weeks post-wean, things have settled down a little. Ok, a lot. And gotten smaller. Lots smaller. And lower. And possibly, things have disappeared completely when I lie on my back.
I have never been a huge supporter of the Mirena (well, I was before I got one of my own). Six weeks post-wean, I erupted in pimples. Zits, really. It was so bad Chuckles/Chip asked me if I had chicken pox. I'm using a six-part Proactiv-like regimen to keep them at bay that is keeping the pimples down but also inadvertently drying the skin immediately adjacent to the offending zits. It's lovely. And ashy.
I am thirty-fricken-four years old, and I've broken out like I'm 15 again. So, does the Clearasil go under or over the anti-wrinkle cream?
I had an ultrasound to try and figure out why I have bled every day since having the Mirena inserted. There is no reason, apparently. I think I'm going to have it removed and go back on the Pill. I was on Lybrel, I think, and I could go 4-6 months with no periods (and no spotting) and no (not many, at least) pimples. This is for the birds. My doctor and nurse practitioner both agree that a non-smoking woman (like me) can safely be on the Pill after 35.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Monday, February 15, 2010
Three out of Four or Thirty-Four
Having been to Urgent Care with Bobo three out of four Sundays recently, I have a whole theory about timing. This is a hard-won theory, and I spent a lot of time in line and waiting (plus co-pays) to learn and develop this theory for you. So, you don't have to. And here it is: Get there two minutes before they open or 2 hours after (most certainly, do not arrive 15 minutes after opening).
Tomorrow I turn 34, but I feel 28-at-heart. I've felt 28 for about fifteen years now. I don't look 34, whatever it is 34 looks like. I look 28. Tomorrow also marks my 12th anniversary in Heavy Industrial Manufacturing. I started my first job out of college on my 22nd birthday. I felt 28, at the time.
At my college orientation welcome speech, I heard a term that I still remember (and still think is fake): ethnography. Hee hee. I giggle just thinking about someone getting a degree in that and then not being able to get a job.
I hung out in an igloo on Saturday. In my front yard. Hilarious.
We did gym class on Saturday morning at 8:15 am, and there was a t-ball game and kids running to 3rd base or the pitchers mound instead of 1st and one kid who just wandered to the other side of the gym in the middle of the game. And kids who hit the tee and the ball fell off and all the parents are yelling “Run to first” (and since the kids are wee, we’re all standing next to the bases and in the game to try and keep things moving in the more-or-less right direction). Like herding cats, that.
I set my alarm last night for the first time since April 1st, and I was totally surprised when it went off. Disoriented. I usually sleep until I wake up (or someone wakes me). But today is Presidents’ Day so Mr. Long-Suffering is home with the kids since it is Professional Development Day at the day care.
It is becoming ever so slightly obvious to me that I might perhaps be a morning person. It’s really quite disgusting. I know for sure that I am not a night owl, but I always pictured myself as someone who does their best work between 10 am and 2 pm.
Chuckles had to write out Valentines for all the kids in his kindergarten class. We got a class list with his homework packet, so I assumed it was a handwriting assignment. He ended up changing his name to Chip (because it's shorter). But he did all 20 of them (plus three extras To: Chip, From: Chip so he could have some Backugan Valentines for himself). Apparently, I was mistaken since only 3 or 4 of the Valentines Chip received in return were written by the other kids (and only 2 of those had a name in the "To" line). It took two weeks to get it done, but he did it and I am proud of Chip. Whoever this Chip kid is.
I feel bad when I don't post, but then I feel worse when I post this kind of dreck. However, you get that for which you pay, which is a long and grammatically correct way of saying: The End.
Tomorrow I turn 34, but I feel 28-at-heart. I've felt 28 for about fifteen years now. I don't look 34, whatever it is 34 looks like. I look 28. Tomorrow also marks my 12th anniversary in Heavy Industrial Manufacturing. I started my first job out of college on my 22nd birthday. I felt 28, at the time.
At my college orientation welcome speech, I heard a term that I still remember (and still think is fake): ethnography. Hee hee. I giggle just thinking about someone getting a degree in that and then not being able to get a job.
I hung out in an igloo on Saturday. In my front yard. Hilarious.
We did gym class on Saturday morning at 8:15 am, and there was a t-ball game and kids running to 3rd base or the pitchers mound instead of 1st and one kid who just wandered to the other side of the gym in the middle of the game. And kids who hit the tee and the ball fell off and all the parents are yelling “Run to first” (and since the kids are wee, we’re all standing next to the bases and in the game to try and keep things moving in the more-or-less right direction). Like herding cats, that.
I set my alarm last night for the first time since April 1st, and I was totally surprised when it went off. Disoriented. I usually sleep until I wake up (or someone wakes me). But today is Presidents’ Day so Mr. Long-Suffering is home with the kids since it is Professional Development Day at the day care.
It is becoming ever so slightly obvious to me that I might perhaps be a morning person. It’s really quite disgusting. I know for sure that I am not a night owl, but I always pictured myself as someone who does their best work between 10 am and 2 pm.
Chuckles had to write out Valentines for all the kids in his kindergarten class. We got a class list with his homework packet, so I assumed it was a handwriting assignment. He ended up changing his name to Chip (because it's shorter). But he did all 20 of them (plus three extras To: Chip, From: Chip so he could have some Backugan Valentines for himself). Apparently, I was mistaken since only 3 or 4 of the Valentines Chip received in return were written by the other kids (and only 2 of those had a name in the "To" line). It took two weeks to get it done, but he did it and I am proud of Chip. Whoever this Chip kid is.
I feel bad when I don't post, but then I feel worse when I post this kind of dreck. However, you get that for which you pay, which is a long and grammatically correct way of saying: The End.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Tolerate the Jingling Bells
Reason for not posting recently: Christmas may be over, but Chuckles just learned that "Jingle Bells" rhymes with "Batman smells" and then we had to search all over because the Joker got away, and we couldn't find him. It was tragic what with all the other things we've been doing lately like getting our flaming jeans off of the power lines* and walking our pram down the street through the snow and ice**.
Bobo is (probably) milk intolerant like Chuckles, and we are idiots. And now he slept through the night, two nights in a row (just shot myself in the foot by posting this...three nights is a trend, two is an abberration). I'll let you know if it continues. But let's just say that any woman who discovers that she might have been sleeping for the previous 6 months if only she had known and doesn't nearly flagellate herself is a robot. If you are a robot, all I have to say to you is: 011100110110001101110010011001010111011100100000011110010110111101110101
I have no idea where I am going with this, so I will just end it here or write a bunch of random crap and see what sticks.
Only 203 days until the Bon Jovi concert.
I lost 10 pounds over the holidays because I weaned Bobo (and I lose the last bit of baby weight while weaning and I kept nursing through Christmas...for the cookies).
My coworker (who I call The Piddler) continues to pee all over the seat (and floor). No New Year's Resolution for him, apparently.
The heat is broken in my work trailer, and it is 59 degress here now. Brisk.
I discovered a website called 'I hate your kids name' (yes, I know it's wrong and petty to mock people, I do know), and I want to come up with fake submittals that would look only too real. You need a lot of extra Ys and Hs and words. How about Pryncyss Yoon'heek (for Princess Unique, which would be a bad enough name even spelled correctly) and Ochocinqo. I do have my Six Simple Rules for Naming Your Child After British Aristocracy, so keep that in mind.
I watched the two-hour season premiere of Chuck last night (another episode tonight). I'm not sure what I think. Not enough spy stuff, maybe. Not enough longing in the relationship arena. Not enough laughs, and they could have done something FUNNY to get Big Mike back at the Buy More instead of what they did with the Emmitt story line, which was not funny.
I watched a little bit of the Bachelor the other night (for the first-time ever) and I feel dirty. And ashamed. And embarrassed on behalf of all women throughout time and history. It was icky. I guess since it's a game and you need to be noticed, you have to...I don't know...whore yourself out, but ick.
Since I weaned, I seem to have stopped spotting from the Mirena (also, by writing this, I have ensured I will start spotting again soon). So, it might end up being a good choice after all. Keep my spotting in mind in case you find yourself looking for post-partum birth control that is safe while nursing. I should've used the mini-pill again (but I was so nervous about a potential supply drop). Eh. What's done is done.
* - Liar Liar, pants on fire, hanging on the telephone wire.
** - Mommy and Daddy, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g, first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in the baby carriage.
Bobo is (probably) milk intolerant like Chuckles, and we are idiots. And now he slept through the night, two nights in a row (just shot myself in the foot by posting this...three nights is a trend, two is an abberration). I'll let you know if it continues. But let's just say that any woman who discovers that she might have been sleeping for the previous 6 months if only she had known and doesn't nearly flagellate herself is a robot. If you are a robot, all I have to say to you is: 011100110110001101110010011001010111011100100000011110010110111101110101
I have no idea where I am going with this, so I will just end it here or write a bunch of random crap and see what sticks.
Only 203 days until the Bon Jovi concert.
I lost 10 pounds over the holidays because I weaned Bobo (and I lose the last bit of baby weight while weaning and I kept nursing through Christmas...for the cookies).
My coworker (who I call The Piddler) continues to pee all over the seat (and floor). No New Year's Resolution for him, apparently.
The heat is broken in my work trailer, and it is 59 degress here now. Brisk.
I discovered a website called 'I hate your kids name' (yes, I know it's wrong and petty to mock people, I do know), and I want to come up with fake submittals that would look only too real. You need a lot of extra Ys and Hs and words. How about Pryncyss Yoon'heek (for Princess Unique, which would be a bad enough name even spelled correctly) and Ochocinqo. I do have my Six Simple Rules for Naming Your Child After British Aristocracy, so keep that in mind.
