I don't remember suppositories being meds used when I was growing up. On the other hand, maybe I blocked the memory. Eeny was prescribed some over the weekend for some impressive vomiting. He seems to be done with that now, thank God, since he wasn't able to eat anything for 2.5 days. He's keeping crackers down now.

The Rooster was running a fever of 102, the second highest ever for him, poor thing. Motrin helped, and he actually slept all night. They both did, which totally weirded us out, as we rarely make it through a night without one of them needing something.


There are only two good things about having sick kids. 1) They're cuddly and will let you snuggle them all day. Darn that attachment parenting for making them so freaking independent. ;) 2) They're so tired from not being able to keep anything down that they can't move out of the way of the camera.

Therefore, I present to you a photograph of my children, being sick and watching Finding Nemo for the 97835908357th time:

[IMG]http://i26.photobucket.com/albums/c114/theladyeowynofrohan/SickbabiesandNemo8-136.jpg[/IMG]

They have a doctor's appointment in the morning. Eeny said, "I'm gonna see Doctor ____, and then I feel better."

For a three year old, he's got a remarkably good grasp on cause and effect. For instance, making the sounds of water splashing on tile causes Mommy to yell, "Water stays in the tub!!!" from the room where she's dressing the baby. It's apparently "funny."

Further note: responding with, "I'm just spilling it," does not have the desired effect of keeping Mommy the heck away from the bathroom in order to avoid seeing the half inch of water all over the bathroom floor. It also does not stop her from turning purple and working very hard to (successfully) maintain her temper while lecturing said three year old on the appropriateness of water on the floor outside the tub in a house she'd like to sell eventually. On the other hand, it's not like there haven't been enough puky sheets and towels in this house. What's a few that are wet with actual water instead?

I'm getting my packets together for my doula service. It's going well so far. I have a potential client who wanted to talk more in a month or so. That was last month. I should drop her an e-card, but I don't want to be pushy.

The Rooster has fallen asleep on the floor behind me. It'll be a busy week. One of my clients and dear friends is finding out the sex of her baby this week, and I'm on tenterhooks until she does. I wanna know. :)

More introspection

Before the battery on the Lappy dies. Anyway, I think I'm understanding myself more. The CPS incident (see the entries from November and December of 04) hurt me so much because I am an extrovert. I'm a very extroverted extrovert, too. Simply put, I need people to be okay. I need people around me, sharing my joy and my triumphs. I need people to understand me and just let me know I'm normal (at least, the more I learn, the more I think I am). We will probably never know who made the call. That part is really difficult for me. I don't know who (among those I knew at the time) I can trust. To an extrovert, not being able to trust is to choke the life out of a relationship. To have that necessary for emotional okay-ness thing taken from you is devastating.

I have also noticed that I take nearly any blanket statement made and try to apply it to myself. I try so hard that I've often taken statements that don't apply to me at all and made them about me. This, I think, is the root cause of my anxiety. I doubt I'm okay, because I hear I'm not. It even calls into question my salvation. There are so many different ways of looking at it and how one is supposed to go about obtaining and hanging onto it, that I've convinced myself I didn't really get it done right in the first place. Emotional truth: I haven't done exactly the right thing to be saved. Reality: I've prayed the sinner's prayer. God is real and is in my life and I do what I can, tentatively on my part. I'm so nervous sometimes. I don't know God well. In some ways, it feels presumptuous to even try. I'm scared of Him. Scared he's going to squash me like a bug or sacrifice me like a pawn in a chess game. Every time I think about any of the negative earthly consequences of following Him, I get so focused on the negative consequences, that I get very afraid of them. My flesh (and often my spirit, too) doesn't want any pain or bad things to happen. There's no guarantee that they will, but my negative side refuses to believe that. I've somehow made myself think that because I feel that way, I'm somehow less saved than someone who's all in. I am all in. In my head, I'm all in. It's my emotions that won't shut up long enough to let me know it. It's like there's a buzzing in my head and a lens focused on exactly what I'm afraid of. I'd type more of it out, and even all of it out, but it would trigger a massive panic attack, and I just can't handle it right now.

At this moment, the only thing I can focus on (besides sending this to my dad, which I will do), is the here and now, for me and my family. I can't concentrate on other places, because it's too much for me to think about and me to worry about. The Lord will take care of it--it's all His anyway....

So for now, I'll finish reading my email, then snuggle my sweet baby boy (who put himself to sleep tonight) then I'll sleep and go talk to my dad in the morning. Baby steps.

It's really freaking long, but here...

Grab a snack and pee before you start it...there's only three songs, and they're good ones. :)

Create your own video at One True Media

Argh!

He's teasing me. DarthHusband has been playing handsies, footsies, or whatever part of his body he can touch me withsies all freaking day. I'm ovulating and he knows it. We use NFP and avoid during fertile times. It's absolutely not fair for him to tease me like that when he knows it's not "safe." Grr. Sometimes I think Mr. I Don't Want Another Baby Right Now's resolve is rather weak, and he wouldn't mind having another one. There's been an awful lot of girl babies born lately, and it's made him rather dopey.

I'm going to bed now. If he jumps me, and I get pregnant, I'm saying it here and now. I warned him.

I'm open to another baby whenever. He's not. Therefore, I do my part by letting him know I'm ovulating and he does his part by staying the heck away from me.

Ha.

Oh!

And it's Eeny's 3rd birthday. Happy Birthday Sweet Baby Boy!!! http://hometown.aol.com/hiseowyn/myhomepage/baby.html

Crackers.

I, yes, I have landed myself in therapy.

Perhaps it was the meltdown over not being able to attend the upcoming Wiggles concert (August 8) with my whole family (seriously, wtf), or maybe it was the massive anxiety attack I had throughout X-Men 3 on Sunday night after we dropped the boys off with my mom for their first overnight together (I'd have been fine if the movie had been more engaging). Anyway, my husband asked my sobbing, disintegrating self this morning if it might help if I see someone. I think he was expecting me to fly up off of the couch and kill him for suggesting it. Instead, I wanted to ask him what the fuck took him so long to realize I am not myself and need a little bit of help. He's on the other computer right now, running the insurance approved list of care providers past my dad for a recommendation.

Whee!

He's walking!

The Rooster's officially walking!!! He has been for the last two days. When he falls, instead of crawling somewhere, he now gets up and walks. It's bittersweet.

