The Saturday

A pizza place in town had a $1 special on any pizza today, so B and I decided to go for lunch. Hey--3 bucks to feed a whole family, not bad. We figured it'd be busy, so we tried to hit it as the lunch rush died down. We got there shortly before 2, and got on the wait list, and since we were told it would be an hour (not unexpected--$1 gourmet pizza in a city of 350,000, what do we expect?), we took N to the craft store at the other end of the complex.

Usually N hates the craft store, and when just the two of us go, he pitches a fit and becomes a screaming mimi in protest. Maybe it was because B was with us today, but he was a doll the whole time-giggling and flirting with the other customers. After about 20 minutes, we headed back to the pizza place, realizing that it had been about 3 hours since N had had breakfast, and B and I were starting to get hungry. We were 3 names down on the list, so we stood off to one side and let N snack on cheerios (the little 'c' means they're actually Purely-Os, and I'm too lazy to type it out a lot) until we got called. N's all boy. He's very active and loves to explore. Being confined to arms in a busy restaurant is agony for him. But he sat there the whole time, munching cheerios and "talking" to the man waiting near us.

We got called to our table around 2:30, had our order in by 2:40, and between then, and the time that N ate us completely out of snacks (about 3:50), he was a total doll. He held up sooooo well. This is a kiddo that hates noisy restaurants, and gets frustrated when we try to make him eat restaurant chicken. He had only one meltdown, and that was at 4, right before the server brought out his pizza. I am unbelievably proud of him. He did smashingly well while B and I ate, and then did well again when we went over to our friends' house to watch the extended version of The Return of the King. It's much better than the theatrical release, by the way. He went down for the night around 11, which left me time to come update this thing. Wonder if anybody's reading it? Hmmm....

In playgroup news, I talked to H the other day. She definitely didn't make The Call. That makes me quite happy, as her DH and B get along really well. It would have been a major pity for B to lose out on a friendship when he has a tough time making friends in general. I didn't think that was H's style anyway. I do, however, think she might have a suspicion as to who did do it. B's money is on A (see the post from December 2 for the rundown of all of these people). I'm thinking if anything, A called her mom (another mandatory reporter) and had her mom call in, that way she couldn't take any flack. Along the lines of mandatory reporters, I've been one. B's one. My own mother's one. I can think of 5 more people with whom we interact on a regular basis who are mandatory reporters, and I know (having talked to them) that not a single one of them made the call. Shouldn't one think that if the DOCTOR says my son's fine, and not ONE of the mandatory reporters think anything's amiss, that maybe, just maybe, we're doing all right?

I think I'll call J tomorrow and see how things are going for her. She has a c-section scheduled for the 7th, so I think I'll call and see if there's anything we can bring over to help her out. Her daughter's about 5 weeks younger than N. I'm pretty sure she didn't call. It's not that she's not smart, it's just that she doesn't seem to function that way. What other people do with their kids is their business, according to her. Anyway, she says her husband will only eat peanut butter and jelly, so I'm thinking about taking over a loaf of bread with jars of peanut butter and jelly for him, and making something else for her and her daughter. I'll update on how that goes. And now, I'm tired, so I'm going to bed.

Things you never thought you'd say

Most of us in my due date email loop are first time moms. Here's some stuff we've actually said that we never thought would come out of our mouths:

"N, please stop biting the fireplace."

"Alexander, please don't throw the Wisemen and why is Baby Jesus under the couch"
"Jenna, please don't spin your brother in circles"


"Kayla, quit stomping on the presents!"


"Michelina, stop rolling the dog in the dirt!"

Well well well...

Last Thursday, our backup OB recommended an ultrasound to check for possible twins, as I was measuring 5 weeks ahead. Not a big deal, normally, but since I was only 22 weeks at the time, he felt it was a better safe than sorry thing. The midwife agreed, so off we went on Tuesday to find out if we are having one or two.

There's only one, and everything looks perfect. I feel somehow that we were intruding on Baby Kermie's space--like we were watching Santa Claus work or something. I think this might be the only ultrasound we'll ever have. It was amazing and miraculous to see what's going on in there, but I just feel like we should leave it alone.

The sex of Baby Kermie was obvious to the tech. To find out, please read the October 7th entry in this blog: Everyday Lunasea. That will soon be my situation. :)

The Black Hole

Still nothing. I sent the email out on Friday. I haven't heard one word from anyone. No email, no phone call, no nasty or nice letter. Not a thing. Seriously, how hard is it to get an email, then take two minutes to respond, "Wow, that sucks! I have no idea who did it," or "Yeah, I did it, and I'd do it again...fuck you." It's really not that difficult, people.

I just want something, anything. At this point I don't even care what it is. It's starting to make me think most of them were in on it together. Let's see.....
H: Always checks her email in the mornings, and I haven't heard a peep from her. She was the one that watched N the day the call was made

A: Currently out of the country visiting her in-laws. Checks her email infrequently anyway. Is a nurse (and therefore a mandatory reporter), and a worrywart to boot. Also seems to be jealous of my friendship with H and called H's house while I was there with N on the day the call came in

J: Honestly, I didn't think she would. This one routinely tells us at playgroup that her daughter has had enough snacks, and not to give her anymore. How that's different from me refusing to give my kid crapsnacks in the first place is beyond me. I just figured she was more of a live and let live kind of girl. She's always seemed that way to me. She's also another pregnant one (there are three of us).

S: I don't think she's been to enough playgroups recently to have been privy to this whole iron-thing, nor do I think she knows that I've even seen an OB at all.

T: This one minds her business. Just hers. No one else's. I really doubt she'd be so concerned about what someone else is doing to go to that great a length to prove them wrong.

M: This one I know didn't do it. She was the first person I called after I called Brandon and my social worker friends. She said herself, "I'm a Republican--I wouldn't do that." Regardless of political party, she firmly believes the government has no place sticking its nose into my parenting business, and she's working with me to help figure out who did this.

I'm seeing her today. I think what we'll have her do is call and arrange a playgroup, then see if she can bring it up there.

Of course, there's a very strong likelihood that most of these women just haven't checked their email yet......

A Scene From This Morning

N (eating Healthy-Os and applesauce in his high chair for breakfast): Eh-ohhh!

::::::splat:::::::

N (making a fish-face): Hee hee hee!


See Mummy's head hit the keyboard, as she sees the newly breakfast covered floor.

I love this kid. :)

A Letter to My Playgroup

Dear Playgroup,

I just wanted to let you all know that N and I won't be coming back to playgroup. I'm sorry, but I cannot trust someone (or perhaps a few people) to trust me to parent my son in the way that is best for him. B and I may do things somewhat differently from most of you, but that does not equate child abuse or neglect. We have now had our home and our privacy invaded, and our parenting has been put under a microscope. This, a result of the actions of people who are supposed to be our friends, is not acceptable.
Person (or persons) unknown from this playgroup called SRS on Monday, accusing B and me of medically neglecting N, along with other "general health concerns." In a nutshell, someone is not happy that we have elected to raise N's hemoglobin level through diet (successfully, I might add), not ferrous sulfate drops, and that we were not more worried about N's weight gain or as that person interpreted it, weight loss. N has not lost weight. He's grown several inches and gained a pound since his 12 month appointment. That person is also unhappy that my child is on a restricted diet, due to food concerns that have been extensively examined, and are not among the usual toddler and food issues. Apparently, it appears to others that my child is not fed consistently, which I can assure you is decidedly to the contrary. According to every care provider we have (and we see several), our son's health is excellent. At no time have our actions as parents been even remotely problematic.
The person who called in these allegations also said that I had "stopped" seeing my OB and was seeing a midwife. How that qualifies as neglect is beyond me. Just because the letters behind the care provider's name are not M and D, does not mean that my unborn child and I are not receiving care. Perhaps it would be wise to do some actual research into midwifery care (and the track records of industrialized countries that utilize it) before jumping to the conclusion that I am somehow putting my child and myself at an unacceptable risk. Alternative care is still care. The bottom line with this issue is that my prenatal care is my choice, and my choice alone. You all know me, or at least I thought you did. I am a staunchly pro-life person. I would never deliberately put a child of mine in danger.
I have never been reluctant to share my care history with you all because not only do I have nothing to hide, but I was under the impression that we were all adult enough to recognize that some people do things differently, and that's okay. Obviously, that was an erroneous assumption on my part.
I am very upset that I am viewed as so unreliable that when I say that my son's physician is satisfied with his growth and health, someone has to go behind my back and involve the state.
I hope the person or persons who made the call realize(s) that even though we had a nice visit with the social worker, and the allegations were declared unsubstantiated, our lives are changed, and not for the better. I feel like I have to be constantly looking over my shoulder now. I am nervous taking my son out in public, because I'm afraid someone will get the wrong impression of me. I don't feel comfortable taking my child over to a friend's house because that person may not like the way I do things, and, not being privy to the everyday goings on of our home, might assume that I haven't fed my child that day, or that I've hit him or something, or that I don't want what's best for him above all else. If I should ever have to take my child to the emergency room for an illness or injury that's not perfectly cut and dry, a previous SRS call, regardless of the finding, will make us look suspicious. If my husband were not leaving the teaching profession this year, he'd need to recertify. An SRS call could quite possibly make it difficult for him to do so. We have considered foster parenting in the future, and this could conceivably make it more difficult to get accepted. There has been definite mental and emotional distress for B, me, and our families while waiting for this to resolve, plus time and energy spent on contacting all of our care providers to alert them of the situation, and obtaining copies of medical records, etc. Fortunately, our doctor's office provides these things for free. There's still a stigma associated with having SRS called on you. People who hear about it will always wonder, "What if it really was legitimate, and the social worker just couldn't tell?" I am very angry that I feel this way, and that these are now thoughts and issues that are a part of my daily life. What it feels like is that if this person, or these people tried to talk to me, they were simply unhappy with the answers they received, and chose a devastating way of showing it. Fortunately, the state has declared these allegations unfounded, and we should not need to have any more interaction with them.
Some of you may be wondering why I'm so sure it was someone from this group. A few of the allegations were unique to the playgroup setting. The wording of the allegations is almost exactly word for word the same as the concerns I voiced when N turned one, just before his checkup revealed low hemoglobin. This playgroup is the only place I have shared the details of our treatment of N's iron issues, and the only group that knows that I have even seen an OB at all. I hope I'm wrong, and it was some obscure person I don't even remember exists.
I'm not sure that the friendships can be repaired at this point, and that's because I'm not really even sure who my friends are. I did want to say that I've enjoyed knowing you all, and that I feel that N has benefitted from having your children as his friends. B will miss the good times he's had with your husbands, and we as a couple will miss having friends with which we have so much in common. Lest anyone doubt, I love my children very much, and I only want what's best for them, even if how I arrive at What's Best for my children looks different from the way you (general) are used to seeing it done.
Thank you,

Just thought I'd let you all know. I will be hosting Thanksgiving dinner for the first time. We're looking at 9 or 11 people. My parents and siblings, us, and B's parents and 1 of his brothers and his SIL.