I watched the two-hour season premiere of Chuck last night (another episode tonight). I'm not sure what I think. Not enough spy stuff, maybe. Not enough longing in the relationship arena. Not enough laughs, and they could have done something FUNNY to get Big Mike back at the Buy More instead of what they did with the Emmitt story line, which was not funny.
I watched a little bit of the Bachelor the other night (for the first-time ever) and I feel dirty. And ashamed. And embarrassed on behalf of all women throughout time and history. It was icky. I guess since it's a game and you need to be noticed, you have to...I don't know...whore yourself out, but ick.
Since I weaned, I seem to have stopped spotting from the Mirena (also, by writing this, I have ensured I will start spotting again soon). So, it might end up being a good choice after all. Keep my spotting in mind in case you find yourself looking for post-partum birth control that is safe while nursing. I should've used the mini-pill again (but I was so nervous about a potential supply drop). Eh. What's done is done.
* - Liar Liar, pants on fire, hanging on the telephone wire.
** - Mommy and Daddy, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g, first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in the baby carriage.
Saturday, January 02, 2010
Merry and Bright
Well, Bobo started walking on New Year's Eve. I had high hopes for that night. I figured if it was learning to walk that was screwing with his sleep, then now we should be ....not just good but golden. And I thought it was be karmic or cosmic or something if he slept through since last year on New Year's Eve, he slept through for the first time ever (and what also feels like the last time). But it was not to be.
12:02 am 2010: Welcome to Kabul (bang, pow, explode, bang, pow, boom, ooohhhh, ahhhh, pretty fireworks, BOOM)
12:02:30 Bobo: Wahhhhhh!
1:17 Chuckles: Mama, I hafta go potty and you need to tuck me back in afterward so I will have good dreams.
2:24 Lisa the Chatty Cat: Hork, hork, ((jump)) puke (fortunately, she jumped off the bed and puked on the hardwood floor)
2:25 SarcastiCarrie: scrub scrub scrub the floor
5:30 Bobo: Wahhhhhh!
5:31 SarcastiCarrie: I'll make the bottle if you give it...
5:32 SarcastiCarrie: ZZZZZzzzzzzz
5:35-6:37 Mr. Long-Suffering: Shhhhh, go sleepies. Go sleepies.
And then, I made pancakes and went to the grocery store with only one child and bought some discount champagne. Going places with only one child feels so easy nowadays.
I did nurse on New Year's Day (to get the nice early nap since Bobo got up so early and we had somewhere to be in the early afternoon), so I did my breastfeeding 2008-2010 thing.
Then, we went to a party and watched by alma mateur lose their Bowl Game three times in overtime. It was....exciting and ultimately disappointing. But good. And during the game, I sent a text message (only my second ever) to people who were at the game.
And if I ever find that sumbitch who blew off fireworks for 30 minutes in the middle of the night, so help me, I will put a bottle rocket in each of his pockets and wish him a happy new year.
Wishing you a happy new year (either twenty-ten or two-thousand ten, depending on which side of the debate you happen to support....I am like Switzerland on this important issue....as long as you don't say two-thousand and ten, I am fine.).
12:02 am 2010: Welcome to Kabul (bang, pow, explode, bang, pow, boom, ooohhhh, ahhhh, pretty fireworks, BOOM)
12:02:30 Bobo: Wahhhhhh!
1:17 Chuckles: Mama, I hafta go potty and you need to tuck me back in afterward so I will have good dreams.
2:24 Lisa the Chatty Cat: Hork, hork, ((jump)) puke (fortunately, she jumped off the bed and puked on the hardwood floor)
2:25 SarcastiCarrie: scrub scrub scrub the floor
5:30 Bobo: Wahhhhhh!
5:31 SarcastiCarrie: I'll make the bottle if you give it...
5:32 SarcastiCarrie: ZZZZZzzzzzzz
5:35-6:37 Mr. Long-Suffering: Shhhhh, go sleepies. Go sleepies.
And then, I made pancakes and went to the grocery store with only one child and bought some discount champagne. Going places with only one child feels so easy nowadays.
I did nurse on New Year's Day (to get the nice early nap since Bobo got up so early and we had somewhere to be in the early afternoon), so I did my breastfeeding 2008-2010 thing.
Then, we went to a party and watched by alma mateur lose their Bowl Game three times in overtime. It was....exciting and ultimately disappointing. But good. And during the game, I sent a text message (only my second ever) to people who were at the game.
And if I ever find that sumbitch who blew off fireworks for 30 minutes in the middle of the night, so help me, I will put a bottle rocket in each of his pockets and wish him a happy new year.
Wishing you a happy new year (either twenty-ten or two-thousand ten, depending on which side of the debate you happen to support....I am like Switzerland on this important issue....as long as you don't say two-thousand and ten, I am fine.).
Thursday, December 31, 2009
All Hail the Triumphant Return of the Underwire
Nursing is (virtually) over. I still nurse about once every other day and will do so until at least tomorrow (so I can say I nursed 2008-2010). But, my old supportive bras are back. And they make a huge difference. I'm all thin and curvy and supported in ways that my no-underwire nursing bras never could do. And I have more choices than just white, black, and ecru. Today: red (with lace and a delicate ribbon). Very festive, no?
Bobo got this Fisher-Price Little People House Play Set for his birthday:
Bobo has a habit of putting the toy person on the left in his mouth. Chuckles wants to know why Bobo is trying to eat Kevin. That's right, Chuckles decided that the person on the left must be a toy version of Kevin O'Connor from (Ask) This Old House. I can see it.
I missed my bras. It's been almost two years since we've been together (ditto also my button-down shirts). It's like having a whole new, sexy, curvy, colorful wardrobe.
Bobo hates cow milk. He prefers formula. Have you ever tasted formula? I don't think Bobo has taste buds. Will need to ask the ped about that at next visit.
I weaned to a bottle instead of a cup and am not even trying to get rid of the bottle. I don't care. La la la. I'm sure day care will get him off of the bottle when they need to. Bobo is just not so good with the cup (he doesn't even hold his own bottles), so there's no way he'd get enough nutrition from the cup. So, bottle it is. I imagine by 18 months he'll be off of it completely.
My children wore matching and coordinating outfits for much of the last two weeks, and every time I see them dressed all matchy-matchy, my heart fills with maternal love and pride. It's a sickness. But, I have TWO kids, and I can dress them alike because I have TWO. For quite a while there I didn't think I would get any, and then, I figured just one, but here I have TWO. My cup runneth over. Well, actually, my cup was spillethed over by one of those kids and now I am cleaning cold tea up off of the carpet, but you know. I have a cup (C-cups actually, and they are well-supported).
Terrorism: bad.
Number of New Year's Eves spent with Mr. Long-Suffering: Tonight marks 12.
TV Shows I am anticipating in the New Year: Chuck, Lost, The Big Bang Theory
TV Shows I watch while folding laundry (so much laundry): Something with Jenna Elfman as a knocked up single woman, Modern Family, Cougar Town (which is kind of depressing), Grey's Anatomy (and I don't find Ellen Pompeo attractive or talented), Desperate Housewives, Antiques Roadshow, Ask This Old House, and This Old House.
Speaking of (Ask) This Old House, Kevin O'Connor is the host. He's cute (in a boyish, handyman sort of way). I just read his bio, and I am shocked to learn that he is older than I am. He bought his first house after I did and his wife had their first child after I already had Chuckles, so I assumed he was young, but he's probably 7-9 years older than I am. Here's Kevin...
Bobo got this Fisher-Price Little People House Play Set for his birthday:
Bobo has a habit of putting the toy person on the left in his mouth. Chuckles wants to know why Bobo is trying to eat Kevin. That's right, Chuckles decided that the person on the left must be a toy version of Kevin O'Connor from (Ask) This Old House. I can see it.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Ladies' Man
In which I will make fun of something serious because that is how I roll.....
So, I was cleaning out Chuckles's back pack the other day. Two half-done worksheets on the letter Ss and a small booklet on Bill Bug's Big something-or-other. There was a little slip of yellow paper...an index card really. It said P236123. I thought, "Wow, that's pretty random, but look how nice those numbers are." I set it on the counter to go in with the recycling.
Last night I showed Mr. Long-Suffering the piece of paper. "Do you know what that is?" he asked.
"No."
"A girl gave Chuckles her phone number."
"What?"
"That 'P' is really a '9'."
"I don't believe you. I'm going to google to reverse look up that number."
And you know what? It was a phone number. A girl wrote her phone number down on a piece of paper and slipped it in to my son's back pack. Hussy. I'm sure now that Chuckles is destined to be a ladies' man. When the ladyfolk drone on and on (and on and on) about the things women talk about (about which men do not care), he can just smile and nod his head unable to hear what she is saying due to his hearing loss. Ladies Man!
Today is the kindergarten holiday party. It's really a Christmas party, but everyone is invited regardless of Christian-faith, so we'll call it a holiday party. With pizza. Chuckles was inordinately excited about this. Just jazzed. As I was laying out his clothes last night, he told me he wanted to look "cute" for the party.
"Sweetie, you're always cute."
"I want to look cute. And be pretty."
"OK."
"I want to dress up and wear my fancy Christmas clothes."
"OK."
"I want to wear my [sweater] vest."
"Alrighty then."
"And my (flailing arms wildly) shirt." I'm pretty sure the flailing was chirades for 'button-down'.
"Sure, OK, no problem."
"And my yellow, slippery Sponge Bob socks. Are they clean yet?"
"Yep, right here in the basket."
So he put his slippery socks on and proceeded to 'ice skate' on the hardwood floors until bed time.
So, I was cleaning out Chuckles's back pack the other day. Two half-done worksheets on the letter Ss and a small booklet on Bill Bug's Big something-or-other. There was a little slip of yellow paper...an index card really. It said P236123. I thought, "Wow, that's pretty random, but look how nice those numbers are." I set it on the counter to go in with the recycling.