Here's my clan crest--I like it:


And here's the new avi:




Day 239873 (okay, so more like day 5) of GCM being down, and I'm in withdrawal. I've been forced to become more active on my local moms forum. Hmph. I'm headed out to a Mary Kay mani/pedi party. Pedi party. Heh. I hope I enjoy it, even though it will be an evening full of girls.

What happens when I get bored...

I watched "Dear Frankie" last night, while frosting and fondanting (made up word alert!) the above creation. I need cookie cutters, and lots of 'em. I had to do that flower by hand, and I'm sooooo not impressed. Re: "Dear Frankie": it was good. I liked it, and as always, Gerry Butler = hot hot hot.


I recall a friend of mine's mother, who had recently moved here from London, took one look at Dad and me and pronounced us soundly of Scottish descent. We are--my great-grandfather came to Canada from Scotland.

I coulda told you that...

The Five Love Languages

My primary love language is probably
Physical Touch
with a secondary love language being
Receiving Gifts.

Complete set of results

Physical Touch:		11
Receiving Gifts:		7
Words of Affirmation:		7
Quality Time:		4
Acts of Service:		1

Information

Unhappiness in relationships, according to Dr. Gary Chapman, is often due to the fact that we speak different love languages. Sometimes we don't understand our partner's requirements, or even our own. We all have a "love tank" that needs to be filled in order for us to express love to others, but there are different means by which our tank can be filled, and there are different ways that we can express love to others.

Take the quiz


So anyway, I burned my hand earlier today. We have two frying pans. One has a metal handle that doesn't get hot. One has a rubberized handle with an exposed metal part that does get hot. I made pancakes, and when I moved the pan off he burner to add an egg, I tried to move the pan back, and forgot that it was the pan that gets hot. I think the blister going up the side of my finger and onto my hand will remind me to double check the pan in future.
I kept my poor hand in a bowl of cold water for an hour and a half today. That sucker hurt. DarthHusband went and got me bandages and Neosporin plus Pain Relief. It's good stuff.

I'll probably slack on posting again, as this friggin' hurts and it affects my typing.

Riiiight.

What Guys Think of Your Ponytail...

Girlish, free spirited, low maintenance. The kind of girl he can take camping ... for fire building and romance :-)

What Do Guys Think Of Your Hair?

Currently, they might think it's dirty. I need a shower.

We're getting ready to take the short people swimming.

As you can see, my E key is not permanently damaged, thanks to a resourceful DH. The 7's a little wonky, but will continue to be usable for some time.

"I'm fixing it."

It was Eeny's naptime. I put Rooster in Eeny's room, grabbed the naptime book, sat down on the bed, and called for Eeny to follow us.

Me: Come on, kiddo. Naptime.
Eeny: I'm fixing it!
Me: What are you fixing? Come on, it's time for nap!
E: Hang on just a second, I'm fixing it.
Me: Fixing what?

I totally should have gotten up the second I heard the word "fixing." That usually indicates something's broken, and usually further indicates that Eeny's the one who broke it. Anyway, filled with misgiving, I get up and go into the living room. My laptop sits on my desk, and has been christened "Lappy," thanks to homestarrunner.com
. Eeny is sitting at my desk, using a ball point pen like a screw driver, making whirring noises under his breath. My '7' key and my 'E' key, along with various tiny black pieces that make up the framework for these keys, are laying on the desk. "See Mom? I fix the Lappy."

Oh, dear. I really, really wanted to smack him. My $800 computer. Practically brand-new. Two keys damaged, perhaps unusable. I was so angry. I replied, "It is Mom's job to fix the Lappy. You have broken it."

My poor baby. He looked so sad and scared. He knew I was mad. He was afraid of what I'd do next. Praise God for grace. I was able to give it. I picked him up, told him Daddy would finish fixing it, and hugged him. Then I reminded him that my computer was NOT for him to touch.

Stuff

Life here's good. Rooster's still working on the teeth. 6 of 8 are through, and since he's beginning to actually get decent at walking more than two steps at a time, he's sleeping for crap, poor baby. Poor mama, too.

Eeny's all of a sudden become a conversationalist. This morning's discussion:

E: Hi Mom!
Me: (under the covers and barely awake) Mmmfhhff. Hi.
E: Mom! Wake up!
Me: I'm awake. (yawn)
E: Where's Rooster?
Me: Right beside me.
E: (thinks for a minute) Can I have some Nee?
Me: Count of ten, but that's it. Then you can snuggle.
[We count to ten] Okay, that's it. Time to snuggle.
E: Can I go play cars now?
Me: Sure.
E: Okay. I'm going to the other room.


DarthHusband's out of school for the summer, and we're figuring out how to make all of our schedules work. He wants to make sure he gets to the gym every day, and I want to make sure we get lots of house projects done, and lots of kid stuff done, too.

Me this week.

You Are 36% Abnormal

You are at low risk for being a psychopath. It is unlikely that you have no soul. You are at medium risk for having a borderline personality. It is somewhat likely that you are a chaotic mess. You are at medium risk for having a narcissistic personality. It is somewhat likely that you are in love with your own reflection. You are at medium risk for having a social phobia. It is somewhat likely that you feel most comfortable in your mom's basement. You are at low risk for obsessive compulsive disorder. It is unlikely that you are addicted to hand sanitizer.

How Abnormal Are You?

Looking back...

There's a thread on my month board about discipline that talks a little bit about saying please and thank you. We taught Eeny to say please and thank you by modeling it for him. He picked it up pretty quickly, and without the "you say please or you don't get it" power struggle that defined so much of my childhood. I was sharing our methods with the other posters, when I remembered something from after the Rooster's birth.

Rooster was literally only a day or so old (I can't remember if it was the day of his birth or the day after), and I was sitting on the couch, nursing him. My parents were there, as were my sister and brother, and DarthHusband was chatting with us, too. My sister brought out shortbread cookies. She gave one to everyone, and Eeny ate his quickly. He asked for another one, and she said, "Say please." He didn't, and the power struggle began.

I hate the way my will is ignored during my labor and postpartum period. It angers me. It's as though I'm invalid, since I've just gone through this amazing, trying, exhausting process. I have no energy left to fight for what I want, and it goes by the wayside. I spoke up, and said that he'd just gotten a baby brother, and she hadn't made him say please for the first cookie, just model it and move on, but Darth overruled me. I just sat there, and watched my entire family insist my 20 month old baby say please before he could have a stupid cookie on the day his world was changed forever. He must have been so overwhelmed with all of the big people demanding he perform. He gets overstimulated easily. No wonder the poor wee man burst into tears and melted down completely. I wish I could go back and stand up for him. :( My sweet little boy. I love him with all of my heart. The joy he and his brother bring me is immeasurable.