I decided that I did not want to drag a recalcitrant toddler to a strange, un-Nproofed house after an hour's drive, only to chase him around and keep him out from underfoot while dinner is being made, and then waiting on said dinner for 3 hours because BIL and his wife don't know how to freaking plan ahead and insist on having dinner with both his family and hers on the same day, in locations that are 8 hours apart, and my ILs don't freaking now how to just start eating without them in spite of their starving grandson and daughter-in-law. That said, this should be interesting...

My parents are bringing the wine, a few of the sides, and the Hawaiian rolls (traditional for us). They are also keeping N for the morning, so that B can make the Good Eats recipe turkey, and I can focus on more side dishes and dessert.
My ILs are bringing the pop (no one else drinks it, and I can guarantee you they'll show up with 5 or 6-2 liter bottles, even though FIL will be the only one drinking pop and he only drinks Diet Pepsi. They are also bringing the white rolls and wheat rolls (traditional for B's family), and my MIL's fruit salad. Sometimes I think I'm the only person in the world who hates fruit salad.
BIL and SIL, if we're lucky, will be bringing themselves in a timely manner, and will be able to attend the dinner when we all sit down promptly at three.

So, in the spirit of Our Family (meaning B, Me, N, and Fidget), I've laid down the law and invited the whole pack of them to our house. Please seriously consider any future postings in light of my temporary insanity.

Hmm...

I realized tonight why exactly it is that the Pearls get under my skin so much.
N pulled several copies of To Train Up A Child off of the shelf at the kinesiologist's office the other day. He was selling them for $5 apiece. I was so shocked to see it there, and being sold by him of all people, that I didn't feel comfortable directly confronting him about it, but I did tell N that it was a very sad book, and it wasn't one we would play with, and then I sat him down to look at "Go Dogs, Go!" (he preferred a battered copy of Readers' Digest). I've known my kinesiologist and his family for coming up on 15 years. I never dreamed they'd approve of this stuff! I guess it's because every time I've seen them, and seen how they interact with their kids (ages 12-19), they've seemed so in touch, and so well, AP.


I think it bugs me so much because the impression I get is that (in public, anyway) as long as Junior and Siblings are behaving perfectly, Pearled children look great, Pearled parents look great, and the Pearled Parent-Child Relationship looks great. However, as soon as one of the kids put one toe out of line, it immediately becomes punitive to an extreme, and any concept of Grace or understanding is out the window.
I'd go so far as to say that Pearl methods are wolves in sheep's clothing, and that really bugs me. Their little-baby stuff (co-sleeping, breastfeeding) sounds so right, and when you get into the relationship advice, and 'tying strings' it makes so much sense, and sounds so great, and it really seems like that's exactly what it takes to be close to your kids. Then when the "training" part comes in, it doesn't sound so extreme, even when it is.

I just can't seem to wrap my head around it.

Translation, please

N's a chatty monkey. He doesn't say much in the way of actual words besides the stuff he mimics (nanana, okay okay okay, yay, pweeees, etc). He has very serious, long, babbly strings of conversation that I am expected to respond to with the utmost solemnity and concern. He even sings. B and I sing Raffi's "Baby Beluga" to him often, and he hears "Three Little Ducks" at playgroups and story time regularly, so I suppose it shouldn't come as a surprise to hear him vocalizing cadences from each song while running his cars over the end tables. It melts my heart.

But the real reason I need the translation is that His Nibs has decided to go with one particular phrase as His Sound, and I have no idea what it means. It appears that "Oh-Bwee!" seems to mean everything from "Hi Mum" to "It's time to change my diaper now--I stink." So until I figure out what Oh-Bwee means, I'll have to make up my own meanings for it.

Discouraged

I'm discouraged by one of my boards. I knew we had some differing opinions, but I thought that one of the things about being open-minded was accepting that some people believe different things, and that that's okay.

I have always operated on the idea that you are supposed to vote for what you believe in. But what about those people who don't believe what you do? Simple. They vote for what they believe in. If more people believe like them, then my candidate's out, and I can try again in four years. There we have one of the things I like about our current system.

As far as my voting my beliefs being considered pushing my morality on someone, isn't someone voting the opposite trying to push their idea of morality on me? Aren't we all just trying to make our country line up with our idea of how things should be?


I have many friends. They are on both sides of all of the issues. Does that make me think they're terrible people? Of course not. Do I disagree with some of their logic and reasoning? Sure. But do I insult them and call them rednecks and ignorant and assume that they are mislead and naive because they don't believe the same way I do? Absolutely not.

What saddens me the most is that on this particular board, it's coming from the people who, if they put their minds and bodies to work on the issues, and stopped bashing people for a while, would be able to effect some major, positive change.

I understand these people are angry, frustrated, and upset. I do not understand why that means they get to suspend their usual talk of love, respect, and acceptance for all, to spew the very hatred they so ardently claim to revile, just because someone else's beliefs are different.

You, too, can call yourself open-minded....as long as you believe what I do.

Thoughts...

I'm a member of a board that has been recently having a discussion regarding vaginal birth and c-section. Some of the posters don't quite seem to understand why some of the women who had c-sections weren't quite happy about it, and then it spiraled into the usual 'you should be grateful' etc business. So, I thought about it a little bit and came up with an analogy. I ran it by a friend who was unhappy with her birth experience, and she said I got it, so I'll post it here.

I like to know that I've earned whatever good things I get. I enjoy the process of working for reward. It makes the reward that much sweeter to me to have sweated for it. I spent my pregnancy training for labor, much the way an athlete prepares for the Olympics. I worked my tail off trying to prepare my mind and my body for this event. I was working hard to be in shape to compete. I'm pretty sure I'd have felt cheated if I worked so hard to get to the Olympics, only to have the officials call the games off and give all of the athletes gold medals simply for showing up. Sure, I'd be thrilled to have a gold medal, but I'd certainly regret not having had the opportunity to earn it.

I now know why some species eat their young. More power to them.

Starting at the beginning, B's jeep is refusing to start. It buzzes at us and then tells us to go to hell. So I've been getting up at the crack of dawn driving my husband to work every morning. B kept me up until 3 this morning bitching about how frustrated he is. He said it was because he's impatient that he has to wait until the school year's done when he's looking forward to moving on with his life, but I know it's because he had a horrible day yesterday with some crazy parent shooting him as the messenger so to speak (nutso story, details if one desires them). So because of that, when he has to go to work this morning, I am too stinking tired to wake up and take him, so I let him take my Jeep so N and I can sleep a little longer. I have playgroup this afternoon, and I'll go get the car later. This is important.

In the morning, I wake up when N starts stirring, and we usually go into the living room together. Normally, he runs ahead of me. This is not usually a problem. Today, he darts ahead while I'm getting out of bed. I hear a crash, and then little whimpers, and as I'm going to get him, my kid comes back in to the bedroom with a huge smile on his face, a plastic dolphin, and bloody fingers. I get into the living room, and the glass of grape juice I'd forgotten about the night before is smashed, shards are everywhere, and there's grape juice all over my floor and couch. So I clean his hands up (one tiiiiiiiiiiny little cut), get him out of his grape juice-soaked jammies and diaper, and put him in his high chair for breakfast. I call my mom to come pick us up and take us to the school so we can get the Jeep for this afternoon.

All of the straw-sippy cups are dirty, so I give him one that doesn't have a no spill valve (valves kill his latch) about half full of milk. Normally, this is not a problem. I also give him a spoon and a bowl of applesauce. He was perfection with these items the other night at dinner. As I'm cleaning up the glass and grape juice, I hear "plop.....giggle......plop.....splat....haaaaaaaaaaaaa!....plop." Okay, all of the glass is off of the floor now, and I go back through the dining room (N's in the doorway between the dining room and living rooms), and I see my toddler covered literally from head to toe in applesauce and milk mixture. His spoon is stuck in his mouth, his high chair tray is completely flooded with this stuff, his bowl still has some of his strange soup in it, and there's a three-foot circle in every direction around the highchair of little dollops of millky applesauce. He'd been reaching into the bowl with his hands and dropping handfuls on the floor. It was a small, styrofoam to-go bowl. I didn't realize it held that much. I get N out of the high chair, and got the major clumps off of him and ran to throw a shirt on. No sooner to I enter my bedroom than I hear the pitter patter of little feet and I swear, an evil giggle. The little snot turned off the computer. It's not just pushing the button. You have to push and hold the button for the exactly prescribed amount of seconds, or the damn thing just laughs at you. I am no longer working on anything on the computer.

So my mom's going to be here in 5 minutes, and there is a G-d in heaven because somehow, all of the grape juice and glass is picked up, the sludge wipes off of N in no time flat, and my mom, who sounded in a huge hurry, came in took one look at me, saw the towel on the floor (for the applesauce), took my kid, and started cleaning up the floor, saying she had a few minutes if I wanted to change my shirt. I love my mother.

I go outside to install the spare carseat (a crappy little Evenflo--I hate this thing), and I haven't taken 3 steps before I start smelling natural gas. I get the carseat in, call the gas company, and my mom helps me get N dressed (something akin to dressing an octopus) and put on his shoes while I change my shirt and call the gas company.

After we get the car and come home, the gas company guy is there, and while I'm trying to corral the dogs and keep the kid out of mischief (HA!), N pours a snack bag of barbecue potato chips on the floor and starts eating them. Oh well, at least he's quiet, right? I get the dogs back outside (and now need to change my shirt yet again), the gas company guy says we don't have a gas leak, but the people next door probably do. He leaves, I try to clean up the barbecue chips, and N decides right then, he wants to nurse and go to sleep. He does, and my house is blissfully silent now.

I am not looking at the living room. It will make me cry. He will probably wake up within the next half hour or so, and when he does, we're going to playgroup. He must run some of this energy off, or I'm going to see how fast DHL's service is and send him straight to Drama Queen.