Last night I showed Mr. Long-Suffering the piece of paper. "Do you know what that is?" he asked.
"No."
"A girl gave Chuckles her phone number."
"What?"
"That 'P' is really a '9'."
"I don't believe you. I'm going to google to reverse look up that number."
And you know what? It was a phone number. A girl wrote her phone number down on a piece of paper and slipped it in to my son's back pack. Hussy. I'm sure now that Chuckles is destined to be a ladies' man. When the ladyfolk drone on and on (and on and on) about the things women talk about (about which men do not care), he can just smile and nod his head unable to hear what she is saying due to his hearing loss. Ladies Man!
Today is the kindergarten holiday party. It's really a Christmas party, but everyone is invited regardless of Christian-faith, so we'll call it a holiday party. With pizza. Chuckles was inordinately excited about this. Just jazzed. As I was laying out his clothes last night, he told me he wanted to look "cute" for the party.
"Sweetie, you're always cute."
"I want to look cute. And be pretty."
"OK."
"I want to dress up and wear my fancy Christmas clothes."
"OK."
"I want to wear my [sweater] vest."
"Alrighty then."
"And my (flailing arms wildly) shirt." I'm pretty sure the flailing was chirades for 'button-down'.
"Sure, OK, no problem."
"And my yellow, slippery Sponge Bob socks. Are they clean yet?"
"Yep, right here in the basket."
So he put his slippery socks on and proceeded to 'ice skate' on the hardwood floors until bed time.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Do you hear what I hear?
I took a little vacation day yesterday. I needed some time to get some things done and spend some time with the kiddos.
Monday night: mixed up sugar cookie dough and put it in the 'fridge to chill. Called one of Chuckles's friend's mother's to see whether she and her child would like to come over Wednesday morning to decorate cookies. They would! Score.
Tuesday night: Minimal straightening of house because I was just too tired. Rolled out the dough and baked the cookies. Chilled two Archer Farms Peppermint Nog bottles of coffee.
Wednesday morning: Entertained. The kids were not in to the decorating. They played nicely (albeit everything they touched from a piece of chalk to a finger was a gun...no pointing at people, nice, play nice! I said, "NICE!").
Wednesday noon: Simultaneously fed kids peanut butter sandwiches and applesauce to combat the sugar buzz they were on. Also, put Bobo down for a nap.
Wednesday afternoon: Took Charles to the audiologist. Do you hear what I hear? Not if you're Chuckles. He has a mild hearing loss in his right ear from recurrent ear infections. It's mild. I had pushed the pediatrician for the appointment since he didn't fit the standard (no ear tubes and no second line of antibiotic infections). But a mother knows. And I knew he had a hearing loss (although I had thought it would be more profound). The good news is his ear functions. The cilia hair cells are healthy, the tympanic membrane vibrates, his brain can interpret the signals it gets. We retest in 3-6 months (waiting on the call to find out) and monitor. In the meantime, we need to conserve and protect the hearing he does have. No loud toys, no headphones, no loud music, ear plugs when power boating and snowblowing, etc.
Also, the audiologist wants to see Bobo since bacterial meningitis can cause hearing loss (and he's not hitting his babbling milestones very well). So, I told her to write that in her report on Chuckles so that I could be referred back with the other kid. Yipee. Or not.
After I got home, I was fixing dinner and Bobo got in to the bag that was to go out in the recycling. He sliced his finger on a can of green beans (no salt added, but not organic). And he bled. Yikes. That was a lot of blood. So I applied pressure and he squirmed and BLOOD! And I put a band aid on it. He removed it. I put a better one on and all was right with the world until I noticed he was eating the band-aid. Ick. So, the bleeding stopped, I confessed all to his father, and then, he took 3 steps. And took 3 steps twice more. My baby's first steps! Woo Woo.
A Bannner Day.
Monday night: mixed up sugar cookie dough and put it in the 'fridge to chill. Called one of Chuckles's friend's mother's to see whether she and her child would like to come over Wednesday morning to decorate cookies. They would! Score.
Tuesday night: Minimal straightening of house because I was just too tired. Rolled out the dough and baked the cookies. Chilled two Archer Farms Peppermint Nog bottles of coffee.
Wednesday morning: Entertained. The kids were not in to the decorating. They played nicely (albeit everything they touched from a piece of chalk to a finger was a gun...no pointing at people, nice, play nice! I said, "NICE!").
Wednesday noon: Simultaneously fed kids peanut butter sandwiches and applesauce to combat the sugar buzz they were on. Also, put Bobo down for a nap.
Wednesday afternoon: Took Charles to the audiologist. Do you hear what I hear? Not if you're Chuckles. He has a mild hearing loss in his right ear from recurrent ear infections. It's mild. I had pushed the pediatrician for the appointment since he didn't fit the standard (no ear tubes and no second line of antibiotic infections). But a mother knows. And I knew he had a hearing loss (although I had thought it would be more profound). The good news is his ear functions. The cilia hair cells are healthy, the tympanic membrane vibrates, his brain can interpret the signals it gets. We retest in 3-6 months (waiting on the call to find out) and monitor. In the meantime, we need to conserve and protect the hearing he does have. No loud toys, no headphones, no loud music, ear plugs when power boating and snowblowing, etc.
Also, the audiologist wants to see Bobo since bacterial meningitis can cause hearing loss (and he's not hitting his babbling milestones very well). So, I told her to write that in her report on Chuckles so that I could be referred back with the other kid. Yipee. Or not.
After I got home, I was fixing dinner and Bobo got in to the bag that was to go out in the recycling. He sliced his finger on a can of green beans (no salt added, but not organic). And he bled. Yikes. That was a lot of blood. So I applied pressure and he squirmed and BLOOD! And I put a band aid on it. He removed it. I put a better one on and all was right with the world until I noticed he was eating the band-aid. Ick. So, the bleeding stopped, I confessed all to his father, and then, he took 3 steps. And took 3 steps twice more. My baby's first steps! Woo Woo.
A Bannner Day.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Crappy Croup
So, Chuckles has not slept on the bathroom floor any more.
I did follow up with the morning nurse to make sure Chuckles was OK and didn't need to be seen (I'm still a little gun shy after the whole Bobo blood infection near-death thing). The daytime nurse knows our family and was very soothing. She gave me a list of 12 or so things to look out for with the croup. If any of these things came up, Chuckles would need to be seen by the ped.
I did follow up with the morning nurse to make sure Chuckles was OK and didn't need to be seen (I'm still a little gun shy after the whole Bobo blood infection near-death thing). The daytime nurse knows our family and was very soothing. She gave me a list of 12 or so things to look out for with the croup. If any of these things came up, Chuckles would need to be seen by the ped.
- stridor
- blue lips
- speaking in tongues
- gasping for air
- irritability beyond being a 4-year old
- head spinning around
- retractions
- inability to catch breath
- not noticing that mom is eating ice cream and asking for some
- paranoia
- difficulty swallowing
- taking up with communists
So, all-in-all, Chuckles recovered nicely and here we are joyously awaiting the arrival of Santa Clause and all the oddly specific bounty he will bring unto us. And also, we are awaiting the Big Brown Truck (UPS) and the Amazon box that it will bring.
It's like the 12 days of Christmas around here. Every night at bedtime, I stick my hand up into the box on the closet shelf and pull out another Christmas/Winter book. Tonight featured a book I like to call "Broken Glass". It's a Snappy Sounds Holiday Pop-Up book whose idea of "twinkling" sounds like putting silverware in the garbage disposal or alternately, the sound a Christmas tree makes when it falls over during Festivus Feats of Strength.
Speaking of alternate holidays like Festivus, I take Christmas Cards very seriously. Very seriously. Once upon a time before I had kids, my cards were written, adressed, stamped, and waiting for the day after Thanksgiving to be mailed. Nowadays, I have to wait for the photos to come back before the cards go out, but I take them seriously nonetheless. There is a Newsletter which is called The SarcaSuffering Times (a combo of my last name and Mr. Long-Suffering's last name). It is not a special glow sheet, but more a take on our year, a listing of babies born, and a running tally of how my college's football team whomped on Mr. Long-Suffering's college football team and now we're going to a Bowl Game and you're not. Oh, right, where was I?
Anyway, I take my cards seriously. I send about 50 and I send for 3 years after I haven't heard from someone. Then, they are stricken from the list (unless they are super close family or friends, but old classmates and neighbors are stricken from the list. Stricken, I say.). This year, I got the BEST card I have ever gotten ever for any occasion. You may have heard me talk about my friend Carly before. Anyway, she's not usually much of a card sender, but this year, I got a little card with a sun on the front. Inside, it said: "Brighter Days Are Ahead. Celebrate Winter Solstice." I love this card. I love it more than the bunny with the hair dryer demanding the carrot nose from Frosty. I love it more than the female Frosties talking about the buxom Snowoman having falsies. I love it more than the card featuring Gristletoe that Mr. Long-Suffering gave me 12 years ago (which I still have somewhere but cannot find on the internet even though it was an e-card that I printed out...back when e-cards were novel). So, I love this card. It's from cafe press if you want some. I'm also a fan of Tiffany Ard's cards at omgseriously at etsy. Seriously. I would send them, but at a buck a card and the word motherfucking in them, I just don't think it's going to happen. But I do covet them. I guess I could have a subversive list where only certain people got them.