I wish I found it easier to communicate with him. I have learned, through nearly three years of sometimes trial and error, how to meet his needs, and how to respond to his intense emotions. It's a delicate dance--teaching him acceptable expression, and meeting his needs, teaching him to balance his wants and desires with the reality that life isn't always what we think it should be. He's such a precious child. The way he explores the world is a sight to behold. I love watching him play with his cars. I adore hearing him say, "Come play cars with me?" For the first time today, I did it. I'm usually on the computer when he asks me, and by the time I close things out, he's moved on. No more. At the request to play cars, my away message shall go up, and I shall gleefully dash to the other room to bang model cars together with a happy two year old. This time is too short, and too precious to miss.

The realization of the above sentence creeps up on me ever so softly. I need to ask my friend K to watch the kids while I go observe the Preschool room at DarthHusband's school. Preschool. Wow. Eeny will be three in July. I can't believe how fast time has flown. Before I know it, he'll be grown, and bringing home to meet us a wife of his own. Ack. LOL I hope she breastfeeds and likes the idea of homebirth. I hope I'll be a good mother-in-law. Anyway, preschool is still a bit farther off than I'd expect, as all of the preschools in My Fair City require attendees to be potty trained. Considering Eeny still refuses to do anything Not Pee in the potty ("Do you want to poo on the potty?" "Nooooooooooooooo!"), I think full time underoos are not in our immediate future.

I hear Rooster stirring. He'll want to nurse. I'm so glad my babies need me. It's such a wonderful feeling.

I'll try to remember that at 5 this morning when they both want to nurse, and neither of them will give me one inch of my own space. God bless these boys of mine. I love them so. :)

So...

I am definitely not pregnant. That's fine with me, as I need to get back into shape before I contemplate stretching everything out with another of DarthHusband's monsterbabies. We'll try again early next year or the year after. I'd like to make sure my nasty veins are in the best shape possible. We'll see if I can do this pregnancy thing without gaining 72lbs again, too.

Updates:

Me: I'm bringing the doula training workshop to My Fair City in June. I'm taking Eeny to see The Wiggles Live in May. I still heart Gerard Butler. I told DarthHusband I'd go see 300 with him. He knows my real motivation for going, but will take me to see it anyway. Good man.

DarthHusband: The CPAP is life changing, truly. It's amazing what proper oxygenation at night will do for one's mood and health. We're now having marital relations on a regular basis, and our marriage is infinitely better off for it.
He was even nice to Jehovah's Witnesses the other day. I missed the real him so much.

Eeny: Talking up a storm, pretending his fingers are walking people, saying things like, "I need my favorite toy," and still nursing. I never thought I'd still be nursing at this age, and I admit I'm ready for him to decide to wean whenever he wants. However, it's awfully cute to see him walk over to me, lay his head in my lap and say, "I would really really love a little bit of my favorite Nee." He's such a cutie, and is nicely outgrowing his runaway phase, which makes public outings much, much easier.

The Rooster: 'Tis himself. He's taking 3 or 4 steps at a time, but isn't really walking tremendously well yet. He's jabbering more, and says Mama, Dada, Eeeyah (Eeny), and this, that, and "Cheese!" The last one is said while shutterbug mommy's in his face with the camera. He's such a cutie. He got kicked out of KidZone at the gym today for wanting to be held all the time. They won't let him return that day if I've had to go get him, so my Pilates class was shot, but that's okay, because he's such a snugglebunny. He's cutting 8 teeth--all 4 molars and all 4 eye teeth--so he's a million kinds of miserable, and two of them broke through today. I feel so badly for him.

Bizarre dream

So in this dream, I took a pregnancy test. As an indicator for positive, the two lines suddenly became animated and started dancing around gleefully. Yeah. Sure. Gleeful dancing lines. It was definitely a dream--I'm crampy and tired and ready for AF to show or for my temps to freaking do something so I can have some random idea of what's going on with this body of mine.

Wow, I need to get more sleep.

Happy Birthday Rooster!

Here's a refresher on the birth story. I love my little guy! :)


Monday, April 4th was my due date. I’d been told by “everybody” throughout most of my pregnancy that I’d probably deliver early, and I’d sort of started to believe it. I got rather impatient as my EDD neared, and as I was absolutely enormous, I felt more than ready to have this baby. Monday marked the day that hope was permanently eclipsed. I didn’t really mind though. Instead, I felt that all the pressure was now off. My phone, which had been ringing off the hook, was blissfully silent most of the day. Ian and I spent the day running a couple of errands and playing and cuddling.

I took a nap around 8pm, and woke up at 10. I wasn’t tired, so I got on the computer. I stayed online for a few hours, and finally got tired around 2. I’d had maybe 4 contractions the entire day, and they were no more significant than the Braxton-Hicks I’d had through the month or so leading up to this. Inspired by a birth story I’d read earlier that night, I decided to write down what I wanted out of the birth. I had 8 things in mind.

1) A happy, healthy baby
2)A gentle birth from the baby’s perspective
3)I didn’t want him to be scared
4)I wanted the birth to be easy on him
5)A relatively short labor
6)A calm, trusting birth
7)I wanted him to be born before the back up OB wanted to start non-stress tests
8)I had an appointment with the back up OB scheduled for the morning of 4/5, because I would have been 42 weeks, 1 day according to LMP. I wanted him to be born before it.

I went to bed thinking, “Watch—this’ll be the night—I should have gotten to bed earlier.”

I woke up around 4:30 with what I thought was a really bad gas pain. I thought I’d better go ahead and pee since I had to do that anyway, so I went to the bathroom. I spent the whole time in the bathroom trying to breathe through what I finally realized were two monster contractions. I got out of there and went into my bedroom (right next door), and realized that 15 minutes had passed just as another contraction hit. I tried to get to where I could breathe through it, but unlike my first labor, these contractions were truly painful. I tried leaning forward and rocking through it, and it worked, but barely. As soon as that one was over, I woke DarthHusband and told him I didn’t think he’d be going to work today. I got the stopwatch and tried to time contractions, but I kept falling asleep and waking up on a peak. I figured they were about 3 minutes apart and lasting two minutes each, so I woke up DarthHusband again, springing out of bed during a contraction (laying down hurt), and yelling at him to call Midwife (the midwife), NOW. He called, and said that we really wanted to let her sleep, but that this just might be it. At the time, I said she should call back in a half-hour and then see where things were.