Happy

A friend I've gotten close to over the last few months had a baby tonight. :) She has changed so much from the way she used to be, and has really grown and discovered some things about herself. Anyway, the road to this birth has been very difficult for her (gallbladder surgery, preterm labor, weeks of prodromal labor, etc), but she wanted a VBAC, and she did what she thought she had to do. She'd ask me for information, but mostly she just wanted encouragement. I've really enjoyed going through this pregnancy with her and encouraging her. She went in Tuesday night, sure she was in labor for real this time. 2cm, and the nurse said 80% effaced. She was admitted for contractions, got some sleep, and when she woke up the next morning, was told that the nurse who examined her before was wrong, and she was actually barely 2, and only about 6% (where they got that exact number, I have no idea) effaced. The plan had been to go ahead and start pitocin, but since her cervix was still in the state it was, the midwife felt it unwise to induce at that point. She then gave my friend the choice of waiting a few days (which she said she'd recommend even if she didn't want to VBAC after all), or going ahead with the section. She had the option to end her weeks of little sleep, and almost constant contractions before everyone in her family (except for her son and DH) left town for a vacation on Sunday. She amazed me. She got up, told the midwife that she'd come this far, and she wanted to be done being pregnant, but still didn't want the section, so she'd go home, thanks. And go home she did. She spend yesterday sleeping at home. I didn't call her because I knew she was disappointed that she hadn't had the baby yet, and I didn't want to intrude.

I was so thrilled to pick up the phone tonight and hear, "I did it!" She has a beautiful, healthy baby boy, 8lb, 7oz, and curly red hair. Of her VBAC, she said only this, "I needed this so much."

What a powerful experience this has been, and she's halfway across the country from me. Listening to her joy after her birth has helped me. I'm looking forward to labor again.

And I might, just might, be able to become a doula after all.


In other happy news, I attended a book signing today, by Tomie dePaola. I love his art work. For those who don't know, he wrote and illustrated "Strega Nona," adapted and illustrated, "Stone Soup," and wrote and illustrated many other books. He was very gracious, and even though the signing was only supposed to last for an hour, it was well after that when I left, and he was still sitting there, smiling and signing away. N was that child while we were there (overstimulated, poor kid), and kept screaming and screeching at inopportune moments, in spite of a few minutes in the rocker with "Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii" (milk). However, not one disparaging comment was made, and Mr. dePaola took the time out to try and get a smile out of the kid. We got a picture (which I'm trying to upload, but my (*&#@$# cd drawer won't open, so I can't put it in. Grrr. All in all, a fun day. :)

The Name Dilemma

Is finally over. ::::::cautiously knocking on wood:::::::: Many people I know say they had to find out the sex of the expected child because they are planners, and they had to know. We're planners, too. But since we don't find out the sex, we pour our planning neuroses into picking the perfect name for our baby. We did it with N, and with this kid, too. I'm sure we'll do it with the others. Anyway, B called me from the theater (he's an assistant manager for a few dollars and hour and free movies--not bad for a weekend thing) this afternoon to tell me that he had picked The boy's name, and that I'd better like it. Fortunately, I do. A girl will be named Elinor Lindsay and a boy will be named Henry McKay. If people don't like these, that's too dang bad.:)
I should probably be a good wife and a nice person and consider DH's feelings of pride and accomplishment in picking this wonderful boy's name. However, pregnancy makes me snarky, and I'll lie in wait for the perfect moment to remind him that he nixed Henry when I was pregnant with N. I'll bet large sums of money (or chocolate, whichever's handy) he'll deny it hotly, and then get mad and sulk, and then in a few months, I'll have a list of boy names in my hands a mile long.

Craving of the Week

Chai. Must. Have. Chai. Now.

My little sister rocks!

M, my sister, got back from Europe tonight. She brought back an adorable little pair of French shoes for N, and for me, she brought a bag she bought at a market in Bologna, butterscotch, and some maternity pants from Scotland. I've missed her terribly, and I'm thrilled she's home. :) And I like my new pants. :)

So maybe I'm a little evil

I was listening to a mom talk about why she couldn't breastfeed tonight, and it set my little hamster wheels turning. I'm working with a mom right now who is having issues with basic baby care, and one of those issues is mixing formula properly. So--that said, here's my response to the next time I encounter, "I was just too worried to breastfeed. I mean, not knowing how many ounces were in there? Would I even be able to make enough milk?"

I wasn't able to formula feed. There was just too much worry involved for me. I mean, having to measure amounts exactly, and worrying about electrolyte balances, and water intoxication, and possible contaminants in the water--oh, and there was that time a friend opened up a can of powder to find something small and dead with legs in it. No, I was just too high strung to bottlefeed."

Disclaimer: I am well aware that there are some darn good reasons for not breastfeeding. This post doesn't address those. This addresses a response I've heard before that makes little sense to me. If this offends, too bad. It's TIC, and that's that.

There. Off my evil little soapbox now.

Whee!

Good news for us! We came into an unexpected slight windfall. With it, DH took me to PF Chang's for dinner. After a lovely meal of chicken lettuce wraps and beef fried rice, we decided to get dessert. Ladies and Gentlemen, I have met my culinary match. I simply cannot even attempt to finish The Great Wall of Chocolate. Six huuuuuuuge layers of chocolatey goodness with raspberry dressing. One layer later, I'm a happy camper, and The Cake is securely wrapped up for me to feast upon for the remainder of the week. :)

I think I might have felt the baby move today. It was definitely not gas. :) I felt N around 14 weeks, so 13 isn't that big of a shock, considering the idea that one usually feels subsequent babies sooner than the first. This makes it real now. :) I love this part. This is before B can feel it, and for now, it's just the Kiddo and Me.

Oh good

N's not scared off. He nursed about a billion times today. I'm okay with that. I did end up having him fall asleep in his high chair again. This might be his way of starting to put himself to sleep for the night. That's fine. If he does it this way, then I won't have to do it for him later. :) K&Ad came down today. K and I were in the youth group together years ago (he was a senior, I was a freshman), and there was some ambivalent crushing, and some I like you but maybe I don't, and a whole heap of highschool-ness, but we got out of it with a close friendship, and when he met Ad, and B and I were dating, we all started hanging out together. They're one of our few close couple friends. They actually got married the week after us. Anyway, they came down today, and we were discussing baby stuff--they're TTC, and it turns out that we have unintentionally jacked their girl's name. Ugh. I hate it when that happens. They'd be spelling it Eleanor, but it's still the same name. This just can't be easy, can it.

B had a crappy day at work, and felt the need to come home and bitch at me because K&Ad came over unexpectedly and we took N (who was going stir-crazy) to the mall instead of me cleaning up the whole house like B would ideally like. Seriously, the man needs to come up with some other way that I can show love for him. I sometimes think he randomly asks me to do things just to see if I'll do them and thus prove I love him. Frankly, it's a bit parental, and I don't like it. I'm pregnant (13 weeks today--yay!), tired, and I have zero motivation for keeping the house clean. Maybe if he were nicer about it I could manage to get some of it done. Honestly, there are times I feel like nothing I do (unless it's scrubbing the entire house top to bottom) is ever going to be good enough. Forget bearing the man's child. The whole house must be clean. It's really not even about the clean house. He knows there's something more, I know there's something more, and it's the elephant in the middle of the room. Except that it's not an elephant, and we really have no idea what the actual issue really is-we just know it's there, and it makes things tough. Things would be much easier if he'd actually consider going to counselling with me. But he doesn't feel that a stranger would be able to help us. @@ Dumbunny. That's exactly what we need right now-some outside perspective. Someone who doesn't have a personal interest in either one of us. Anyway, since he's so crabby and nagging and picky about housework, I really don't do much of it simply because the stuff I do take care of is not done the way *he* likes it. Unfortunately, if I do any housework, that leaves me feeling like I've rewarded his nagging and bitching, and I hate that. Sure, doing a load of dishes earns a break from the nag-and-bitch special, but the first time I even remotely slip up (like leaving a dish in the computer room), it's back to nag and bitch all over again. It's not like I never do any housework at all, it's just that I'm busy cleaning up after Captain Destructo most of the time, and simply don't have time to get to the dishes. It's worse now that he's worried about finding a new job after the school year ends. I'm perfectly happy to support him in his finding of himself, but not at the expense of my own mental health. Emotionally this pregnancy is harder than the previous one. I have very little patience, and it feels like B doesn't think he has to help out with N when he gets home since he's been working all day and N's my 'job' (he has no fucking idea), and that's creating a lot of resentment on my end. Bottom line: I'm in a place where I really need his support, and I don't feel like I'm getting it. I feel like the only thing I'm getting out of him is a list of my shortcomings. N bit me while nursing this evening, so I put him down. He got mad at me and went into the bedroom where B was getting ready to go to sleep. I ended up going in to retrieve him from playing on my side of the bed (B doesn't like him playing there for some reason @@-it's childproof-he's fine-let him be), and B carped at me for letting him go in there (Um-he didn't want to be with me-why else would he hunt you down?), and said, "Well maybe you should watch him a little better." There's nothing that frosts my cookies more than that statement. Ugh.

Big day

N fell down the stairs at my parents' house today. I left him in the room with my dad and brother, after dad said he'd keep an eye on him while I went to get my shoes. I got the shoes, turned around, and heard a series of thumps, and then my poor little baby crying. My dad had gone to his room to change clothes. N rarely goes for the stairs, and usually follows my dad everywhere, so this was a surprise. Dad feels so awful. N's okay--a call to the doctor, a few little bumps on his head, making sure he can still walk okay, and some Tylenol, and he's as good as new. I think I'll take N by my parents' to show Dad he's all right. He doesn't usually help me get N into the car, but tonight he didn't want to let him go. Poor man.

N also fell asleep without nursing tonight. He was so cranky, and so tired, and I was trying to get him to nurse and fall asleep, but he didn't want to nurse, so he clamped his little teeth (complete with poking through brand-new canines @@) down on my nipple and bit hard. I usually press his jaws gently to get him to release, and I did it so fast it scared him this time. I checked, and he didn't seem hurt, just really pissed off. He didn't nurse for another 2 hours, and this late at night, that's something. He ended up getting food-hungry, so I put him in his highchair, and he feel asleep during his 1am snack. I carried him to bed, and he didn't nurse. :( I'm sad. I truly hope I didn't scare him off permanently...

And the race is on....