Moving on, someone asked about the weaning a couple of posts down. So, I have decided that I can either nurse 100% or not nurse at all, but I am no good at part-time nursing. I had wanted to stop pumping and then nurse while at home, and my supply dropped so much that I pretty much can't nurse at home unless I pump to keep it up, so we're almost done. I think I will keep the after work nursing and the middle of the night nursing, but the rest is bottle (either breastmilk from the freezer or formula). We're still pulling milk out of the freezer. You could say I was a little obsessed with having a good freezer stash. I think that doing that did two things for me. (1) It artificially inflated my milk supply so that when I went back to work, I was already used to making more than necessary so even though there was a supply drop, it was fine because it was still enough, and (B) Gave me the mental space not to freak out if I didn't pump enough one single day because heck, there are 8 gallons of milk in the deep freeze. Oh and (iii) It was just really cool having all the milk there. While I was pumping, I think I only used maybe 4 or 5 bags of milk. I can't believe it either, but I pumped 2x daily and took fenugreek sometimes and pumped on the occasional weekend and tried to conserve milk as much as possible. When I switched to 1x daily pumping, I still didn't use too much of the freezer stash because I switched Bobo from three 5-ounce bottles to two 6-ounce bottles, so a net decrease of 3 ounces daily.
Now, I'm trying to do some nursing, but I assume he gets little to nothing. But he's not a fan of food or the bottle so things here are rough with little sleep and a lot of crying (mostly not mine). Bottles of formula are given at bed time in the hope that he'll sleep. It's hard to tell what's what though because every day I look in his mouth and there's a new tooth (plus, I am pretty sure Bobo will be walking by Christmas...he's thisclose). Speaking of formula and sleeping at night, Have you seen the Enfamil RestFull formula that supposedly, I don't know, congeals in the baby's stomach for slower digestion? Does that work? It seems like a baby idea for a tiny baby, but I'd be willing to try it on an older kid like Bobo, who theoretically could be drinking cows' milk. So, anyway, congealing formula sounds gross and I don't think I'd try it on a baby, but you know, whatever, right?
So, in summation: Croup, Santanism, Santaism, Festivus, Solstice, Formula.
And Happy Hanukkah. My local TV station's pledge drive tells me it's the 3rd day (so is tonight the 4th night? I don't know), and our pledge prizes might make it in time for the 8th night, but if not, give them for Kwanzaa.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
A Little Bit of Crimson
I've never liked it when people do sickblogging. I get it. You have kids. They are snotty. They stick inappropriate things in their mouths. They eat the germs. You've all been ((TMI)) for 10 days and no one has the strength to ((more graphic TMI)) anymore. Understood. Mind you, I've done some sickblogging in my day, so I understand the need to chronicle the suck.
Sure, your kid just threw up (again) and you're out of crib sheets and are wrapping the mattress in a tablecloth until the dryer dings. I understand. But I don't necessarily want to hear about it. Unless you can make it funny.
There have been some random illnesses around these parts lately. Bobo had a one-off puke on Friday night. Mr. Long-Suffering and I were planning on going to Industrial Factory Prom on Saturday night (a work party, black tie, downtown, ballroom). The kids were to spend the night with my ILs over night, first time evah.
So, all day Saturday, after breakfast with Santa wherein they served sausage shaped like little hot dogs (sidenote: our neighbor two doors down was Santa at the Church, so when Chuckles got up on his lap, Santa knew his name (swoon). Also, Chuckles dressed himself that day so he looks like a ragamuffin in all the photos of he and
Santa....and Bobo was beside himself with Woe. Woe is me. And he wouldn't part with the binky. He went home and took a meganap.), I get ready for the party. I made my first-ever updo. Exhibit UP.
Santa....and Bobo was beside himself with Woe. Woe is me. And he wouldn't part with the binky. He went home and took a meganap.), I get ready for the party. I made my first-ever updo. Exhibit UP.
So, Mr. Long-Suffering and I went to Industrial Factory Prom (wherein they do not crown a Prom King and Queen with hard hats). I ate a fancy dinner with wine and I only cut up my own food and the food was hot while I ate it. There was something called “Santa’s Sweet Table” and it was worth the hype. I drank too much, we got home late, I couldn't sleep. My breasts got full, I couldn't sleep, I then convinced myself that Bobo was very sick (after the puking and the long nap), was crying, and needed me. Then, I spiraled into a full blown panic attack. At the very first acceptable morning hour, we called the in-laws. Bobo was fine. He had a 6-ounce formula bottle before bed at 7 pm and they didn't hear a peep out of him until after 7 the following morning.
I was near tears. Glad he was fine and pissed that he NEVER sleeps through the night for us. And I felt bad that I blew my shot at a night of sleep by panicking and being hungover (the amount of wine I drank should not have left me with a hangover but two years of pregnancy and nursing will do that to you). So, I went back to bed, but my boobs still ached. I made Mr. Long-Suffering take me to McDonald's for my first-ever inaugural hangover McMuffin and then we went to the kids. They were fine.
Mr. Long-Suffering then embarked on a plan to figure out what happened at grandma and grandpa's (Pack-n-play, formula, universally warm bedroom temperature) and how can we repeat it here. I publicly called his efforts futile, but alas, the next night, another 6 ounce formula bottle and a warmer bedroom and Bobo slept through again. Huzzah. However, Chuckles woke up barking like a seal. Or a sea lion. I can never keep those straight. Six of one, half-dozen the other. Bark bark bark. He was so scared, couldn't breathe, started crying, hysterical would be a good word to use. I googled "croup". The internet told me to contact the doctor even if it was the middle of the night. So, I called. Manage symptoms, etc. So, Chuckles slept on the bathroom floor with the shower running steamy off-and-on all night. I got virtually no sleep taking care of that. So, another night with no sleep. And my panic. THe next night, Chuckles wanted to sleep in the bathroom again. Apparently, it was like a camping adventure. For him. Notsomuch for me.
They're all mostly better now. I guess. Until the other shoe drops. Perhaps the other show will be a peek-toe pump.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Oddly Specific
Thanksgiving was good. Again and again. I have now had that meal 5 times and it's still good. Note to self: Next year, invite more people. The answer is not: Make less food.
We've started talking about Christmas lately. The grandmas want to know what Chuckles and Bobo want for Christmas. Bobo is a baby. He has no idea what he wants. Chuckles, however, wants whatever is currently in Bobo's hands even if he just played with it 2 seconds ago and set it down or never really liked it anyway or it's a fricken baby rattle or teething toy. He wants it now. So, I told my mom that, and she laughed. She laughed. Thanks, ma.
Mr. Long-Suffering keeps lecturing Chuckles about how crashing his toy cars is chipping the paint and ruining them (at this point, I must note that Mr. Long-Suffering still has his Hot Wheels and they are near-mint, unpackaged). So, Chuckles told my MIL that he wants Lightning McQueen, King, Chick Hicks, etc. The only thing is he has all of those already. So, he told grandma he wants new versions so the paint won't be chipped?!?! Wrong lesson, Dad. I think Dad was trying to teach being gentle with your toys, and all Chuckles heard was that his toys were now flawed and he should get new (or he's planning on continuing to play with his old toys and show dad the news ones?).
After observing Bobo for a few days, I have decided he wants a pillow. I actually put a pillow in his crib when he turned one in the futile attempt to make him, for-the-love-of-everything-most-especially-me, sleep. So, we tried some pillows and the one he seems to like the best is mine. It is flat - very flat and thin (like my hair!) - with a cotton case. And it's not because that one smelled like me because all the pillows smell like me. So, the boy needs a pillow so I can get mine back. Or I need a pillow. He also needs a blankie. Mimi got him a blankie for his birthday and he seems to like it enough (although somehow he got himself tangled up in it last night and started screaming because he sat up, was completely covered over the head, had no idea where he was or how to get out), but it's winter weight. I can see the blankie becoming impossible next summer.
And lastly, I have a Croft+Barrow, sea foam green, 98% nylon, 2% spandex, V-neck sweater that was a Christmas gift from my SIL in 2003. It's really soft, very comfy, and machine washable. I wear it frequently. Chuckles covets the sweater. It's so soft he always wants me to wear the sweater so he can sit in my lap and be hugged by its softness. He has decided he wants that sweater, in red. So, now I'm off searching the interwebs for a fricken sweater. I would even buy the sweater in a ladies S and shrink it. How does one search for such a thing? I have googled the sweater, the manufacturer, I looked at Kohl's, I typed in "soft sweater red", but searching for clothes on the internet is like finding a needle in a haystack (and I tried ebay too).
'Tis the season of oddly specific Christmas requests.
We've started talking about Christmas lately. The grandmas want to know what Chuckles and Bobo want for Christmas. Bobo is a baby. He has no idea what he wants. Chuckles, however, wants whatever is currently in Bobo's hands even if he just played with it 2 seconds ago and set it down or never really liked it anyway or it's a fricken baby rattle or teething toy. He wants it now. So, I told my mom that, and she laughed. She laughed. Thanks, ma.
Mr. Long-Suffering keeps lecturing Chuckles about how crashing his toy cars is chipping the paint and ruining them (at this point, I must note that Mr. Long-Suffering still has his Hot Wheels and they are near-mint, unpackaged). So, Chuckles told my MIL that he wants Lightning McQueen, King, Chick Hicks, etc. The only thing is he has all of those already. So, he told grandma he wants new versions so the paint won't be chipped?!?! Wrong lesson, Dad. I think Dad was trying to teach being gentle with your toys, and all Chuckles heard was that his toys were now flawed and he should get new (or he's planning on continuing to play with his old toys and show dad the news ones?).
After observing Bobo for a few days, I have decided he wants a pillow. I actually put a pillow in his crib when he turned one in the futile attempt to make him, for-the-love-of-everything-most-especially-me, sleep. So, we tried some pillows and the one he seems to like the best is mine. It is flat - very flat and thin (like my hair!) - with a cotton case. And it's not because that one smelled like me because all the pillows smell like me. So, the boy needs a pillow so I can get mine back. Or I need a pillow. He also needs a blankie. Mimi got him a blankie for his birthday and he seems to like it enough (although somehow he got himself tangled up in it last night and started screaming because he sat up, was completely covered over the head, had no idea where he was or how to get out), but it's winter weight. I can see the blankie becoming impossible next summer.