We got off the phone, and 2 contractions later, Ian woke up, crying because the house was lit up, and we weren’t in our bed. I tried to lie down with him to get him back to sleep, but it was too painful. I was feeling like I needed some space in a big way, and seeing Ian so distressed was upsetting to me, so I had DarthHusband call my parents and have them come get him. My mom arrived and stayed with me for a few contractions, holding Ian. He was crying—poor little guy, he was so tired and he didn’t understand why there were people up and running around—dangit, we were all supposed to be asleep! I went to the bathroom again, telling my mom I’d be out in a minute to kiss him goodbye. Ian got more upset then, so she and DarthHusband decided to go ahead and send her home before I got out of the bathroom. That made me rather upset, as I had really wanted to kiss him goodbye. :-/

Midwife called back, and talked to one of us briefly, saying she was on her way. When she got here (about 10 minutes later), she headed into the bedroom to get the Doppler and her things set up. At this point, I had an enormous contraction that was really painful. I was holding onto DarthHusband thinking, ‘It’s way too early for me to feel like this—I’ve only been contracting for 45 minutes or so, and I’m sure I’ve got hours and hours left to go, and I know I’m overanalyzing it and being a drama queen, but,’ and then out loud, I heard myself say, “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” I was really sleepy and wanted to go back to bed. Midwife heard me say that, and convinced me to come back into the bedroom and get checked. After the length of my previous birth, during which I’d stayed at 6cm for three days, I was afraid to get checked, and I didn’t want to hear that I was 6 centimeters. I told her that I didn’t want to hear it if I was 6cm. If it was less than that, fine, I could deal, and if it was more than that, then I definitely wanted to know, but I didn’t want to hear 6. I told her she could lie to me and say 5cm if a 6 I was. She said then that she had small hands, and that it sometimes made it difficult to tell when people were dilated to 8. I had a contraction and that statement flew right over my head. However, her comment about a bulging bag of waters didn’t. She said my water would break soon, and then I’d probably want to push, which would be great.

It was then that I realized I was afraid. I felt so out of control. Ian’s labor had been long—very long, but it was never unmanageable, and the stage I was in was not what I would have considered painful. This time though, it hurt. I felt like I was at the mercy of the contractions, and I was afraid of where they’d take me. And I wasn’t ready to have this baby. I was supposed to have a few hours to get used to the idea that this was indeed real. Things were happening way too fast for me.

I didn’t want my water to break because I knew that contractions are usually much more intense after that happens, even though last time it wasn’t so. I told DarthHusband and Midwife this. I really felt like I should give voice to my fears and let them out. This happened several times during the labor. If I was afraid of something (water breaking, the ring of fire, etc), as soon as I voiced it, the event I feared happened and it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Just as I said, “….because I don’t want it to hurt anymore than it already does,” my water broke. Like last time, I had a lot of fluid. Fortunately, it broke on a chux pad, and they got the plastic down in time, so there was only a small spot of it on the floor (it was clear anyway). The contractions did become more intense, but they were not more painful. The apprentices arrived about then. Since we knew this baby would be bigger than my first, I tried lying on my side. My belly felt too heavy for that, but I stayed there for a few contractions. She asked if I felt like pushing, and said I should go with it if I did. I didn’t.

When I felt like it, I tried pushing in that position (side-lying) a few times, and noticed that Midwife was no longer removing the Doppler from my belly after each contraction. I asked if everything was okay, and she said things were fine, but I should probably change positions to something more comfortable and if the toilet was comfortable last time, maybe I should try it again. We moved to the bathroom, and DarthHusband told me each time I was doing a good job. It was so encouraging to hear, especially since I felt so out of control. Midwife asked if I would please try pushing now, as she wasn’t able to hear the heart rate as well as she liked. I knew everything was okay, but I heard myself praying anyway. I was praying for the strength to remember that the pain was okay, and the result of all of this was a baby anyway, and that the baby would be okay. I’d sort of forgotten that this was leading up to a real baby in all of my fear. I pushed a couple of times, but it felt wrong. It wasn’t comfortable in the least, and it felt so much better to gently blow through contractions. It was the only way I felt in control. I think at one point I told Midwife to “get that #I$&)! Doppler off of me,” and she said she was sorry, but she really wanted to hear him. I was okay with it then. I tried to push again, and then stopped and asked if Ian would be mad at me. I hadn’t kissed him goodbye (something I always make it a point to do), and here I was turning him into a big brother and throwing him into a whole new phase of life, and he'd never be my only child again. After being assured that no, he wouldn’t, and this baby was coming anyway, I tried again. I could feel the baby descend a bit, but was afraid that since it didn’t feel right that he was malpositioned. Midwife assured me that when she checked, she felt the appropriate sutures on his skull, and that she was sure he was positioned right, but maybe I needed another position. Did I want to go back to the bedroom? I answered yes, and DarthHusband, who kept telling me reassuring things (after I nearly dismembered him for counting during a push—poor guy), helped me up to move.

I took two steps, and suddenly fell (not hard) to my knees. The tile floor was surprisingly comfortable, and things immediately felt right. I told DarthHusband and Midwife that the baby was going to be born right here in the bathroom, and they’d better get ready for it, and could I please have some pillows? The apprentices got the pillows for me, and I felt like I could push now. I pushed and felt his shoulders on my pelvic bones. I pushed again, and it burned. I felt warm compresses, and the burning went away. DarthHusband told me he could see a head. Then I heard, “I see lips, I see lips!” I waited until I felt another contraction, and then pushed again. I felt my pelvic bones separate to let the baby’s shoulders through. I don’t remember feeling that with Ian. I heard one of the apprentices say quietly, “The oxygen’s right here.” My heart was telling me that the baby was fine, but I asked anyway. I was told, “It’s just in case.” I heard myself scream as I pushed the rest of him out into DarthHusband's waiting hands, feeling in those few seconds his transition from the abstract concept of “the baby” to the concrete My Child. I didn’t scream because it hurt, but because the feeling was so intense. Then I heard, “Ohhhh, we’ve got a cord, times one…….two……three?! Lindsay—hang on a second, this little one’s all tangled up in his cord.” (This explains why she had kept the Doppler on me.) DarthHusband told me what they were doing as he worked with them to unwind our new son from his cord. He didn’t cry. Somehow I knew he was all right, even though he was quiet. I knew it was because he wasn’t scared. I heard a couple of whimpers, and was helped to turn over, and I could finally hold my little one. DarthHusband confirmed he was a boy, and I was immediately thrilled with my new son. It was 7:53am, just 3 hours and 23 minutes after I felt the first contraction.