To see who's right. A? Or my dream last night? I dreamed that I was sleeping on the couch when I awoke in Transition. The baby was coming, and there was no time to do anything else. B and N were in the room, N was in his high chair, and for some reason, 6 minutes is the time given, in 6 minutes of contractions, a beautiful baby boy was born. I remember being confused that he was born before the placenta was. That was a bit odd. Anyway, this boy is beautiful. I remember his face very clearly, and I feel I’ve met one of my children. Maybe not this child, but definitely a child of mine. Anyway, we called D, the midwife, and said everything was fine, but later, I didn’t feel that my placenta had come out, so as the dream ended, I knew we’d have to call her for help. But that thought didn’t bother me. The baby has the most beautiful brown eyes, and dark brown hair that curls all over his small head. He’s over 9 pounds, but not by much, and he’s so perfect looking. His name is Collin. It wasn't the name we gave him, but it was his name anyway.

My Emmy Red-Carpet observation...

Star Jones looks like a giant brown sausage. I was watching the pre-show most of the day, and Ms. Jones had crammed herself into the tighest, tube-iest gown possible. Not a good idea. Ew.

Baby Names again

Shelayla Shiobhon. A name gleaned from a sig line. I will begin my rant slowly, interject some interesting information, and then wind up to an all-out diatribe. Or maybe not.

Okay. Shelayla. Right. Going for an Irish baby time. That's fine. Totally fine. What's not fine is giving your child a name which roughly means, "Cudgel." I mean seriously folks, do we hate the poor little thing already? What's going to happen when this poor, sweet little girlie can't find her name in any baby book because it's not a name it's a noun. Not only that, a noun that means 'stick for beating things with,' Talk about potential self esteem issues. Furthermore, it's a made up spelling, adding insult to injury. I Googled it as a first name, and it only came up as a last name. As for Shiobhan, I hope this mother realizes that this is pronounced, "Hih-vawn."
A called today to tell me that this baby's a girl, and that she wants to be named Muriel. Mean mummy that I am (bas associations with the movie "Muriel's Wedding"), I nixed that, and asked her how she felt about Elinor. So far, so good. The Baby likes it, and if I can just convince B, we'll keep it. I'm really starting to fall in love with the name. Both spellings (Eleanor being the other one) are rather classic, and I think I like the Jane Austen spelling just a wee bit more. Of course, the fact that it happens to be the Tolkien spelling, too doesn't hurt it one bit. If in fact, Baby is a she, and she is named Elinor, we'll have to call her Nora or Nory for short. There are no less than 4 little Ellie's running around our immediate circle, and I abhor popularity when it comes to baby names. A was right about Ian, so we'll see what happens with this one.

I wish I could have talked to her longer, but the ILs were down. The oh, so frustrating ILs. I feel like such a jerk for not liking these people. I really do. They're very nice, but as my friend Adrienne puts it, "They're dumb. And not just dumb, but dumb and proud of it." MIL finished high school and went to beauty school. FIL had two years of Bible college (which usually provides a decent education), but has worked in factory jobs all of his life, and has just begun his second semester back in school to get his degree in business administration. I'm happy for him, but back to my rant. Anyway, I don't understand how their brain cells have lapsed over the course of the last couple of decades. I mean, how freaking hard is it to pick up a damn book? To be fair, all of MIL's time is spent watching her "soapies" and therefore she has no time to read. Note to MIL: A 50 year old woman ending words in "-ie/s" is not a cute sight to behold. Words ending in -ie/s are not automatically cute. Ever heard of scabies? 'Nough said. Anyway, self improvement in any form is unheard of by MIL, who is too stinking scared of everything to take even the tiniest risk for fear someone doesn't like her because of it. FIL's taking baby steps, but he's still obnoxious. MIL's gotten so used to being taken care of that she slips back into childishness (tone, mannerisms) without even realizing it. Drives me bonkers. We went to Red Robin for lunch. Glad we finally got one. Anyway, our RR has a tv installed in the floor right in front of the host stand. On the way out, the ILs have to stop and gawk, standing over said tv so that anyone coming in has to go all the way around them, and MIL shouts at the top of her lungs as we're almost out to the car, "B! Did you see the tv IN THE FLOOR!!! I didn't know they could do that!" Don't get me wrong, I'm all for wide-eyed wonder, but this is going just a little bit far, IMNSHO.
I don't like it when people spout things of which they obviously know nothing. Example. N has an incredibly dextrous left hand. He has excellent fine motor skills period, but his left hand amazes me. He picks up the tiniest things, and does the trickiest stuff with those little fingers of his. Anyway, B mentioned to The ILs that he's thinking N might be left-handed. MIL said, "That's weird, no one in our family is." I reply, "Actually, it's not that surprising, there are a lot of lefties on my mom's side of the family, particularly among the men." FIL (who can't bear to not have any attention and sympathy because his life has been soooooooo hard) says with a sulk, "I should have been left-handed, but they ruined it for me by making me use my right all the time at school." I asked him if he could write or do fine stuff with his left hand at all, and he said no, and blamed the school for ruining his Southpaw status forever. MIL (who, due to a childhood accident, only has a pinky and thumb on her left hand) pipes up and says that she might have been left-handed after all, but since she had to use her right, she was right-handed now.
Since I can't handle this kind of stuff being tossed out there as fact, I had to correct it. Hard dominance of one hand over the other is wired in the brain, you can't make it quit working. My Auntie Vi is a good 25-30 years older than FIL, and is a lefty. She said she used to hate the teachers in her school because they used to make her use her right hand all of the time. To this day, even though she never used her right hand in school, and didn't write that much at home, her left-handed writing is much clearer and neater than her right-handed stuff. I explained this nicely to FIL, and he sulked and said he was just thinking (He sulks a lot. B inherited the sulky gene. N better not've). I mean geez, heaven forbid the kid actually have a characteristic from MY side of the family. Everytime we see them, they comment about how he must get X characteristic from Uncle So and So, even though Uncle So and So isn't even biologically related to them (we're talking Aunt YooHoo's 5th husband or something), or how he looks just like Relative Q when he was a baby, on and on and on. N hates fresh cooked peas. If we try to give them to him, we're picking peas off of the floor for the next week. MIL found this out, and said, "Oh, he gets that from Uncle S, S always hated peas." Um, could he possibly just be like most toddlers who prefer their peas out of the skin? When the hell did not liking peas become a genetic trait? N will eat them mashed, but right now he's turning up his little nose at anything that's not bread, meat, or large strips of cantaloupe. Crazy kid. :)

B came into the living room this evening with a large glass of milk. He was balancing it on his knee when N decided that 14 months was plenty old enough to be introduced to milk, MOM, and he'll just have some of dad's thankyouverymuch. He loved it. Too bad for him that was the last glass. No more until grocery day. Oh well. At least I know that he can have it, and it's not going to turn him into some sort of bloody-intestined, destroyed-gut-flora mutant. Now, if he can just get over this cheese thing.......

I have a new boyfriend.

His name is Q. He's 7 months old, and is darling. I went to LLL today, and I've been watching this little guy grow. He has Down's Syndrome, and watching his development has been amazing. Honestly, I've never seen such a little guy produce so much attitude. LOL He's got this "I've totally got it made" look that crosses his face as he sits snuggled up in his mother's arms. He does, too. I held him for the first time today. I'd been sort of afraid to ask before. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I was afraid he might break or something. I think if my little one had Down's, my momma bear instincts would be in overdrive, and if his mom were feeling the same way, I didn't want to upset her by holding him wrong or something. Since then, I've gotten my head out of my ass, and gosh darn it, he was looking at me today, and I just had to hold him. I discovered that he has the most beautiful blue eyes I've seen on a baby since N's (which are now green), and he just gazed at me for minutes on end. It wasn't empty gazing either. This precious little one's eyes communicate like none I've seen before. It was amazing. I discovered that he loves having his hand held, and that if you tickle the bottom of his feet, he has the most delicious little giggle. I think I'm in love. :)
Seeing Q today and holding him, and just getting to know him made me think about things a little. I saw a website once, dedicated to babies who had been aborted for fetal anomaly. The baby's name was listed, and the disorder was listed under the name. Over and over and over again, I saw a name, followed by Trisomy 21. Thinking about it breaks my heart. There's no way right now to know how severe Down's Syndrome is until the baby is born. Q's parents didn't know of his condition before his birth. That was how they wanted it, and I totally understand. He's just such a precious little boy, I can't even begin to describe what a hold this child has taken on my heart. The absolute expression in this child's eyes, and his mother's pride and obvious adoration of him when she talks about or to him is something I wish everyone could see. It's amazing, and brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it.
Along the same lines, on NPR tonight, there was talk of how Nebraska ruled the partial-birth abortion ban unconstitutional because there was no 'health of the woman' exception. This is an expression I haven't heard before. I've always heard, even on NPR, the phrase as 'life of the mother.' What a slap in the face to my friends who have babies they have not gotten to meet. Maybe I'm overreacting (hormones, you know), but it seems to say that as long as the baby isn't actually born, that you're not a mother. Just a woman. Not that there's anything wrong with being 'just a woman,' but for me, Mother has a special ring to it. I want to say right now, that the many friends I have who have little ones that did not live to see this world, that they are every bit as much a mother as a woman with a living child. Carrying a baby changes you. You are no longer just a woman. You are a Mother.