And lastly, I have a Croft+Barrow, sea foam green, 98% nylon, 2% spandex, V-neck sweater that was a Christmas gift from my SIL in 2003. It's really soft, very comfy, and machine washable. I wear it frequently. Chuckles covets the sweater. It's so soft he always wants me to wear the sweater so he can sit in my lap and be hugged by its softness. He has decided he wants that sweater, in red. So, now I'm off searching the interwebs for a fricken sweater. I would even buy the sweater in a ladies S and shrink it. How does one search for such a thing? I have googled the sweater, the manufacturer, I looked at Kohl's, I typed in "soft sweater red", but searching for clothes on the internet is like finding a needle in a haystack (and I tried ebay too).
'Tis the season of oddly specific Christmas requests.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Threw the Lunch
Yesterday morning as I was putting Chuckles into time-out for sass-mouth, the phone rang (at 6:57 am!). It was Mr. Long-Suffering. He left his lunch sitting on the wall in front of our house. Could I put it in the fridge for him or bring it to him?
Uhhh, OK. Since it was his 35th birthday on Monday and I hadn't gotten him anything tangible, I decided to bring it to him. But I wasn't going to go all the way to his office because his office trailer is down an alley that is not paved, covered in scrap and debris, it was raining, and I have a new car. So, I offered to drop it on the corner near his work...just pitch it out the window for him to collect when he had a chance. Instead, we met at the fire station and I rolled the window down, tossed his lunch bag at him, and promptly started crying. Apparently, my interactions with a smart-mouthed kindergartener had taken more out of me than I thought.
Chuckles says the following things that make my blood boil and make me want to go old-school and take up the spanking.
Uhhh, OK. Since it was his 35th birthday on Monday and I hadn't gotten him anything tangible, I decided to bring it to him. But I wasn't going to go all the way to his office because his office trailer is down an alley that is not paved, covered in scrap and debris, it was raining, and I have a new car. So, I offered to drop it on the corner near his work...just pitch it out the window for him to collect when he had a chance. Instead, we met at the fire station and I rolled the window down, tossed his lunch bag at him, and promptly started crying. Apparently, my interactions with a smart-mouthed kindergartener had taken more out of me than I thought.
Chuckles says the following things that make my blood boil and make me want to go old-school and take up the spanking.
- Upon being asked nicely to do something routine: No.
- Upon being told something unremarkable but true (like you have chocolate birthday cake frosting on your mouth because I am awesome, made a cake, and shared it with you): I don't care.
- Upon being told something, anything, that he didn't know: I know that.
- Upon getting hugs and kisses from me after getting a special flip in the air during family wrestling time: I hate you.
Fortunately, I just finished a big dig and tapped a new well of patience and when I got to my wit's end, I turned it around and started working toward the other end, but man, this is exhausting.
But last night, I made four pies. One of which I brought to work today. The first thing I ate this morning was pumpkin upside-down praline crunch thing. It's like health food. Full of Vitamin A.
Monday, November 23, 2009
The Opposite of Turkey
So, Thanksgiving is Thursday. I am traditionally the person to host the day as we have a turkey fryer (and long tongs, fireproof gloves, and a fire extinguisher).
So, in honor of the fact that we'll be eating turkey for a week after (since we cook two turkeys, one fried, one roasted), this weekend I wanted to fix food that was the opposite of turkey. Saturday, I used up the last of a bottle of red wine and made tortellini with fruits de mer red sauce. Scallops, shrimp, chunks of lobster, calamari. On Sunday, I thought again, "What is the opposite of turkey?" And I came up with....drum roll....ham soup. I know it doesn't sound appetizing but it was so good. Mr. Long-Suffering and I each had three bowls. Chuckles was unimpressed but Bobo ate all my vegetables. So, what is ham soup?
One quart of frozen cherry tomatoes from my garden
5 carrots, peeled and cut into bite-sized chunks
Two stalks celery (with leaves)
half a vidalia onion
1 T cumin
1 can vegetable broth and half a can of water
some lemon juice
4 bay leaves
some fresh ground pepper
(I did not use garlic, but you should...i just forgot)
about a pound of smoked, sprial sliced ham leftover from last Christmas cut into pieces
a can of beans (like garbanzo or navy or kidney or fava or cannelini)
5-8 ounces frozen leaf spinach
Add everything (except ham and spinach) into a large pot and cook for a few hours on super-low. Then an hour before you're ready to serve, add the ham (stil frozen is fine). Once it thaws, you can remove it, chunk it up, and then return to the pot. 15 minutes before dinner time, crank heat up to meadium and add the frozen spinach. Stir. Keep heating for the 15 minutes. Then turn heat off and serve with crusty bread (and butter).
And the menu for Thanksgiving (for 19, several of whom are small people) is:
A veggie tray with dip
One 15-pound fresh turkey, injected with creole butter and slathered with Cajun spice, fried in peanut oil
One frozen 11.6-pound pre-brined, injected turkey, open pan roasted with celery, carrot, onion, and garlic in the cavity, drippings retained for...
Gravy
Cresent rolls from the can
salad (from a bag)
mashed potatoes (with garlic, butter, and whole milk)
stuffing, two kinds. My MIL is making one from the organs, and I am making one with breakfast sausage. Neither of which will actually stuff the bird.
corn (because some kids said they wanted corn)
sweet potatoes, candied
sweet potatoes, plain boiled for the youngin'
green bean casserole with the French's onions, which were on Aisle 6 bottom shelf, by the green beans
Broccoli-Cream corn souffle with bacon on top...a total aside, but I saw they are making something called tur-bac-hen now and it's a chicken wrapped in bacon stuffed in a turkey. mmm, bacon.
Spinach-noodle ring with parmesan (but I am seving it in a casserole dish not a ring mold because I never get that to work and it tastes the same, regardless)
A cabbage and bread casserole that is an old family favorite. You make a roux and use cabbage water, and well, it doesn't sound good but it is. Oh yes, it is.
cranberry chutney
cranberry and fruit jello
Ocean Spray cranberry from the can turned out in a pretty dish with can marks still clearly visible
Two pumpkin pies with whipped cream (you have to make them two-at-a-time...it's the law)
A sweet potato pie (if I am so inclined and find a recipe)
A pecan pie (first time!) with rum
Did I forget anything...like to invite 90 more people over to eat the food?
So, in honor of the fact that we'll be eating turkey for a week after (since we cook two turkeys, one fried, one roasted), this weekend I wanted to fix food that was the opposite of turkey. Saturday, I used up the last of a bottle of red wine and made tortellini with fruits de mer red sauce. Scallops, shrimp, chunks of lobster, calamari. On Sunday, I thought again, "What is the opposite of turkey?" And I came up with....drum roll....ham soup. I know it doesn't sound appetizing but it was so good. Mr. Long-Suffering and I each had three bowls. Chuckles was unimpressed but Bobo ate all my vegetables. So, what is ham soup?
One quart of frozen cherry tomatoes from my garden
5 carrots, peeled and cut into bite-sized chunks
Two stalks celery (with leaves)
half a vidalia onion
1 T cumin
1 can vegetable broth and half a can of water
some lemon juice
4 bay leaves
some fresh ground pepper
(I did not use garlic, but you should...i just forgot)
about a pound of smoked, sprial sliced ham leftover from last Christmas cut into pieces
a can of beans (like garbanzo or navy or kidney or fava or cannelini)
5-8 ounces frozen leaf spinach
Add everything (except ham and spinach) into a large pot and cook for a few hours on super-low. Then an hour before you're ready to serve, add the ham (stil frozen is fine). Once it thaws, you can remove it, chunk it up, and then return to the pot. 15 minutes before dinner time, crank heat up to meadium and add the frozen spinach. Stir. Keep heating for the 15 minutes. Then turn heat off and serve with crusty bread (and butter).
And the menu for Thanksgiving (for 19, several of whom are small people) is:
A veggie tray with dip
One 15-pound fresh turkey, injected with creole butter and slathered with Cajun spice, fried in peanut oil
One frozen 11.6-pound pre-brined, injected turkey, open pan roasted with celery, carrot, onion, and garlic in the cavity, drippings retained for...
Gravy
Cresent rolls from the can
salad (from a bag)
mashed potatoes (with garlic, butter, and whole milk)
stuffing, two kinds. My MIL is making one from the organs, and I am making one with breakfast sausage. Neither of which will actually stuff the bird.
corn (because some kids said they wanted corn)
sweet potatoes, candied
sweet potatoes, plain boiled for the youngin'
green bean casserole with the French's onions, which were on Aisle 6 bottom shelf, by the green beans
Broccoli-Cream corn souffle with bacon on top...a total aside, but I saw they are making something called tur-bac-hen now and it's a chicken wrapped in bacon stuffed in a turkey. mmm, bacon.
Spinach-noodle ring with parmesan (but I am seving it in a casserole dish not a ring mold because I never get that to work and it tastes the same, regardless)
A cabbage and bread casserole that is an old family favorite. You make a roux and use cabbage water, and well, it doesn't sound good but it is. Oh yes, it is.
cranberry chutney
cranberry and fruit jello
Ocean Spray cranberry from the can turned out in a pretty dish with can marks still clearly visible
Two pumpkin pies with whipped cream (you have to make them two-at-a-time...it's the law)
A sweet potato pie (if I am so inclined and find a recipe)
A pecan pie (first time!) with rum
Did I forget anything...like to invite 90 more people over to eat the food?
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
366 and burying the lede
Today, I took Bobo for his one-year well-baby visit. We could, if so inclined, turn the car seat around (we are not so-inclined but it's nice to have options). We can start on whole milk. He needs a lead test. He got 4 shots at the ped's office (Hep A, Hep B, Prevnar, and MMR...he did not get the varicella vaccine since he already had chicken pox). Then, we headed off (with Chuckles) to the county health department to get H1N1 vaccines.