The midwives were getting slightly concerned because Rooster wasn’t crying, so I asked him to cry just once to tell them he was okay. He let out one indignant yell, and then settled right back down, and looked at me with big, dark eyes. He nursed for a minute, I delivered the placenta immediately after—it was a big one, and then, after a quick shower for me, Rooster and I snuggled in bed. I ate a huge breakfast while DarthHusband weighed Rooster. When he came out, we were sure there was no way he was bigger than Ian had been—he just felt so tiny all crunched up in my arms. Midwife double-checked the scale, and Rooster was indeed bigger, weighing in at 9lbs, 4oz, and measuring just a wee bit shorter at 20.5 inches (and he refused to uncurl his leg to make it an even 21). An examination of me revealed one small labial abrasion (not worth a stitch), and not even so much as a skid mark to my perineum. I’ve healed very well, and feel pretty much back to normal, except for the lovely postpartum stomach with brand-new stretch marks.

Looking back over the birth, there were a few things that stood out to us. The first was that I gave birth in the ideal position for a large baby with a nuchal cord. It was amazing to me that my body knew exactly how to best deliver him for his size and the unexpected cord. His cord was also longer than normal. This was probably why I had so much amniotic fluid—it kept the cord floating well during the pregnancy. The cord was long enough that I was able to push him out before the midwife had a chance to determine whether it would need to be cut or if it could simply be unwrapped. His heart rate had dropped into the 90s, but did not do so until I began to push, and even though it was low, it was steady, and did not drop any lower. We suspect that Rooster wrapped himself in it on his way out, as his heart rate was strong and steady in the 120s even after my water broke. The cord was wrapped tightly enough to cause his heart to slow, but it was not pulled tightly enough to empty it or completely compress it. His descent into and through the birth canal was so rapid that his head wasn’t the slightest bit coney, yet for such a rapid birth, he had no bruising, and no signs of having been through any trauma whatsoever. I believe this birth was gentle for him. He is still a very calm baby, and very rarely cries. He was given an initial Apgar score of 5, because of his slow heart rate, and because he decided to take his time breathing (he didn't come out crying or obviously breathing), but by two minutes, he was given a score of 8. He required no oxygen, and was easily convinced to breathe with just a bit of blow-by. Had we planned to have this birth in a hospital, I don't know if we would have made it in. I think I probably would have wanted to stay home, not wanting to go in too soon. Since my first labor was so long, I know I wouldn't have believed I had progressed as far as I did in such a short time. I haven't marked time well in this story, but going back over it with the midwife, from the time Rooster's heart rate dropped into the 90s to the time he was born was about 20 minutes. We went to my family doctor the next day for my RhoGam shot, and to have the doctor take a peek at Rooster. He heard the whole birth story, and said it sounded like things went great. "Uncomplicated pregnancy, relatively uncomplicated delivery--just wonderful!" He gave us a pat on the back, along with his hearty congratulations and sent us home to rest.

I am firmly convinced that in spite of how rocky this birth was for me, it was gentle and easy on Rooster, which is just how I’d prayed it would be. I looked at the list I’d made the night before, and realized, as I sent DarthHusband to call and cancel the appointment with my back up OB, that I’d gotten everything on that list. Even though I didn’t feel particularly calm, I had a sense of peace through the whole thing that everything was fine. This labor and birth has taught me more about myself that I realize. It was an amazing experience.

Haiku Battle 2006

It all started when Kimmy, a teacher, posted a limerick written by one of her students. A limerick minus some valuable syllables was posted by another loop member. I was going to respond with a limerick, but they're hard, and I'm not about to take an hour coming up with a 5 line, multi-syllabic bit for the loop, as fast as it moves. Haiku is doable.

Thus,

Haiku Battle 2006


Me: Kim is a teacher
She works very hard on things
She prefers good dick

Kimmy: hard dick

Me:Whatever you say
I want points for my haiku
Give them to me now

Kimmy: Listen snarky bitch
I am grading this bullshit
Take this and like it

Me: I will take ice cream
No more, no less for me, please
I want chocolate

Kimmy: Just ate M and Ms
John ate gallon of ice cream
Too much fat for him


Me: I'm eating noodles
They have lots of ranch on them
Broccoli hurts me

Kimmy: Please no more haikus
Consonants are annoying
Stupid assignment

Me: It is not my fault
Limericks are much harder
You started it, bia

Shel: Fat free popcorn here
I lost 4.8 this week
Not rubbing it in

Me: Congratulations
You are on your way to slim
Popcorn sounds very good

Kimmy: I've created a monster.

Me: You have not done so
I have discovered my love
Such a simple prose


Kissy: today i looked down at my long sleeved black shirt and it looked like a garden slug had made its way down my arm.


Shel: you are the most poetic of the bitches (sorry, L)

Me: The haiku monster
Has returned to take revenge
Yea, I shall triumph


Kimmy: yes i wanted sex
but he fell asleep again
ah so much for that


My last entry for the night, sadly, highly relevant. He's batting at his ears again, I'll have to take him for a recheck tomorrow.

Amoxicillin
The pink stuff in use again
Ear infections suck

So there was this post

About car seats and safety. And it got locked and it was because some people are completely incapable of reading posts objectively. Does the phrase "blah blah blah" indicate basic respect and courtesy for the words to which it is the response? I think no.

Anyway, since I didn't get a chance to respond before the Blah Blah Blah-er got the thread locked, I'll post it here, since it was a darn good post--WhinyPerson comments in italics, comments from Myself in green :

WhinyPerson wrote:
blah blah blah...lol...just wanted to say something...lol...this subject is way heavy, can't we just leave it at we get what we want, and car seats now are a lot safer than they used to be, and just pray that we never have to test out the safety of any of them...


This is in the Hot Topics forum for the very reason that it is a heavy subject. Debates are often circular and can take a while to wind themselves down, as this one obviously is.


WhinyPerson wrote: good lord it's seems like it's being said that if you don't have a certain seat a certain way your child is gonna die and that it's your fault for putting them in that seat..bah...


I'm sorry that's the impression you've gotten. The bottom line is that a child is at considerably higher risk when improperly secured in an improperly installed car seat.



WhinyPerson wrote:
at least we are discussing the types of carseats not the lack thereof...I've seen several people riding down the highway with a young baby in their lap...


The point is that it is still unsafe to improperly secure a child in an improperly installed car seat.

Regarding forward vs rear-facing, I bet most of us that have chosen to keep our babies rear-facing past a year didn't know about the benefits of doing so until recently. I generally knew (through research via the internet of reputable websites) that it was safer, but I didn't realize just how much safer it was.