I neeeeed sleeeeeep

I usually get sleep. But I've lately been staying up way too late online, catching up on my boards, emails, etc. N has been getting up around 9:30-10, which has been great for me. Unfortunately, he's decided that needs to change over the last 2 days. This morning he was up at 7:30 sharp. Not so good. Not only was he up, but he was up and ready to nurse. And nurse now. A lot. I really don't mind nursing this kid, but I'd prefer him to be able to space himself so that I don't wake up already touched out, like I did this morning. We're thinking it may be time to transition to the toddler bed. He sleeps well for the first part of the night in our bed by himself, and after a nursing, goes back to sleep for another long stretch. B insists there's no room in our bedroom for a toddler bed, but the unused crib is still in there, I see no reason why we can't move that out, and put the toddler bed in its place. It will be fine. I just hope N transitions easily and is happy in his new bed before the baby gets here. B is leaving his profession. He's beginning his 5th and final year of teaching, and is looking for something new. I'm combing job websites, and the local one isn't turning up much. We're in an area that's been hit hard by 9/11 as far as jobs go. The aircraft industry is huge here. Really huge. We've got plants for several major manufacturers and all of them have had layoffs over the last few years, so there are a lot of people and not that many jobs. Oddly enough, B can go work for the wireless company I used to work for, and after 6 months as a general rep, can get promoted to a Sr. Rep, with the potential to make about $20k more than he's making now. So not fair. He'd have to put up with a lot of crap, but it would be different crap than he's already dealing with, and it'd at least be crap that doesn't come from bureaucracy. I'm extremely proud of him. B's from a blue-collar family. A very blue-collar family. I don't think I've seen anyone embrace the blue-collarness as much as these people. Rednecks marry into the extended family here. For New Year's we drove up to see B's aunt and her fiance, who spent the day watching the football game, wearing his NASCAR jacket, drinking a Bud, and making sure that his mullet (halfway down his back) and mustache were in good working order. The more immediate ILs are content to sit around and bitch about how life hasn't gone the way they've wanted. Sure, they've had a few crappy things happen, but the main reason things don't get better for them is that they're ignorant and gullible, and perfectly happy to remain so. Blind optimism carries them through life. Yeah, there's a chance that something wonderful will happen and take care of everything for you, but the odds of winning the lottery are slim. FIL is always talking about what he's going to do when he wins the lottery. He's never going to win the lottery, but that doesn't stop him. Really, it's great to be optimistic, but there comes a time when you have to get off your ass and make things happen. That's why I'm so pleased about him leaving teaching. He comes from a long line of optimistic whiners, which has turned him into a pessimistic whiner. He is finally, the first of his family, getting off his can and making something happen. I couldn't be prouder. :)

Time to play...

...what shall we name the baby? We're picky about these things. As of right now, a girl might be Moira Lindsay (our son has DH's middle name), and we'll probably call her Molly, and a boy's middle name this time around will be Mackay or some variant thereof. Name selection is tough for us, because we're both so opinionated. I like things that 99% of the time will be pronounced correctly, and spelled correctly by people just hearing the name. That's my only difficulty with Moira right now. I say it, and people say, "What?" and look really confused. After repeating it 9 times, they usually get it, but I'm beginning to wonder if it's worth the effort. Popularity does play a role in our selections. We're okay with our kids having another kid of the same name in the school, but since DH is a teacher, we realize the inconvenience for all involved in having 8 Jadens or Spencers in the same class. Since my background (and to a lesser extent, but still major, DH's) is Scottish, we'd like to stick with Scottish names. Of course, B likes Irish and Welsh names, too. But I have this strange opinion that to mix our nationalities like that will make us look like Pseudo-Intellectual Neo-Celtic Baby Name Bandwagoneers. Of course, no rational person would consider this sort of thing when naming their newest little darling, so I'd like to claim for myself the official title of Baby Name Neurotic. That gonna be okay with everyone? To make our decision just a little bit more fun, we have an Ellis Island travesty of a last name (come on, people, the original wasn't that difficult) which also happens to be a common household noun, and therefore any remotely noun, adjective, or verb-like name (Rose, Harry, Emma--sounds too much like 'I'm a' with our name) is right out. Names are never 100% bully proof, but we'll do our best to make them as much so as possible. So you see, naming a baby is one of those things that takes us for-freaking-ever to do, and if this kid has a name by the time s/he's a year, we'll consider ourselves very fortunate.

TGIF

It's Friday. Yay. We just refinanced. We're paying off a department store credit card today. The payment was due yesterday. B goes into the store in an hour to take care of it. He wanted me to call yesterday, but I had some unexpected company and didn't hear my phone reminder. I left the house with turned-off phone in hand to take stuff to the mortgage company, and left my wallet on my nightstand. The wallet has the card and phone number in it. Needless to say, since I was out the rest of the day, by the time I turned the phone on, and got to playgroup, my wallet was far, far away, which means I didn't call the company to tell them we'd be paying a whole day late. When I worked for the wireless company, I'd get people calling to say they were paying a day late. We didn't give a rat's ass. Nothing was going to happen for one day late. We'd just chalk it up to the mail being slow or something. I mean, there's not even a button to push for 'paying a day late.' However, B is now positive our credit is completely screwed because of me not calling. @@ Ugh. I talked to Bridezilla yesterday. I told her the reason people were being meeeeeeeeean to her on HER DAY was because she was screaming at people she claimed to be friends with, and that none of us deserved to be treated like that regardless of how important HER DAY was to her. She apologized, but I have a sneaking feeling that she has no idea she was being that awful, and simply can't comprehend it. B's going to play Risk with the guys tonight, and N and I will have to do the same thing we've done all day. Nothing. Since N took an evil 10 minute power nap today, I'm going to try to put him down again. He's sitting in his high chair, looking tired and eating cheerios and peaches for lunch. He nursed to sleep, and when I tried to latch him off and take him to the bedroom, he woke up and refused to go back to sleep. I HATE POWER NAPS!!! So now, I'm desperately searching through my phone book to find friends with no kids near me so that I can have something fun to do tonight. Bleagh. I think it'll just be N, me, and frozen pizza tonight.

I'm baaaaaaaack

N and I flew in on Tuesday from our visit to Canada. It was okay. It was really nice to see my grandparents again for what was probably the last time, and by the end of our visit, N liked them, too. The rest of the trip on the island wasn't nearly as fun. For one thing, Nana and Gramps' house was much easier to N-proof than this place was, the second thing was that N's bottom two molars decided that just being through wasn't enough, and that more pain could still be caused, the third thing was that the top two decided to act up with a vengeance, and the fourth thing was that in spite of my parents saying they'd be glad to help me with the care and feeding of N in the absence of my husband, they would take him just long enough for me to get into the really nice, deep sleep of a newly pregnant woman, then they'd run into the room, dump N on me and say they were 'running-over-to-so-and-so's-cabin-here's-the-baby-wake-up-now.' This left an extremely groggy me with a cranky baby who wanted to know where his adoring subjects suddenly went. He also started missing DH really badly about 2 days into it. Nothing would make him happy, he just wandered around the house aimlessly, pushing his cars around and whining because he wanted Dah. I don't want to take a trip with a young child without B again. Not fun at all. He did beautifully on the flights up. No ear problems or anything. The flights back weren't as fun. They were earlier in the day (right around naptime), he was cranky, and he figured out how to kick the seat in front of him. Fortunately, a three year old was in the seat, and didn't seem to care. Many, many thanks to the parents of AJ for having such a wonderful child. May you reap the benefits of his sweetness for the rest of your lives. :) On the 2nd flight home, N kicked the seat of the nice older lady sitting in front of us. I asked the flight attendant if they could offer her a nicer seat, and apologized profusely. She said not to worry about it and that she'd stay where she was. I kind of wish she had moved. I felt like I had to worry about the seat kicking the whole time. Fortunately though, N fell asleep about 15 minutes into the flight, and stayed asleep until we deplaned. Now, for my brilliant idea of the month. I think that airplanes should have family seating sections. I don't really mind sitting in front of a little kid--having one, I know what to expect, but I felt irritated that I had to worry so much about his behavior on the flight back. He's 13 months old, for crying out loud. He's going to fuss, and probably be cranky during the flight. I just hated seeing the other passengers wince when they saw us get on the plane. I heard a few of them mutter to their seatmates that they hoped we'd be far away. I think it'd just be easier if they could group all of the kids together in one area, maybe with a teeeensy bit more leg room (so we don't feel so much like sardines, and seat-kicking is more difficult), and with toys and kids' books in the pockets. Kids like to be near other kids, so I think that'd help cut down on the noise. Our smoothest flights were when there were other kids in the seats in front of or behind us. So....that's my novel for the evening. I'll have to keep this thing updated more often.

I. Hate. Teething.

N's teething again. All four molars. The bottom two have gone from nasty looking little points to little razor blades peeking out from angry gums. The top two are still in the nasty looking little points stage. I hope he's feeling better by Wednesday. We're leaving then for Canada to visit my grandparents. At this time next week, I'll be on an island with nothing to do but watch my baby, hang out with my family, hike, and read. I'm really starting to look forward to this. In the meantime, I hate teething. N's snotty. Very snotty. Now, I'm snotty, too. The snot may not be teething on his part, it's definitely not teething on my part. It feels like a sinus infection. We're off to the doctor tomorrow to make sure that this isn't anything that will put my grandparents at any sort of risk. They're getting old, and their health isn't what it used to be. I will also be asking the doctor tomorrow (he's a family doc) if he feels comfortable being my backup physician for my this birth. I didn't meet the backup OB last time, and I'm not sure how I feel about actually having to see a doctor more than once. I get really nervous around doctors, and the last thing I need is a case of white-coat syndrome messing with my normally beautiful blood pressure. We'll find out. He's pretty laid-back, and has been our doctor for years, so I think he'll be understanding. Anyway, I'm sooooooo sleepy. I'm off to bed with a huge glass of water. Night.