The visit with the ped was nice. We've seen him a lot lately. We have good rapport. The ped was pleasantly surprised to see that Bobo was only 3 ounces down from his all-time high weight. That's back up 8 ounces from his recent illness-related low. Bobo weighs 23 pounds, is 30" long, and has a 46-cm head circumference (that's 18.1 inches). He is quite average in the 50th to 75th percentile for most things. The important thing is he has been fairly consistent in his growth throughout his life.
Toward the end of the visit, we touched on Bobo's recent illness. The ped said he just presented the case to his colleagues at some meeting because it was so rare and unusual. No one in attendance at whatever meeting it was had seen anything like it in years. And he reiterated how happy he was that we had brought Bobo in that Monday night. Back, before Prevnar, there were about 3,000 deaths per year from pneumococcal illnesses in children. Nowadays, there are about 20/year. So, incidences of bacteremia and sepsis are way down. And Bobo got it.
So, the other day (after Bobo had antibiotic-related explosive poop all over me right after his 1-year photo shoot while I was sitting at the computer picking poses), I went and bought a lottery ticket. I already had a streak of really good luck that week, so I figured I'd see if it carried over into games of chance. Good luck, you ask? Well, yes. We caught it early and Bobo recovered without issue. Good luck. Good medicine.
The visit with the ped was nice. We've seen him a lot lately. We have good rapport. The ped was pleasantly surprised to see that Bobo was only 3 ounces down from his all-time high weight. That's back up 8 ounces from his recent illness-related low. Bobo weighs 23 pounds, is 30" long, and has a 46-cm head circumference (that's 18.1 inches). He is quite average in the 50th to 75th percentile for most things. The important thing is he has been fairly consistent in his growth throughout his life.
Toward the end of the visit, we touched on Bobo's recent illness. The ped said he just presented the case to his colleagues at some meeting because it was so rare and unusual. No one in attendance at whatever meeting it was had seen anything like it in years. And he reiterated how happy he was that we had brought Bobo in that Monday night. Back, before Prevnar, there were about 3,000 deaths per year from pneumococcal illnesses in children. Nowadays, there are about 20/year. So, incidences of bacteremia and sepsis are way down. And Bobo got it.
So, the other day (after Bobo had antibiotic-related explosive poop all over me right after his 1-year photo shoot while I was sitting at the computer picking poses), I went and bought a lottery ticket. I already had a streak of really good luck that week, so I figured I'd see if it carried over into games of chance. Good luck, you ask? Well, yes. We caught it early and Bobo recovered without issue. Good luck. Good medicine.
Monday, November 16, 2009
365
Bobo is one.
I am sitting at my desk (not crying) thinking, "Gosh, isn't it about that time of day when I pump?" And yet, here I am (not crying) and not pumping.
Bittersweet. That about sums up motherhood. (not crying)
Perhaps, when I have recovered my composure, we can go all PC Load Letter from Office Space on the pump. I really do hate pumping.
Yours Truly,
SarcastiCarrie (who is blinking really quickly and (not crying))
I am sitting at my desk (not crying) thinking, "Gosh, isn't it about that time of day when I pump?" And yet, here I am (not crying) and not pumping.
Bittersweet. That about sums up motherhood. (not crying)
Perhaps, when I have recovered my composure, we can go all PC Load Letter from Office Space on the pump. I really do hate pumping.
Yours Truly,
SarcastiCarrie (who is blinking really quickly and (not crying))
Thursday, November 12, 2009
This is What I Wanted, so Why Am I Sad?
I pumped for the last time (forever) yesterday. I hate the pump. Hated it. And yet, there I was pumping and sniffling. Why am I sad? Is it because my baby is growing up? Because, he still seems a lot like a baby to me. And he'll still get breastmilk exclusively for the next month or so (between nursing when I'm home and depleting my freezer stash). Is it because I secretly want a third baby? Because I don't think I really do (although if I happened to get pregnant, ha with the infertility, I would gladly accept another child).
Today is the first workday of not pumping (I left early and headed to the day care to relieve myself). I ended pumping on a Wednesday so I would only have two workdays of no pumping before the weekend (and it was just a really convenient time not to pump with my work schedule as it was this week). I guess I need to modulate my eating now. No more eating like a starved lumberjack truck driver. I won't be buring the extra 500-1,000 calories per day. Do I need to start exercising now? Can I still have thin mints (because I just ate 4 with a glass of milk)?
I sterilized all the pump parts and put them in a box and now what? I think I am just going to put it in the basement and let my lack of decision be a decision unto itself.
T minus 2 days until the first birthday party. Then, 2 more days until the birthday, and one day after that for the 1-year well-baby visit to the pediatrician, where I assume they will tell me to introduce whole milk in a cup (although truth be told, I gave him some in a sippy the other day...he was unimpressed).
....
By the way, I think I forget to tell you that Bobo did not actually have the Hamthrax. Once all the blood tests came back, the cultures showed a strep pneumo infection (and he had sepsis). That's basically pre-meningitis, but really really bad. Like the kind of thing if we hadn't treated it as aggressively as we did that could have k*lled him. I cannot bring myself to type it because it's so ludicrous and absurd. They vaccinate kids against strep pneumo these days so the odds were against it, but the Prevnar vaccine only protects against the 5 most common strains, and Bobo had one of the others (one of the antibiotic-resistant strains). Seeing just how sick he was and how scared our pediatrician (and the nursing staff) was, I am so glad for vaccines because lots of kids have been saved this infection when it is caused by the 5 most common strains. And heck, we've been saved from having one of those as well.
I don't want to go all pro-vaccine lobby on you here (not after I set people off over health care in that other post...although, it is nice to get comments), but I have had sick kids and I have had a kid sick with some vaccine preventable (chicken pox, anyone) illnesses. It's rough. Being the one to teach your kid to ask for the bucket before he throws up on the couch is hard work and I don't wish that on anyone.
I have no idea where I am going here. I am really glad both of my kids are OK (they've both had sepsis now....how lucky is that? The answer: not very.). I'm really happy that rocephin exists (and I have no idea whether I spelled that correctly and I am way too lazy to look it up right now) because it's been the wonder drug that works wonders for us. I'm really glad that we're not used to babies and children dying the way we were in my grandparents' (and to a lesser extent, my parents') day.
....
Special Bonus Info
I want you to know that I am going to see Bon Jovi live in concert on Friday, July 30th. 2010 (how did that happen?). I am already trying to figure out which pair of my jeans I can tight roll and I'm saving up carbon credits to offset the Aquanet I will use to achieve my Mall Hair. I may have to take a photo for you.
Today is the first workday of not pumping (I left early and headed to the day care to relieve myself). I ended pumping on a Wednesday so I would only have two workdays of no pumping before the weekend (and it was just a really convenient time not to pump with my work schedule as it was this week). I guess I need to modulate my eating now. No more eating like a starved lumberjack truck driver. I won't be buring the extra 500-1,000 calories per day. Do I need to start exercising now? Can I still have thin mints (because I just ate 4 with a glass of milk)?
I sterilized all the pump parts and put them in a box and now what? I think I am just going to put it in the basement and let my lack of decision be a decision unto itself.
T minus 2 days until the first birthday party. Then, 2 more days until the birthday, and one day after that for the 1-year well-baby visit to the pediatrician, where I assume they will tell me to introduce whole milk in a cup (although truth be told, I gave him some in a sippy the other day...he was unimpressed).
....
By the way, I think I forget to tell you that Bobo did not actually have the Hamthrax. Once all the blood tests came back, the cultures showed a strep pneumo infection (and he had sepsis). That's basically pre-meningitis, but really really bad. Like the kind of thing if we hadn't treated it as aggressively as we did that could have k*lled him. I cannot bring myself to type it because it's so ludicrous and absurd. They vaccinate kids against strep pneumo these days so the odds were against it, but the Prevnar vaccine only protects against the 5 most common strains, and Bobo had one of the others (one of the antibiotic-resistant strains). Seeing just how sick he was and how scared our pediatrician (and the nursing staff) was, I am so glad for vaccines because lots of kids have been saved this infection when it is caused by the 5 most common strains. And heck, we've been saved from having one of those as well.
I don't want to go all pro-vaccine lobby on you here (not after I set people off over health care in that other post...although, it is nice to get comments), but I have had sick kids and I have had a kid sick with some vaccine preventable (chicken pox, anyone) illnesses. It's rough. Being the one to teach your kid to ask for the bucket before he throws up on the couch is hard work and I don't wish that on anyone.
I have no idea where I am going here. I am really glad both of my kids are OK (they've both had sepsis now....how lucky is that? The answer: not very.). I'm really happy that rocephin exists (and I have no idea whether I spelled that correctly and I am way too lazy to look it up right now) because it's been the wonder drug that works wonders for us. I'm really glad that we're not used to babies and children dying the way we were in my grandparents' (and to a lesser extent, my parents') day.
....
Special Bonus Info
I want you to know that I am going to see Bon Jovi live in concert on Friday, July 30th. 2010 (how did that happen?). I am already trying to figure out which pair of my jeans I can tight roll and I'm saving up carbon credits to offset the Aquanet I will use to achieve my Mall Hair. I may have to take a photo for you.
Friday, November 06, 2009
I asked for this, didn't I?
So, I see a couple posts down here I asked Bobo to take up explosive pooping. He has done this. With gusto. Unfortunately, as a trade-off, he has not given up the night-waking and if anything, he has redoubled his efforts to end nighttime sleep as we know it.