I don't know anyone who would call someone a bad mother for making a decision when they didn't know any better. The point of this is, now that the information has been made available, what will we do?


SomeOtherPersonWithWhomIGenerallyDisagree wrote:
Well if we want to get into the safety rating, then lets get into the car crash test safety ratings as well because if you are not driving the safest vehicle then you are putting your child in danger. Right?


The safety of various car seats depends on several factors. With the overhead shield type seats (see one here: http://www.walmart.com/catalog/product.do?product_id=4645515), it's difficult to secure the child tightly enough in the seat, and it's been shown that 5-point seats are safer. Seats of this type only have three points, making it more difficult to secure the child properly.

For the rest of the 5-point harness seats, the place where safety ratings come into play is mainly in installation.

Consumer Reports bases much of their ratings on ease of install and ease of use. A seat that is difficult to install is obviously more likely to be installed incorrectly. Incorrectly installing said seat means the child is at greater risk of injury, therefore, the seat ends up with a lower rating by Consumer Reports. A seat that is easy to install but makes it difficult to properly secure the child (for instance, our spare Evenflo) will have a lower rating, too. For Baby Bargains' ratings, factors like how the company handled prior recalls and customer service enter the picture as well.

The main reason those of us who have Britax seats recommend them so highly is that not only do they perform very well in crash tests, but they are easy to install correctly in many vehicles, and the harness is designed in such a way that a secure fit for the child is very easy, too.

I've had a Graco, a Cosco, an Evenflo, and a Britax. For ease of use, I infinitely prefer the Britax.

That said, a correctly installed seat with a secure fit for your child is the safest way to go, be that a Britax or any other brand.

SomeOtherPersonWithWhomIGenerallyDisagree wrote:
If you want to get into statistics, no one should be driving anyway, it is very unsafe just for you to put yourself behind the wheel let alone put your child(ren) at that risk.


I think we would all agree that in this area, cars and driving are a necessary evil.

Me again--here's my PM to the Administrator of the Most Sensitive Forum of the Year:

Her:

Thanks in Advance for your cooperation . . . .This forum is now LOCKED!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Me:

J, you know I love ya, but I have to express my displeasure at the locking of this thread.

It's a shame that it was not allowed to continue and resolve itself. Yeah, I'm probably miffed because I just spent an hour compiling a very polite post that included information on several seats (that I never got around to after discovering the thread was locked) and some deeper insight into how car seat safety ratings are established, and asking for clarification on some remarks, all without insulting anyone. I have the whole post copied and saved because it was a good one. LOL

The point is that people are going to read something into anything, and if someone wants to see "you're a bad mom" then they're gonna see it regardless of what is typed. Heck, it seems some people will translate "I think the sky is blue" into "you're a bad mom." :wink:

The locked topic was in a debate forum. If we are not allowed to make points and our debates are not allowed to complete themselves, then I fail to see how this forum will succeed. There are always going to be posts that get riled up on any message board (I oughta know, I've been on various boards for 7 years, and I think I've been through every debate topic to come up on a parenting board LOL), and they always resolve themselves. It may not be to the liking of everyone, but people do reach an understanding. I regret that that was not allowed to happen in this case. If threads that get heated continue to be shut down without resolution by the posters themselves, then I don't think this forum is going to get very far. Pretty soon no one will feel like they are able to express an opinion other than the one put forth by an original poster. The board will stagnate and that will be sad. I'm not speculating, I've seen it happen.

We are adults and fully capable of disagreeing without being hurtful. I didn't see anyone call names. I did see a poster asking for clarification of the comment "blah blah blah." Since it's usually meant as dismissive and disdainful of the quoted segment, I was going to ask for clarification of it in my post myself.

I didn't see anyone telling someone else that their kid's carseat was unsafe and nowhere did any poster call anyone else a bad mother. There is a lot of misinformation regarding car seats out there, and a lot of it was getting aired and corrected. I think the discussion was headed in a good direction. It's a shame it wasn't allowed to continue.

Even regarding the "not hurting others' feelings" rule for the board, I think it's a little impractical. It's inevitable that someone will get hurt over some perceived slight, and I think that's just one of the hazards of a written forum. I don't think a post should be pulled, edited, or locked because someone might get hurt when a post is misinterpreted.

Of course, all of this is just my opinion. ;)

Adding--I just noticed that the thread has been moved back to Parenting Concerns. Obviously I'm not an Admin, but I think it would have been just find to continue in the debate forum. It appears as though it was moved back to Parenting Concerns and then locked, which, IMO wasn't really fair to us as posters.

Normal me again. I was very tempted to add, after typing out all of that, then seeing how things went, "And there are some of us that are more articulate than others, and I see no reason why the inarticulate weenies should ruin it for the rest of us."

But I'm a good girl, so I didn't.

That said, my comments about stagnating forums are correct. As an example, my due date boards. Board A is very nice-nice, and no one disagrees on parenting things because they don't want to hurt feelings or make anyone feel like a bad mom or anything like that. Board B has some of the most unusual and noisiest debates on the Parenting Community. And we've debated it all. Board A is extremely slow these days, and there's nothing on it but "the baby cut another tooth" and "S/he's walking!" Board B is still having insightful and entertaining discussions on everything from WIC to Extended Nursing to American Idol to the lastest episode of Desperate Housewives. Board B used to be known as the "mean" board. Actually, after a car seat debate over there, in which Board B people came over and got snitty, it held on to the title of Mean Board. Anyway, I love Board B. Yeah, so we squabble and bitch and moan, but should one of our members be insulted by some other board, we've got their back. :)

Because I need to know what kind of bra I am.

You Are a Sleek Black Bra!

Subtle, sophisticated, and classy. You're not the first woman a man notices in the room... But you're the one he remembers a week later. You need a guy who will make a lasting impression on you too!

What Kind of Bra Are You?

The Bad Mom Complex

It's alive and well.

We've all seen it. Someone asks, "When did you feed your baby meat?" The first person responds with, "Around a year," and the next person responds with, "I guess I'm a bad mom, but....etc, etc."

When did Bad Mom enter the equation? I didn't see it in the prior questions. I theorize that the bad mom excuse makes an appearance when a perfectly reasonable mom is suddenly finding herself uncomfortable with her decision. The sudden second guessing immediately sets off an alarm in every other mommy's brain because at some point, we've all felt that we're thought of as a bad mom by someone. Unfortunately, this requires the 493 responding posters to quote Bad Mom's post and reply with, "You're NOT a bad mom. I did such-and-such." This takes the focus off of the OP and turns the post into one long pat on the back thread for the so-called Bad Mom.