The Final Installation in the Wedding Trilogy

We get the stupid flower petals replaces, and Flower Girl (who is beyond adorable, btw) gets pictures taken. The rest of the people show up, and the rest of the pictures are done. The guests start arriving, and Bridezilla goes to hide by the vintage fire engine. We start the ceremony, which goes off with the minor hitch of an usher trying to jump in and lay down the aisle runner (a clear plastic last minute addition), and knocking over a chair in the process. But that did not draw eyes away from Bridezilla, who looked gorgeous. The ceremony went off perfectly, and I was even able to nab a few minutes to nurse N, who was extremely hot, cranky, and nurse-y. I was wearing a button down dress, and the benefit of a wedding ceremony is that all eyes are on the bride, so no one pays attention to me with an open dress. LOL So anyway, N is fed, and goes off with Daddy to be amused for the rest of the evening. The friends she has designated to set out the food are watching the entire ceremony, per her request, so the food is not being set up. Anyway, ceremony over, and Bridezilla's so carefully arranged order of recessional gets a little mixed up between the bride's family and the groom's, and Bridezilla doesn't see one bit of it. Darn. The pastor directs everyone toward the food tables, which, are not set up. The food girls rush over and frantically start to set up the food table. A couple of the guests observe this, and rush over to help us. Okay, I have some rather strong opinions on weddings, and one of them is that it is rude to invite people to a party, then force them through circumstances to help set it up. JMO. The cake was already set up, but because she wanted to get married outside in July, the frosting's starting to shift, and the coconut (ew) cake is starting to melt a bit. We hope she doesn't notice. Anyway, the food gets set up, everyone eats, and because Bridezilla wanted to skimp on the drinks ("I don't want people drinking too much, so I didn't get tons and tons, but it should be just enough.") we have one bottle of generic Sprite left for the punch before the evening's over. Someone goes to get water, so there's at least a little of that to drink. The toasting and dancing gets started. I mention to the MOH that due to the fact that it's now nearly 90 degrees, and we're outside, and the cake's been sitting out for close to an hour and a half, it's starting to melt, and she needs to get over here, and cut the thing ASAP. Bridezilla's very understanding (point for her), and I sincerely hope she doesn't try to get out of paying the bill for the cake. The baker does not control the weather anymore than I control goose-poop on the sidewalks. The cake is cut, served, and rejected by most of the guests in favor of the leftover chocolate cake from the rehearsal dinner the night before (yay Macaroni Grill). The dancing and general party goes beautifully. Bridezilla gets a little cranky when her friends with kids start to leave (um, if she'd rather have screaming children at her party, then that's fine with me, but my kid needs his bedtime), but is too busy dancing to be too disappointed. A few park-goers stop to watch the couple dance, with happy smiles on their faces. I hope she doesn't bitch about them when she gets back. I think it was touching. I don't know if she saw them. Anyway, it's now 9:30 at night, I've been out here, at the park, in the sun, since Noon and 3:3o respectively. My sunscreen went AWOL, so I've had no sun protection, I'm feeling tired, crampy, woozy, and just plain exhausted. So, at the insistence of the baker, the MOH, the other bridesmaid, the father of the bride, and the best man's wife who had been assigned to help me, I went ahead and left, hoping that everything was in good hands. Since the FOB had arranged for a clean-up crew, I wasn't too worried. Now, if I can just track down the deejay and get my cds (used for the ceremony) back.

Picking up where I left off...

While the shortbread I made this evening cools its little heels on the stove.

Anyway, the parks dept official came by, and we asked how to get the chairs over to the gazebo. We were told we'd have to carry them, as we were not allowed to drive on the grass. It is a park, after all. As soon as Official leaves, Bridezilla turns to the chair guy, and says, "I don't care what they said, you pull that truck up here." So he did. Everything the parks dept said, she ignored. She had been told (as had I) that we could put up signs in the parking lot saying, "His/Her Wedding This Way," but could not take over the whole parking lot, nor mention parking, as it was public. The signs all said, "Wedding parking here," and were put up in the only parking lot, which had plenty of space. Fortunately, the hoi polloi parked there anyway. While setting up the chairs, we discover that the ground is soft from the rain a few days before, and that putting chairs in that formation will make for one squishy row, so we rearrange the chairs, and fortunately, she doesn't get to see them. Before she left to go get her hair done, she called the parks department, and complained about there being goose poop on the sidewalks. There was a large, lovely flock of Canada geese that had been roosting in the vicinity. They actually matched the groomsmens' vests. She was complaining mightily to the rest of us, when I reminded her that there are people that pay top dollar to have swans walking around at their weddings, and that she got this lovely flock of beautiful, coordinating (and remarkably quiet) geese for free. The least she could do would be to go do something else and quit worrying about it. She leaves for hair and nails, and right as the last chairs were unloaded from the truck, a parks dept vehicle pulls up, and a very nice gentleman reminds us that we really should not have the truck on the grass, and that we shouldn't be there until 6, but that they aren't going to bother us about it now, as long as Someone stops calling the dept and harassing his staff about things like dirt and goose poop in a public park. Bridezilla's dad and I apologize profusely for her actions, and thank Gentleman for their flexibility, assuring him that we are genuinely appreciative and that Bridezilla will trouble his staff no more. At this point, I leave to go get baskets for the recessional. She wanted them filled with rose petals for people to throw as they left the ceremony. It was beautiful. So anyway, I leave people setting up chairs, and taping down tablecloths, because this is Kansas, and there's wind here. She calls me 5 minutes from Hobby Lobby, and proceeds to start screaming at me about how no one could count, and she couldn't believe that the groom's family (who are really decent people, 'even if they are Catholic' @@) wasn't smart enough to put the right table cloths on the right tables. 9 tables (because not all of the guests need to sit at a table), 9 table cloths. That simple. She specifically gave a future in-law a table cloth for the cake. How could she be so stupid as to lose it??? No! We were NOT going to spend the extra $3 to get an extra table cloth. She had it planned perfectly. By this time, she's escalated to a shrill whine. At this point, I lost my patience, and for the first time in weeks, told her to quit yelling at me and go call someone who was actually at the park and could do something about the @!(*&$# tablecloth. So she does. Anyway, I buy baskets (which were the wrong ones, even though they were the only ones of which the store had 20), and I head to my house, which is on the way to the park, to get dressed. While I'm there, the groom calls. His family needs to go get dressed, and could I pick up some ice on my way down? His family leaves a BIL at the park to wait for me, then takes off to get dressed, because pictures are at 4:45 and it's now almost 3:30. I get there, BIL leaves, and I sit around in a public park, by myself, until the florists arrive for a whopping 5 minutes to drop everything off. Then I'm on my own again. All of the flowers are beautiful, although Bridezilla bitches about the size of her bouquet. She went to see it earlier that morning. She could have told them she wanted it bigger, even though she didn't need it. It was purple roses and calla lilies--very sweet. So at 4:45, the whole groom's side of the family arrives, and by 5:15, we're only missing the bride. This is starting to become a pattern. At the rehearsal, she demanded that none of us eat until she arrived for the dinner, then she waltzed in nearly an hour late, with no apology.
She and her dad show up, and she's not happy about being late for pictures. Nor is she happy about the fact that none of us attempted suicide by decorating, or that all of the goose poop is off of the side walks. We distract her by setting her up for pictures, while I start to get the food out. Her friend E came to help me, and brought her the flower girl basket, which was full of rose petals. Bridezilla takes one look at them, goes rigid, and says through her teeth, "Those are NOT the right petals." So E and I go through all of the aisle baskets and switch out the pink and yellow petals for purple and white ones.

N's awake. The saga will continue...

A weekend with Bridezilla

A few months ago, my friend, hereafter known as Bridezilla, came to me and asked me if I would help coordinate her wedding. I've known her for several years, and she has a 20 month old who likes to play with N. I said I would, but she'd need to make absolutely sure that she kept open communication with me about every detail. I did not realize just how much of a micromanager she is. When there's a big wedding involved, that's usually a good thing--but not if it's the bride. So anyway, plans move along very smoothly. She picks out the flowers, she decides to hold the wedding on July 30th, at 7pm, in the gazebo of a beautiful public park. There's a hint of the "It's my day--all others must bow" attitude in various little things, like when she wanted me to call the park to see if we could get permission to block off the entire parking lot (300 spaces) for her guest. I told her they probably weren't going to allow that, since it was a public park. She then proceeded to tirade for 15 minutes about the indecency of some people to stand on the edges of a wedding in a public place, and watch . Somehow, I think there are worse things. She then asked me to see what I could do to keep people (non-guests) away from the site. I told her it was a public park, and that the overwhelming majority of people know how to behave around weddings, and that I doubted we'd find a bum eating the cake halfway through the ceremony. Still, she stresses over it. I totally understand stressing about things going relatively smoothly, but she had this thing about perfect. Not just smoothly, PER-freaking-FECT. So we go through all of these tiny details, and as the wedding gets closer, she gets crabby and starts snapping at everyone, and behaving as though she's sure we're all out to get her. The Monday before the wedding, she takes me to the flower shop, to double check the flowers and make sure they are all exactly right. No problem there, but she wants me to go by the shop again the morning of the wedding to make sure every single stem is in place (they actually forgot my corsage, but I refused to tell her or make a big deal out of it-all of the other flowers were perfect). The parks department had originally told her (she wanted to handle the initial contact with them) that we couldn't set up for the wedding until 6. She told everyone noon. We got there at noon, with the 160 yards of tulle, the Christmas lights, and duct tape, which she wanted intertwined with ivy and hung up around the top of the 25ft tall gazebo. My pregnant self refused to climb the death-trap, er, ladder, and all of the groom's family (who were decorating under the strict instructions of Bridezilla who wanted things EXACTLY where she specified) decided that they'd rather not risk their necks, so it all got wound around the railings and looked beautiful. Anyway, the ivy had been left back at the groom's apartment, so as we were getting ready to go ahead and twist the tulle and the lights (we'd to the ivy when it got there), when she said that under no circumstances were to think of twisting the lights and tulle without the ivy, so we had to sit and wait for 2 hours for the ivy to get there because she said we couldn't leave. So we set up chairs.....Must go now...more when I return.

Why.

Someone in one of my forums, asked me why I don't let N cry it out. I responded, and this was my answer: When I was three, my parents, baby sister, and I visited a friend of theirs and her room mate. I fell asleep on the couch. My sister soon developed breathing problems (we found out she had pneumonia), and my parents and their friend took her to the ER. I woke up sometime later, and it was night. There was a desk lamp on, but no other light. I vaguely remember a radio being on. I was thirsty, and I wanted to know where my parents were. I called for them. No one answered. I kept calling. I wasn't familiar with this house, and I got in trouble if I got out of bed during the night, so I was scared to leave the couch. I started crying and calling for my parents. Still no answer. I called for anyone. No one came. I started screaming. Nothing. I knew someone was there....or were they? Had they gone and left me for good? It felt like hours before they came in the door to find me curled up on the couch, sweating completely through my clothes, still hiccuping and sobbing, calling for them. The room mate had been upstairs the whole time, and hadn't heard me.That was the night I felt the most scared, the most alone, the most deserted, and the most unloved I have ever felt. I know what it feels like to call and cry and have no one answer. Why on earth would I want my child to feel the same way?