It's not his fault. He had a secondary bacterial infection with his swine flu. He had strep pneumo serotype unknown which led to sepsis and bacteremia. It was a bad scene at our house from Monday through Thursday morning. Bad scene. With a capital Z. Bad. Cultures have been taken and re-taken. Blood has been drawn. Many different kinds of oral and injectible antibiotics have been administered (in addition to his Tamiflu). Poor kid looks pretty rough. But, he's on the mend, I guess. I hope. Now, we just wait and see if the rest of us get it. Cross fingers.
I have a friend coming to clean my house. Yes, I know, I am such a plutocrat I cannot clean my own freakin' house. I get it. We've been sick. And have jobs and kids and well, I have justified it enough to myself. So, anyway, I am using a friend for this because my regular, occasional cleaning lady doesn't do evenings and weekends and that's about the only time I have to let her in. So, I have a friend doing it. And that's kind of weird, because we live in squalor and I don't really want my friend to think we're dirty (but I am so beyond the point of pre-cleaning before someone comes to clean...I must straighten and put things away so she can find the dirty surfaces to clean...that is enough for me). But, I did feel it necessary to warn her that there is hair all over our house (cat and human) and not the nice, clean, inoocent, blonde straight kind of hair either...the dark, curly kind. But I swear, we're not a houseful of dirty nudists. My husband just has a lot of arm and leg hair that falls off. I swear. (I am reminded and horrified of a Simpsons episode where Marge wins a cleaning lady and finds it necessary to pre-clean in a major way before they get there and judge her.)
It's not his fault. He had a secondary bacterial infection with his swine flu. He had strep pneumo serotype unknown which led to sepsis and bacteremia. It was a bad scene at our house from Monday through Thursday morning. Bad scene. With a capital Z. Bad. Cultures have been taken and re-taken. Blood has been drawn. Many different kinds of oral and injectible antibiotics have been administered (in addition to his Tamiflu). Poor kid looks pretty rough. But, he's on the mend, I guess. I hope. Now, we just wait and see if the rest of us get it. Cross fingers.
I have a friend coming to clean my house. Yes, I know, I am such a plutocrat I cannot clean my own freakin' house. I get it. We've been sick. And have jobs and kids and well, I have justified it enough to myself. So, anyway, I am using a friend for this because my regular, occasional cleaning lady doesn't do evenings and weekends and that's about the only time I have to let her in. So, I have a friend doing it. And that's kind of weird, because we live in squalor and I don't really want my friend to think we're dirty (but I am so beyond the point of pre-cleaning before someone comes to clean...I must straighten and put things away so she can find the dirty surfaces to clean...that is enough for me). But, I did feel it necessary to warn her that there is hair all over our house (cat and human) and not the nice, clean, inoocent, blonde straight kind of hair either...the dark, curly kind. But I swear, we're not a houseful of dirty nudists. My husband just has a lot of arm and leg hair that falls off. I swear. (I am reminded and horrified of a Simpsons episode where Marge wins a cleaning lady and finds it necessary to pre-clean in a major way before they get there and judge her.)
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
Knock Knock
Knock Knock
Who's there?
Hog.
Hog who?
Hog Flu.
Wait, no, that's not right.
Knock Knock
Who's there?
Pig.
Pig who?
Pig Flu.
Wait, no, that's not right.
Knock Knock
Who's there?
Swine.
Swine who?
Swine Flu.
Yep, that's right. Just about sums up 2009 for me.
So, it's Bobo. He narrowly avoided hospitalization yesterday...one more ounce of weight loss and into the hospital he would go for treating dehydration. He's napping now. We went in for observation this morning. He goes again this afternoon and again tomorrow. Wow. Yes. Whew. Uhhh, this is contagious, right? So, I could, uhhh, catch it? Ack. OK then. Moving along.
Chuckles is learning to spell. To encourage this, we did words that sound like pirates talk and focused on words with ARRRRGH sounds in them (art, car, mar, bar, mart, bart, cart, etc). Anyway, he figured out how to spell FART. And did you know that fart is the funniest word in the whole world. I mean, if I walked into the kindergarten class and said fart, boogers, poopie, toilet, I think we'd have to call the paramedics to bring oxygen to the kids (who to my knowledge would need that because of their uncontrollable laughter not because they have H1N1). I told his kindergarten teacher about how he spells that word and she was impressed. I described the word as "Starts with F ends with TOOT." She has since seen Chuckles in action with the word and the other kids think he is so cool and smart. So, yes. Next I might teach him to spell snot. He has a reputation to maintain.
Who's there?
Hog.
Hog who?
Hog Flu.
Wait, no, that's not right.
Knock Knock
Who's there?
Pig.
Pig who?
Pig Flu.
Wait, no, that's not right.
Knock Knock
Who's there?
Swine.
Swine who?
Swine Flu.
Yep, that's right. Just about sums up 2009 for me.
So, it's Bobo. He narrowly avoided hospitalization yesterday...one more ounce of weight loss and into the hospital he would go for treating dehydration. He's napping now. We went in for observation this morning. He goes again this afternoon and again tomorrow. Wow. Yes. Whew. Uhhh, this is contagious, right? So, I could, uhhh, catch it? Ack. OK then. Moving along.
Chuckles is learning to spell. To encourage this, we did words that sound like pirates talk and focused on words with ARRRRGH sounds in them (art, car, mar, bar, mart, bart, cart, etc). Anyway, he figured out how to spell FART. And did you know that fart is the funniest word in the whole world. I mean, if I walked into the kindergarten class and said fart, boogers, poopie, toilet, I think we'd have to call the paramedics to bring oxygen to the kids (who to my knowledge would need that because of their uncontrollable laughter not because they have H1N1). I told his kindergarten teacher about how he spells that word and she was impressed. I described the word as "Starts with F ends with TOOT." She has since seen Chuckles in action with the word and the other kids think he is so cool and smart. So, yes. Next I might teach him to spell snot. He has a reputation to maintain.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
A long way to get to nothing
I spent three hours in a tiny little room in a meeting with a woman whose daughter was home from school (with her Dad) because she had swine flu. Swine Flu?!? Now, I'm not terribly alarmist. We've had our fair share (and someone else's fair share too) of illness at Maison Sarcastique. But I would like to catch a break here for a bit and just not get sick for a week, ok? OK?!? Do you hear me world??? So, please, let us not contract the swine flu right now.
Also, Dear Bobo, not sleeping is your brother's trick. Get your own thing. Something that doesn't invovle me being out of bed between 10 pm and 6 am. Explosive pooping would be fine, if a little laundry intensive.
Last night, as I was tucking Chuckles in to bed and giving him a little kiss, he said, "I love you." Swoon. Swoon, I say. Then he added, "And Megan." Megan? My baby has his first little crush. When he and Megan were 2.5they played Homeliving (which is like "house" for the 21st century) and had five babies who all went poopie at the same time and they ran out of diapers and had to go to the store for diapers for their five babies who were poopie. So, there is history with Megan. She'd make a fine daughter-in-law. But, next year when Big School starts, they're in different schools.
Which reminds me....when I was 3 and 4, I went to co-op preschool at a local church. There was one little boy there, Matthew Springer (don't tell me if you look him up on Facebook, I prefer ignorance), with whom I used to hold hands while running across the field to the playground. One year, he (his mom?) sent me a Christmas card in the mail. In the mail. I got mail through the slot in the door addressed to me. When preschool ended, and we went off to kindergarten, he went to a different school (probably even a different district since we didn't reconnect in Middle School). When the neighborhood turned, everyone moved away anyway.
So, I went to Middle School, moved between 7th and 8th grades to a neighborhood known for impeccable schools, and went to fabulous High School. Now, I was just a girl from the South Side going to a fancy high school in a nice neighborhood. The clothes, the cars, the money, the no after-school jobs. I did not fit in. When it came time for college, I was glad to be done with HS. I just didn't fit in, but Fancy HS had opened my eyes up to a larger world with college and the things that education could do for me. So, I opted not to go to State Univerity which was known as the 8-year HS plan since literally hundreds of people from my graduating class would go there. Instead I opted for a small, private university (which stupidly, I did not realize would be a lot like HS with the clothes, cars, and cash).
I went off to university and fell in love, hard, with a guy from the South Side who was also paying his way through university. He had gone to one of the better Catholic HS and gotten into elite college as well (South Side kids make good, they call it). So, we were in love, and one day, we were sitting somewhere smoking (!) when a guy walked up and said, "Hi" to my love. So, my love, being the most mannerly and gentlemanly sort, stood up to shake the guy's hand and introduced him to me. "Carrie," he said, as that was my name back then as well, "I'd like you to meet Matt Springer. We went to St. Catholic's together." It was my Matthew. My Matthew. Mine, from 15 years earlier. But he was short, now. And not nearly as attractive as a 19-year old as he was as a 4-year old. He didn't remember me. At all. Not even when prompted. I asked whether he went to Co-op, which was a yes, and did he remember me? No, but it wasn't all bad; he did write for the alternative newspaper (at elite university, the "alternative" paper was the conservative/libertarian paper, the FoxNews of the undergraduate publishing set).
So, perhaps, Chuckles and Megan can reunite someday.
Also, Dear Bobo, not sleeping is your brother's trick. Get your own thing. Something that doesn't invovle me being out of bed between 10 pm and 6 am. Explosive pooping would be fine, if a little laundry intensive.
Last night, as I was tucking Chuckles in to bed and giving him a little kiss, he said, "I love you." Swoon. Swoon, I say. Then he added, "And Megan." Megan? My baby has his first little crush. When he and Megan were 2.5they played Homeliving (which is like "house" for the 21st century) and had five babies who all went poopie at the same time and they ran out of diapers and had to go to the store for diapers for their five babies who were poopie. So, there is history with Megan. She'd make a fine daughter-in-law. But, next year when Big School starts, they're in different schools.