There's something we need to realize. Different does not equal bad. There are some things that are bad decisions, sure. Using an expired car seat, feeding a baby fruits and veggies at the ripe old age of three months, turning and infant's car seat around at 7 months because they're screaming at the top of their lungs, telling your kids you'll let the monster in the closet have them for breakfast if they don't stay in bed, CIO, and I even put formula feeding because somebody offered to pay for it (and and using that as the determining factor) when you've got two perfectly good breasts and no particular reason to avoid using them in the category.

That said, there's a world of difference between a bad decision and a Bad Mom. Not one of us (mothers) will make the best decisions or even the right decisions all of the time. That's just a fact of life. My kids might go out once or twice underdressed for the unpredictable Kansas weather. Bad decision of me to not bring a coat, but does it make me a bad mom? Of course not. If I were a bad mom, I wouldn't even have coats for them. Instead, as soon as we get done with what we're doing, or they become uncomfortable with the temperature, we go inside or home and warm up. Eeny might eat McD's chicken nuggets for lunch one day. Bad dietary decision? Sure. But the next day he'll have a healthy lunch of chicken and veggies. It'd be nice if we, as mothers, generally took a party line of, We're human, we'll make bad decisions from time to time, and that's okay. It's not something to strive for, more something to understand and accept.


I put "I'm a bad mom" posts in the same category as, "If this is the way everyone feels, I'll leave the group because I don't want to be somewhere when people don't agree with me." Silly, and emotional blackmail, because it takes the focus off the disagreement and turns it into a "Love me" fest. I'm the first to admit that I usually don't know how to handle it when people disagree with me. It's uncomfortable. Why? Because it means that I might be wrong. It doesn't mean I am wrong, just that it's possible I might be. I don't like being wrong. I don't know anyone who does. It's just that it's possible, if someone else holds the opposite strong belief that I do, that they might be right, and I might not.

My feelings are not reality. I can feel that someone doesn't like me, but that doesn't make it true. When I make 5 phone calls and none of my friends and chat buddies are home, it might feel like no one likes me or is there for me, but that hardly makes it the case. So I can feel like there's a possibility that I might be wrong, but that doesn't make it true.

Hmmmm...

I could handle this:

You Belong in Rome

You're a big city girl with a small town heart Which is why you're attracted to the romance of Rome Strolling down picture perfect streets, cappuccino in hand And gorgeous Italian men - could life get any better?

What City Do You Belong In?

I went to Friend H's house today to finish laying out The Rooster's quilt. Then I decided I didn't like the fabric I'd picked out to alternate between the cute little rails of fabric. Picture when it's done.

Here's the sling I made for the Rooster yesterday:



I can see where it needs some work, and for the next one I do, I'll remember that.

Great news--Friend A is pregnant!!! :) She and her husband have been trying for over a year. I'm so happy for them!

Yay! A snuggly newborn I don't have to gestate and deliver! :D

...and there was much rejoicing.

The Bitch got her envelope today. This is what I put in it. :)




In case you can't tell, it's a recipe for Emu Surprise.

Yes, I'm weird.

This kid...

...took his first steps today. :)

Yay!

I went to a LLL meeting on the other side of town. I met another Gerry fan. Yay! I'm not the only freak in My Fair City. :D

The Trainwreck has done it. The Trainwreck was supposed to have been the third partner in The Practice (doula work). Her communication has been iffy from the beginning, but as of today, she's out. She spent TWO HUNDRED freaking DOLLARS on a domain name for us. A step we were not yet ready to take. Ack, ack, ack. More later. I'm currently sending an envelope containing something hilarious to one of the Bitches. :) I'm not saying what it is in case she reads this. Maybe if people left comments, I'd know. :P

It's my 150th post!

Since it is my 150th entry, I was going to do a list of all things 15o. However, Strong Bad has only answered 147 emails, so that plan has fallen through.

I will, however, blog about several things.

1) It is rude of DarthHusband to interrupt a sex dream involving Guess Who on a morning I'm supposed to be sleeping in, and deposit a baby in my arms and claim, "He's hungry and needs a nap." That always ends the dream. Too bad.

2) I'm thinking of things. I've come to the conclusion that I just don't know where the boundaries in my marriage are or should be. We're in the midst of a renegotiation of them, and it's not particularly comfortable. The biggest disservice growing up in the Church has done my marriage is the idea that the Christian Wife submits to her husband translating into The Christian Wife becoming a doormat.

So, I'm thinking of stuff like this:

--If I have not gotten to the laundry or the dishes, and dinner is not ready, you have two choices: You may occupy the children without complaining, or you can do those chores yourself, also without complaining. I do what I can when you're gone, but once you're home, it's time to pitch in.

--You may not take off for your evening bathroom visit while both children are still in high chairs. You're not the only one who needs to pee and get ready to put small children to bed.

That's it for now. I think we're coming up on some actual boundary defining, and that's a positive thing.

Not going...

On my trip to my workshop. Eeny's still pretty freaked out about DH's ER trip. He left for work this morning, and Eeny said, "Daddy went to the hospitabil? Daddy's sick?" and he started crying. I felt so badly for him. I think it would be cruel of me to take off on a four day trip when he's never been away from me for more than a night before.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In other news, the Gerry Butler references have returned! I'm playing Six Degrees of Gerard Butler here: http://oracleofbacon.org/star_links.html

So far, I've found exactly one actor with more than two degrees--Cuba Gooding. Not Junior.

Even Connie Booth (ex-wife of John Cleese) has only two degrees of separation from him. Regardless of whether he intends to, Master Gerry gets around.

After an hour of playing (I need a hobby), I've found someone with more than two degrees!

"The Oracle says: Gerard Butler has a Cary Grant number of 3.

Gerard Butler was in Tomorrow Never Dies (1997) with Julian Rhind-Tutt
Julian Rhind-Tutt was in Rabbit Fever (2005) with John Standing (I)
John Standing (I) was in Walk Don't Run (1966) with Cary Grant"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Off to bed for me, then.

"The Epi-pen is deceptive."

So said DarthHusband to me yesterday, upon his release from the Emergency Room. Thank God for that deceptive little pen. It saved his life. He had another reaction yesterday morning. We don't really know what it was that triggered it. It might have been the apple, or it could have been the bite of chocolate processed in a facility that also processes nuts. At any rate, he told me he thought he might have to use his pen. Within seconds, his arms were breaking out in a rash, and his nose turned bright red while his face went pale. He gave himself his injection, and I called 911.