Holy freaking cow

Um.  Well.  I guess I get to put my theories on pain into practice again.  My friend J is getting married on Friday.  Her bachelorette party was tonight.  I was in charge of bringing the $4 champagne.  I fully intended to have a glass, when I realized my temperatures are still up.  At 14 days past ovulation, and I'm cranky and tired.  Very cranky and tired.  So, on a whim, I forgo my usual $1.50 test from an online company, and get a drugstore test.  The thing turns positive before I can finish putting it down.  Ho-lee shiznit.  I'm pregnant.                           :::::::thud:::::::

Pain

I went to playgroup this morning.  N's technically aged out, but he's finishing out the month.  The moderators are okay with this.  One of the moderators is a Lamaze teacher.  She doesn't like me very much. LOL  I think it's because I managed to have a natural birth and came out of it saying I'd do it again.  The C-section rate from her Lamaze classes is close to 90%, and today, 3 of her students were laughing over the comment, "Lamaze is to get you until you can get the epidural."  Funny for some, sure, but I don't really care one way or the other.  What does irritate me is this moderators attitude toward my birth.  As if it was no big deal, and not that special because I 'must have a high pain tolerance.'@@  For her information, it's not that high. 7 years of horrible menstrual cramps sort of prepared me for it though.  Labor hurt.  Labor hurt like hell, but you know what?  It was worth it.  I feel that I treasure N all the more (than I would--just me) because of all the work I went through to have him.  My labor story was not a walk in the park, nor was the birth, but I'd go through it all again in a minute for another child.  It really was worth it.  DH says I'm tough. :)  That makes me feel pretty darn good.  I don't like it when someone minimizes what I went through so other people don't feel bad.  Other people are entitled to feel whatever they want.  If they want to feel bad, then so be it, but I did not force them to feel that way.  Giving birth hurt.  I did it anyway.
            Our society looks at pain as a really bad thing.  Not to say that all pain is good, but think about it.  We have antiseptics with lidocaine so disinfecting doesn’t hurt.  My parents poured peroxide on my wounds (boy does that make me sound old) to disinfect them.  I learned to control my pain through things like that.  I would stare at the bubbles that the peroxide made, and (after some information from Dad) would think about those little bubbles destroying the germs in my cut.  While it didn’t serve to lessen the pain, it did help me see some pain as constructive.  Menstrual cramps were a bitch.  They didn’t have a purpose that I could see, and somehow, despite plenty of over the counter painkillers, they hurt anyway.  I think that some pain is constructive.  The pain I felt during labor helped me appreciate my son.  I’m not saying that moms who don’t feel any pain don’t appreciate their children, but I know me, and I know I would not feel such a tremendous sense of accomplishment if I did not work through those long days on my own.  Experiencing the pain was important to me.  Not because I like pain (I don’t), but because I needed to know I could get through it.  I feel that now that I have endured pregnancy, labor, and delivery, there is nothing I can’t do.

We've come to an agreement

B doesn't like me to drink, since I'm still nursing.  Never mind the fact that one drink is not going to intoxicate the kid, especially since he (usually) goes more than 3 hours between feedings.  Anyway, I was communicating my dissatisfaction with him having a lovely pack of Boulevard Wheat in the fridge and me having nothing, when we came to an agreement.  If he gets beer, I get ice cream.  All for me, none for him.  Tonight's choice is Cookies and Cream.  I'm a happy woman.

I think:

I think that cars should be made so safe that we do not have to leave our children rear-facing until they're squished up, sick of 45 degree angles, and hating the car altogether.
 
I think that recalls of child-safety equipment should be so widely publicized that people are thoroughly sick of hearing about them.
 
I think that I should get free ice cream just because I exist.
 
I think that the medical profession needs to get its act together and set some freaking standards.
 
  I called our doctor's office today.  We see a family doc for N's well baby care.  I spoke with the nurse.  N's hemoglobin at his one year check came back at 9.6.  From my research, that's not too low.  Low, yes, but not freakout low.  Since N wasn't given a lead test, I called to ask about getting one.  I also asked what they considered normal hemoglobin levels to be.  They consider them 13-17.  For everyone, adults and children.  I've heard anything from 10.5-17 being normal.  I'm getting frustrated.  I talked to a lab tech friend today, and she told me to go with my gut and get him retested.  So we're retesting him and going to do a lead test within the next couple of days.

Yammering on

B worked all day today.  I did, too.  Just not in the earning a paycheck sort of way.  I spent most of the day on the couch, getting up to retrieve N from the top of an end table, or unsticking his fingers from the TV buttons.  Healthy-Os are okay.  Healthy-Os are sticky as all get out.  Ick.  Spent time cleaning off TV buttons because Healthy-Os apparently feel the need to transfer their organic cane sugar goodness on all they come into contact with.                                                                          
           B found cash on the floor at work.  No one claimed it, we got to keep it, and now I'm happily eating Chili's for dinner.  I loooove Chili's.  You'd think that after working there for 3 years I'd be burned out on it, but no, I'm not.                                                                        I shut the blinds after it started getting dark, and the sun started bouncing off of the obscene yellow house across the street.  The house is interesting.  It was painted a few weeks ago.  The primer was a boring sort of way too creamered coffee color.  Not bad.  Not great, but not bad.  I woke up the next morning to discover that Big Bird had exploded all over the house.  This thing is YELLOW.  Not yellow, or even Yellow, but YELLOW.  Ick, ick, ick.  N's birthday parties were Saturday (family) and Sunday (friends).  I gave directions to our house by way of the nasty yellow house.  Our guests said it was the perfect landmark.  It's actually a townhome duplex, which means that there's a lot more to it than just your standard house.  Gross.  We're thinking of calling the landlord and letting him know in no uncertain terms that the house is, well, disgusting.  Cookouts are no longer an option.  People keep running inside to pee.  Even after twilight, our guests still feel the need to wear sunglasses to protect them from the glare of The Big Bird House.  Our grilling social life is doomed. LOL  Oh well.  It'll make a nice story to tell future kids.  I think I'll make a color book for N.  For YELLOW, I think I'll take a picture of the house.

Teething sucks

I hate teething.  When N's teething, things suck.  He won't nap unless I nap with him.  While this results in a very rested me, it also results in a very messy house.  He fusses and whines, and won't go to sleep at night.  He bites when he nurses, plays, eats, or is lacking something fun to do.  My shoulder has red marks all over it from Baby Fang.  Bleagh.  I wish these stupid molars would just come in already and leave my poor kid alone.  The two on the bottom are what's causing all of the hassle.  I'm sick of this peek-through-and-then-go-back business.  It bites, and I want it over with yesterday.                                                                                           You can tell when N's teething.  His sleep habits go to hell in a handbasket with a first-class ticket on the Concorde (it's no longer running between NY, London and Paris, it's now shuttling my son's sleep habits back and forth from the pits of Hades).  He'll nurse for two seconds, then pop off, squirm frantically, and just try his hardest to keep himself awake.  I don't get enough sleep, because he wakes up as the epitome of the well-rested, adjusted, sunshine-happy kid, while I fumble around for my glasses, wondering where the little monster put them.  After I retrieve my glasses from his tightly clenched fingers, wipe off the drool, teeth marks, and fingerprints, then I can get started for the day, which is really a nice idea in theory, but in practice, turns out to not work out at all, because by the time I've gotten breakfast, eaten, fed N, gotten N and myself in and out of a shower that didn't last nearly long enough because N decided to climb out of his shower chair and attempt to hurl himself into the tile floor outside the tub, and gotten N rediapered (an ordeal in itself--you'd think he was meant to be naked or something), he's ready for a nap.  Of course, the nap doesn't last long enough to go any good, so when it's time to sleep, he's too tired to go down, even if we rush him in at the first sign of tired.  Tonight he'd be almost out, then jerk himself awake again.  I feel bad for him.  I wonder if he had a bad dream or something.  I sincerely hope those stupid teeth come all the way through soon.  I want my happy baby back.
 

Stop the presses!

Holy Rusted Metal, Batman! N tried to put himself to sleep tonight! I'm amazed. This is the child that cannot possibly fall asleep without his boob. No way. And I'd better not try to unlatch him before he's sound asleep, or he'll wake up the neighbors with his yells of indignance. He gets offended so easily. LOL Anyway, I was nursing him, and was reading a book, when he unlatched himself, wiggled about a foot away from me, flopped on his belly, and closed his eyes with a big grin on his face. Then, he peeked through one eye, and turned his head the other way. I patted his back for a bit, and he'd be almost asleep........then he'd start frantically sweeping the sheet with his hand, pop his eyes open, turn his head, and start the whole thing all over again. He finally decided he'd had enough, and decided that he wanted to nurse to sleep after all. 30 seconds later, he was out.
Okay, so he didn't succeed in trying to put himself to sleep, and part of me's not at all sorry, but he tried. First his birthday on Sunday (he's One!), and now this. I think my baby's growing up...

Sheepish

I'm feeling sheepish. I'm really proud of N, but I shouldn't be. Not that he's not a great kid or anything, it's just that there are some behaviors I shouldn't encourage. We were at a LLL meeting yesterday, and N was playing with anything on wheels (he loves cars and trucks). A two year old (and much bigger than N) didn't like the fact that N wanted to get cars out of the toybox, so he started hitting him. Not hard, just enough to irritate him. N looked at him like, "What the heck???" and smacked him back. Once. Also not hard. I do not want my child to hit. But this was self-defense. The other kid had hit him 3 or 4 times before N reacted. But still, hitting is not okay. Anyway, Other Kid looked shocked, and started crying and ran for his mother. I admit to laughing. Not because N hit, or Other Kid cried, but because my sweet tempered little monkey finally stood up for himself. Even though he's the biggest kid in his playgroup, he routinely gets poked, smacked, and kicked, and has his toys taken from him by other little urchins. I am proud of him.

And now I'm off to email Other Kid's mom to apologize for laughing, and make sure she knows I was not laughing directly at her kid.

One year ago....

I was sitting in front of the television, contracting, and feeling disappointed that I had not had a baby yet, and hopeful that it would happen the next day. I still had a ways to go. I remember also wanting to keep my baby inside me just a little bit longer. Here was the place I could protect him or her the best. I had rented the final episode of M*A*S*H because I'd never seen it before. In it, Hawkeye has a breakdown because he saw a woman on a bus smother her baby out of fear for their lives. The way it was revealed happened very quickly, and with no warning, and I jumped and started crying when I saw that. It obviously disturbed my precious little one, too. I worked for a wireless company's customer service center phone line, and N would get agitated when I was on a frustrating call. The kicks and movements I was getting were those of an agitated baby. I remember hugging my belly and telling my baby that I'd always be there for him or her, and I'd do whatever I can to protect them from the cruelty that causes human beings to become so desperate. I pray I can keep that promise to him now that he's out and likely to get into all sorts of things. He's my baby, and I'd "climb to heaven, crawl beneath the lowest hell to stay near" him.
Anyway, yesterday was the year anniversary of my labor starting. Today was the anniversary of the day we walked and relaxed, enjoying the pain, and knowing that the best result ever was in store. I had been 2 cm, and contracting very nicely, and I felt like progress was being made, so when there was no outside baby, I was disappointed. I didn't get much sleep, as I was unable to sleep through the contractions. Oh well....it all worked out in the end. Tomorrow will be spent doing major planning for N's party this weekend. It's looking like fun...