Which reminds me....when I was 3 and 4, I went to co-op preschool at a local church. There was one little boy there, Matthew Springer (don't tell me if you look him up on Facebook, I prefer ignorance), with whom I used to hold hands while running across the field to the playground. One year, he (his mom?) sent me a Christmas card in the mail. In the mail. I got mail through the slot in the door addressed to me. When preschool ended, and we went off to kindergarten, he went to a different school (probably even a different district since we didn't reconnect in Middle School). When the neighborhood turned, everyone moved away anyway.
So, I went to Middle School, moved between 7th and 8th grades to a neighborhood known for impeccable schools, and went to fabulous High School. Now, I was just a girl from the South Side going to a fancy high school in a nice neighborhood. The clothes, the cars, the money, the no after-school jobs. I did not fit in. When it came time for college, I was glad to be done with HS. I just didn't fit in, but Fancy HS had opened my eyes up to a larger world with college and the things that education could do for me. So, I opted not to go to State Univerity which was known as the 8-year HS plan since literally hundreds of people from my graduating class would go there. Instead I opted for a small, private university (which stupidly, I did not realize would be a lot like HS with the clothes, cars, and cash).
I went off to university and fell in love, hard, with a guy from the South Side who was also paying his way through university. He had gone to one of the better Catholic HS and gotten into elite college as well (South Side kids make good, they call it). So, we were in love, and one day, we were sitting somewhere smoking (!) when a guy walked up and said, "Hi" to my love. So, my love, being the most mannerly and gentlemanly sort, stood up to shake the guy's hand and introduced him to me. "Carrie," he said, as that was my name back then as well, "I'd like you to meet Matt Springer. We went to St. Catholic's together." It was my Matthew. My Matthew. Mine, from 15 years earlier. But he was short, now. And not nearly as attractive as a 19-year old as he was as a 4-year old. He didn't remember me. At all. Not even when prompted. I asked whether he went to Co-op, which was a yes, and did he remember me? No, but it wasn't all bad; he did write for the alternative newspaper (at elite university, the "alternative" paper was the conservative/libertarian paper, the FoxNews of the undergraduate publishing set).
So, perhaps, Chuckles and Megan can reunite someday.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Nothing was received in exchange for this post/review but if you want to send wine, we can talk
Oh, Dearest blog, how I have been neglecting you. Sometimes, I think I was a better blogger when I was all angsty and infertile and TTC and an unwilling stay-at-home-mom. Probably true. Happiness makes for boring blogging.
Saturday night, Mr. Long-Suffering and I split a bottle of Luigi Bosco malbec. And I rave. It was good. It was a gift, so I am not sure of its price point (although I assume around $15). It was better with food than had solo and it needed a few minutes in the glass to breathe, but other than that, I have nothing but good things to say about this wine. We finished the bottle. Two people over about 4-5 hours. Not a difficult task, really. And red wine….it’s like health food.
We did some half-arsed father-led weaning on Thursday night. It was a flaming failure. Baby wants to eat and will fuss and cry for hours and hours overnight. I have made the executive decision to feed the child overnight. I know…I am brilliant. I’ve always said my kids haven’t read the textbooks. And Chuckles decided to strip naked in the night and walk around (and then got himself re-dressed in different clothes…very odd, but he was awake not sleepwalking as he remembered and recounted the whole thing including the rationale for said fashion show in the morning). Both kids got their flu vaccines Friday and Bobo took a record-breaking nap afterward (including a location change, which doesn’t usually work for him).
Last week was Columbus Day or Italian-American Marriage Heritage Day (as I have taken to calling it since I married an Italian-American). We took the kids on commuter rail to the City and slid down the Picasso. A good time was had by some. We rode the double-decker choo choo home. Both kids fell asleep in the car on the way home.
Now, a nifty list of places I have nursed (either child):
On the commuter rail
In the Catholic Church
Backyard of my home
Front yard of my home
Bathroom of my home
In my car in various locales
Beach
Grocery store
Millennium Park
Babies R Us
The pediatrician’s office (and the urgent care & the hospital) … and they’re always so embarrassed…dude, you’re doctors
The bathroom at work
In a moving car (everyone was buckled….the joy of the rear-facing car seat and the sag)
During a concert (to be fair, the music was The ScribbleMonsters)
At a restaurant while I was eating (once with my FIL across the table from me)
Day Care
On a boat
At the swimming pool
The homes of various friends and relations (some more welcoming than others, none openly hostile thankfully)
Library
The weaning is coming. I’m not a fan of the concept. But I am ready to be done with the pump. So, if you’ve done this successfully, let me know. Here’s my plan:
I will switch from pumping twice daily to once daily starting today. I will continue sending bottles to day care by dipping in to my freezer stash. I’m not sure what I’ll do on the weekends since my supply will have dipped. Do I just nurse normally on the weekends? Bobo is 11-months old. Then, when it gets closer to the year mark, I will just stop pumping at work. Then, uhhh, I guess what? I have no idea. I plan on continuing to nurse in the evenings and mornings as long as we’re both still game. Then, what do you do on weekends, again? Should I just….what, I have no idea. I assume when I reduce pumping or stop pumping that the supply will drop and he’ll get less. Will he still want to nurse on the weekends, in the evenings, and in the morning. Is there even enough that it counts as nourishment? A little help here.
On my last post, I got a comment (YAY, comments) from someone who wanted to send me a review copy of a book (YAY, free stuff). But I am not accepting it for two reasons (possibly more):
Saturday night, Mr. Long-Suffering and I split a bottle of Luigi Bosco malbec. And I rave. It was good. It was a gift, so I am not sure of its price point (although I assume around $15). It was better with food than had solo and it needed a few minutes in the glass to breathe, but other than that, I have nothing but good things to say about this wine. We finished the bottle. Two people over about 4-5 hours. Not a difficult task, really. And red wine….it’s like health food.
We did some half-arsed father-led weaning on Thursday night. It was a flaming failure. Baby wants to eat and will fuss and cry for hours and hours overnight. I have made the executive decision to feed the child overnight. I know…I am brilliant. I’ve always said my kids haven’t read the textbooks. And Chuckles decided to strip naked in the night and walk around (and then got himself re-dressed in different clothes…very odd, but he was awake not sleepwalking as he remembered and recounted the whole thing including the rationale for said fashion show in the morning). Both kids got their flu vaccines Friday and Bobo took a record-breaking nap afterward (including a location change, which doesn’t usually work for him).
Last week was Columbus Day or Italian-American Marriage Heritage Day (as I have taken to calling it since I married an Italian-American). We took the kids on commuter rail to the City and slid down the Picasso. A good time was had by some. We rode the double-decker choo choo home. Both kids fell asleep in the car on the way home.
Now, a nifty list of places I have nursed (either child):
On the commuter rail
In the Catholic Church
Backyard of my home
Front yard of my home
Bathroom of my home
In my car in various locales
Beach
Grocery store
Millennium Park
Babies R Us
The pediatrician’s office (and the urgent care & the hospital) … and they’re always so embarrassed…dude, you’re doctors
The bathroom at work
In a moving car (everyone was buckled….the joy of the rear-facing car seat and the sag)
During a concert (to be fair, the music was The ScribbleMonsters)
At a restaurant while I was eating (once with my FIL across the table from me)
Day Care
On a boat
At the swimming pool
The homes of various friends and relations (some more welcoming than others, none openly hostile thankfully)
Library
The weaning is coming. I’m not a fan of the concept. But I am ready to be done with the pump. So, if you’ve done this successfully, let me know. Here’s my plan:
I will switch from pumping twice daily to once daily starting today. I will continue sending bottles to day care by dipping in to my freezer stash. I’m not sure what I’ll do on the weekends since my supply will have dipped. Do I just nurse normally on the weekends? Bobo is 11-months old. Then, when it gets closer to the year mark, I will just stop pumping at work. Then, uhhh, I guess what? I have no idea. I plan on continuing to nurse in the evenings and mornings as long as we’re both still game. Then, what do you do on weekends, again? Should I just….what, I have no idea. I assume when I reduce pumping or stop pumping that the supply will drop and he’ll get less. Will he still want to nurse on the weekends, in the evenings, and in the morning. Is there even enough that it counts as nourishment? A little help here.
On my last post, I got a comment (YAY, comments) from someone who wanted to send me a review copy of a book (YAY, free stuff). But I am not accepting it for two reasons (possibly more):
- I don't have time to read a book, let along implement strategies for dealing with childish behavior.
- I am a semi-anonymous blogger and accepting a book would require me giving out my name and an address. Some address. And I don't have one of those fancy UPS Store addresses, so no.
- A book is not wine, it's not even food. Free food, I would probably take.
I'm not really a people-pleaser, so I don't feel bad about turning it down (actually, I am not turning it down, I'm just not doing anything with the offer except blogging about it). I'm sort of excited though because this is the first time anyone has ever offered me anything via the blog. Oh, by the way, in case it wasn't abundantly clear, I love Max Factor lipcolor and no one is giving me anything to say this. Also, food and wine and good and I pay for all of that myself (unless a real-life friend gives it to me for an actual occasion).
Friday, October 02, 2009
Procrastination is Usually My Enemy
Well, life got in the way and I didn't get around to dropping off the check and registration form for a gym class that starts tomorrow until 7:30 this morning. And they're full. Go figure. Chuckles loses out because I couldn't get Mr. Long-Suffering to commit to a gym class in the fall (when he says we should be playing outside but with torrents of rain falling, I am not sure how that's going to work). Anyway, I failed and Chuckles suffers the consequences (although honestly, these consequences were pretty minor and this failure it not one in a long string of disappointments). Lesson learned.
Maybe I'll take him to funflatables instead. Or I think it's National Fire Prevention Week so the fire house is open. Maybe we'll just go there.
Maybe I'll take him to funflatables instead. Or I think it's National Fire Prevention Week so the fire house is open. Maybe we'll just go there.
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