I'm free!

First let me say, my son's first birthday is coming up this weekend. I find it appropriate that this particular chapter of my birth experience comes to a close as a time of celebration begins.
As a refresher, my placenta was small. It fit neatly into my cupped hands. It looked reasonably healthy to me, but small--the midwife, however, declared it friable (it did not come apart--her reasoning for this label was that when pressed with a finger, it did not immediately spring back, but did so slowly). The umbilical cord was no bigger than my first finger's width around. It was long enough, but the small cord concerned me. When my original midwife got back into town (having missed the delivery), she basically told me that the condition of the placenta and cord were all my fault, and I had obviously not paid the least bit of attention to diet or my health and wellbeing, and as a result, I had gotten a healthy son by the skin of my teeth. There was more, but that was it in a nutshell.
Anyway, I wanted to know more. I wanted to know if I actually had put my baby at risk, and if this were something I could expect in future pregnancies. I also wanted to know just how much of it was my fault. I don't like guilt if it's unnecessary, and I thought I had done so well with my diet during the pregnancy. So, I did some research. I found several things. Small, friable placentas and/or small cords were found in connection with these things: Thalassemia, smoking in pregnancy, Type 2 Diabetes, IUGR, and Parvo B19 (Fifth's Disease). The first four on the list I did not have any connection with. But I was originally told by my family doctor, after being exposed at work, that Fifth's Disease, if contracted in the first trimester, will result in either nothing happening to the baby, or a miscarriage, so don't worry about it. I apparently caught Fifth's (I don't usually get sick, and it's common for me not to notice when I do, but I did have a low-grade temp) around 7-8 weeks, and I found out later that it can be a cause of IUGR. So, with my findings, I consulted other CPMs, my family doctor, and the CNM I see for well-woman care. Every single one of them agreed that there was nothing I did to cause the placenta and cord to be the way they were. It was just one of those things, and it should not happen again. It's no one's fault. It just happened. I feel, for the first time in a year, that I'm truly able to let go, welcome future children, and know that I had a healthy son because God created me with a body that works!

It's just one day......

Well that was fun. Not. My ILs left a few hours ago to return to their home an hour away. Thank goodness for that hour. My ILs are nice people--really. They just have an issue or six. We see them 1-2 times a month, and that's plenty. My MIL spends literally all of her time when she's home watching tv, and her 'soapies' especially. The woman will watch one soap or show on one of the house's 5 tvs, and will be using all 5 of the VCRs to record other shows simultaneously. She has about 75 video cassettes with these taped shows that she hasn't even seen yet. She's the kind of person that ends every word with '-ie' because she thinks it's cute. Trust me, there's nothing 'cute' about a white-haired 50+ woman bouncing up and down like a toddler as she asks for 'huggie-buggies' when saying goodbye. She also likes to point out, 'doggies, kitties, horsies, buggies,' ad infinitam, and asks for things like, 'nummies' when referring to food or snacks. Um, what?

My 14 year old brother is staying with us since my parents are out of town, and he was watching a movie when the ILs arrived. He offered to turn it off so we could all visit, but MIL said no, she wanted to see it, too. She remained absolutely silent during every single commercial, but the minute the movie came back on, she chattered non-stop. She did this last time we were up there with "Dharma and Greg," too. Drives me bonkers. If she'd rather talk, I wish she'd say so, because as much as I'm used to multi-tasking, this is getting a bit ridiculous. It got to the point where I was glancing up from N's birthday invitations with an, "Mm-hm," in between sentences. My brother was staring intensely at the tv screen, and snarling his "uh-huhs". When C gets monosyllabic, you know he's irritated. She even went so far as to say at a climactic scene, "[FIL] is no fun to watch movies with. He never wants to talk during the movie. Never. You'd think for such a talker, he'd have no problem with it. I guess it's because he can't hear well, you know [I know. I know very well. Every conversation with FIL is punctuated by 'WHAT?' because the man won't change his damn hearing aid battery], and since he can't hear, he has to concentrate really hard on things. But I guess if I couldn't hear, I'd want to concentrate harder, too. Yeah, anyway, this movie is really good. I like it. Did you see it in the theater? We did. Twice. Owen Wilson is such a cutie. I think we've seen this one before [FIL] really likes it. He says it's good. That means he's gonna buy it. The man can never rent a movie, he always has to buy one. It would be better if he'd seen the movie before he buys it......." ad nauseam. At this point, I interject darkly, "Our family generally doesn't talk during movies either. We like to watch them." These lovely people are going to give me grey hair by the time I'm 30. Not just one or two, no way-the whole head-grey as a nasty little rain cloud. La-de-frickin'-da. They really are nice people though, and I'm grateful for everything they've given us and N, even if they get on my nerves sometimes (okay, most of the time).

This blog is where I get all of these negative emotions out. Under normal circumstances, I'm the picture of sweetness and light around the ILs.

Today was a bit rough. N is teething--his 1 year molars on the bottom have broken through, and to add insult to injury, he has the worst diaper rash his poor little bum's ever seen. He's been so tired, and frustrated and clingy, and I love him so much and it sucks so badly to see him hurt. His saliva has turned into acid, and it hurts to nurse him for more than a few minutes at a time on a side, and right now the Tylenol is only enough for a few minutes. He wants to nurse and nurse. Fortunately, he had a terrible nap earlier, and is now completely asleep in our bed with no fuss. I'm looking forward to crawling in next to him in a few minutes. I love snuggling with him, and I'm sure tomorrow will be better. Those teeth can't keep bugging him forever, can they? My N never does anything half-heartedly. He cuts teeth in sets. At the moment, he's cutting both of his bottom molars. So far, these are worse than the top 4 teeth, which he also cut within 2 days of each other. So add teeth, the stress of having my little brother who, while a wonderful kid generally, is really high strung and has some anger issues, staying with us, and the communication problems B and I have been having (more on those later), and I'm already pretty wound up. Throw one insipid MIL, and one gloaming, patronizing, so proud of his grandson he's bursting because he thinks he did all the work giving birth to the kid FIL, and I'm a little on edge. I'd tell MIL upfront that I'd like her to zip it when we're watching a movie that she says she wants to watch, but even said in the nicest way, I'd never hear the end of it--she'd be sooooo hurt and offended. Therefore B has to tell her. B won't though. B's being a jackball. But then again, I suppose I am, too.

Our communication is not flowing smoothly as it never has. LOL Some of it is him, some of it is me. For example, yesterday, we were supposed to take Little Brother (C) to his dogsitting job, and B kept telling me some weird plan for the day, that ended up with me not getting how N and I were going to end up with him and C at the restaurant. B ends up saying, "Since I said it in English four times, and you still didn't get it, I guess I'll have to use another language. @@" I snapped back at him, and we bitched at each other for a minute or two until we discovered that he responded that way because he thought I was being pissy with him, and we got stuck in a circle. This seems to be our biggest obstacle. He grew up with parents that picked at all of each other's little flaws, and saw nothing wrong with going for the jugular during an argument. I grew up with a pushover for a mom, but parents who almost always spoke to each other with respect, and would take it very seriously if someone were to use a condescending tone. It's been quite difficult for us to discuss things, because he's like his mother, who thinks that everyone else is saying that she's stupid, and is constantly worried that she's not good enough. If I don't get what he's saying right away, and I tell him so, I'm apparently saying he's stupid because he can't figure out how to talk to me. I didn't say that, or anything like it, I just said, "I'm not getting it, can you explain it a different way?" But noooooo. I obviously think he's dumb. @@

His other argument is that I always get everything my way. Not true. I just don't tell him when I'm giving up what I prefer for him. I don't want him to think he's guilted me or that I'm suffering because of his desire, so if something's not a big deal, I'll say, 'Yeah, that's okay,' or something non-committal so he doesn't feel bad. The problem is that he reads my non-committal as an enthusiastic okay. We need to work on that. Anyway, he says I always get my way, and I tell him that's because he always gives in. He's afraid I'll never stop arguing until we're done (not true, he's never pushed it beyond 5 minutes or so, except maybe with N's non-circumcision), and since he thinks our marriage is more important than him being right (how sweet :)), he thinks it's easier to let me have my way. I then inform him that he can't let me have my way and then turn around and bitch about it for months. If he gives in, he needs to let it go, or he needs to dig in and fight for it. His response? "Okay, then I'll never give in to anything again." DID I ASK YOU TO NEVER GIVE IN AGAIN?!?!?!? No. I simply asked that he dig in once in awhile on things that are really important to him. Everything is either all one way or all the other way. Hyperbole is his specialty. It drives me nuts. He does the same thing with the housework. I am not Martha frickin' Stewart. I'd like to be that organized, but I'm not. Get over it--he was well aware of the situation before we got married. I try to keep the house clean, and if I'm able to do a load of dishes, I'm thrilled, and he should be, too, or at least he should acknowledge it. But he'll say thanks for it that day, and then the next time I leave the dishes undone, I hear, "You never do the dishes, and you don't pay any attention to the things that are important to meeeeeeeee." The last part is said with a whine. A 27 year old man whining. Not a pretty picture. Let me get this straight. He accuses me of never getting anything done and not caring about his feeeeeeeelings, and he wants me to work harder on keeping the house clean? With that kind of reaction when I can't? Uh-uh. No siree, Bob. You wanna clean house? You're gonna thank me and remember it every dang time you come home to an empty sink. Hearing his normal reaction makes me want to not even try. I know it's important to him, but if he's not even going to notice when I make a valiant effort, then it's really not worth the hassle.

He feels like I really don't listen to him. He's probably right. The little things that he considers to be important (like a spotless kitchen), are not that important to me. I'd much rather spend an hour playing peek-a-boo with N than doing dishes, which are just going to get dirty again in an hour anyway. I should respect that an orderly house is something he needs to feel content, and I should do it more often, but I really lack the drive. The rooms he likes the cleanest are the ones that get the dirtiest, and are the hardest in which to supervise N while I'm cleaning. Still, maybe I am a selfish bastard (well, selfish anyway). He really needs to work on not being such an anal-retentive nitpicker, and speaking to people (namely me) in a pleasant, non-sarcastic tone of voice, and I really need to work on actually doing the things that he considers important. We've got some work to do...