EMS arrived within about 5 minutes, and the pen and the Benadryl were doing their job. His skin was clearing up, and his airway stayed open. His blood pressure was practically perfect when taken at the house by EMS, and aside from being a little jittery from the epinephrine, he seemed okay.

Eeny was watching Finding Nemo when they arrived. The Rooster stayed on my hip the whole time, which is unusual for Mister Must. Get. Down. One of the firefighters tried to talk to Eeny a little bit. The kid was having none of it. He got into his toybox and sat there and gave the firefighter monosyllabic answers. Then, he remained glued to the window while they put DH on the gurney and into the back of the ambulance. After it left, he cried for Daddy a few times, but otherwise seemed okay.

I would have taken him to the ER myself, seeing as how we're only 5 minutes away, but we've been chained to the bathroom this week, and Saturday was no exception. We also ran out of toilet paper. Yes, you can laugh. It's funny. Fortunately, my parents were already on their way with TP and Powerade by the time the reaction started.

Eeny acted out a bit the rest of the day. New thing: he can now say "paramedic."

We told him Daddy got sick and he went to the hospital to make him feel better. Having him come home that day helped, I think. He was still scared and wouldn't go to him for the first hour or two. It made DH feel really bad. The Rooster, on the other hand, had zero qualms about going to Daddy. As soon as DH woke up from his Benadryl nap, Rooster crawled over to him, pulled up on the couch beside him, and put the Motrin syringe (the needle-free kind for all of the uber-safety concerned) into DH's mouth. It was adorable:


Anyway, after a few minutes, and the promise of another showing of Finding Nemo (this time without an ambulance to interrupt it), Eeny snuggled up beside Dh to eat his oatmeal and watch his "fish movie." My poor baby. He's such a sensitive kid. I really hope this hasn't hurt him. A friend of mine's a play therapist. I'll have to ask her what to do next.

As to why the Epi-pen is deceptive, DarthHusband was expecting a small lancet, not unlike the autoclick my aunt had for blood sugar testing. He put the pen on his leg, pushed the button, held it for the required ten seconds, and pulled it out. And kept pulling. He was not expecting a 2 inch needle. He kept it with him while he went to the hospital. The staff there asked him why. Generally considerate father that he is, he said he didn't want to leave it anywhere at home where the children could get it.

At any rate, this allergic reaction stuff is obnoxious. I'm now sharing in my husband's nervousness, and eating is starting to make both of us nervous. Every time I have the tiniest itch, I get worried it's a reaction. It might be a good idea for me to eventually see someone about this freakish anxiety business.

We have to get the allergy testing redone. DH was in the early stages of meningitis when he was tested, and the ER doc said that since he's apparently reacted both times to things that were not tested for, it might be a good idea to get them done again, as the meningitis could have skewed the results. My paranoid self is wanting allergy testing for the whole family, just to double check and make sure we can keep everyone in as much check as possible.
:::sigh:::

This isn't much fun.

So, we have these issues, see...

I was 16 when I met DarthHusband. He was 21. We started dating when I was 17, got engaged at 18, and got married two months after I turned 20. We found out I was pregnant right after I turned 21, and I got pregnant again at 22, had The Rooster at 23, and here I am at 24, and I'm realizing some things.

I grew up with a very strong father figure. My dad was a student, and worked really long hours trying to finish up his doctorate. Even though he wasn't often around in the evenings, he was at the plays, games, and school events. His rules and his presence were felt, even if he wasn't there. Don't get me wrong, I have an awesome dad. He's smart, he's funny, and he knows how to talk me through my anxiety (something DH has never learned how to do), and he loves me very much.

Unfortunately, I never really got to see him and my mom in action together. I didn't really see the division of labor, as it were. I do remember him pitching in easily around the house (still does), and getting things cleaned up, and making dinner, all without being told.



I guess what happened in my case is that DH took over some of the fathering roles. I had only lived by myself for six months before we got married. Sometimes I wonder what would've happened if I'd chosen to stay living by myself and we'd broken up....




Like the ribbon? It's my Two Years of Breastfeeding award. I like it. I think I shall put it in the margins, since I have just recently figured out this html business.

No Gerry Butler Reference Today

Eeny just informed me he watched “Tickle-y Town Heroes.” It’s really Higglytown Heroes, and I hate that show. But I’m in here on the computer, doing Useful and Important things. Okay, not really. I’m putting off going downstairs to get Eeny’s shorts so he can go outside and take advantage of the weather. It’s 75 today. I’m feeling “a whole lot better,” at least I will if I can get some protein into me. DarthHusband has been taken down by an ugly stomach bug, and it seems he got what I had. Ugh.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Update from later this evening.

My mom took Eeny to his very first dance class tonight (I'm exhausted, and now Brandon's got The Sickness). Okay, so according to Daddy, who is Manly and Stuff, it's "gross motor movement" and it's called "Hop, Skip, Jump," but he was the only boy in a room full of pink tutus, so it's a damn dance class.

Anyway, she said he did really well for having never been in a group class before, and he really liked getting a car stamp on his hand. I asked him if he had dance class tonight, and he said yes. Then I asked him if he liked dance class. His response?

"I love dancing ballet."

Heh. That's my boy.

Take that, Daddy.


In other news, The Rooster has lately been holding a small squish pillow above his head, then flinging it down to the floor, and simultaneously landing on top of it, face first. This works really well, and is a crack up to watch, that is, until he decides to try this on the hardwood floor in the living room, and forgets to toss the pillow first. The poor baby has a nice big purple bruise, right in the middle of his forehead.

In still more other news, Eeny hung out at my dad's office a little tonight, and we've now discovered his first Big Fear. My eldest son is afraid of....................... (drumroll please).....................................
......................chickens. Yes, chickens.

Mom told me he got very upset at the sight of the Fisher~Price barn and farm yard, and started talking about the chickens behind the fence and saying he was scared of the chickens. I'd forgotten--when we were at the zoo last week in the petting section, he walked over to the outside of the fowl pen and was promptly rushed by a goose. Fortunately, a long talk about how there are no chickens in our house, and a few rounds of the "That Chicken's Got the Hiccups" song by The Wiggles seem to have done the trick for tonight.

Not a Kidney Infection

Instead, it's either the flu or a nasty virus that's been going around. And now, for your Gerard Butler Reference of the Day (drumroll, please): I wonder if he's had it.

There. You may all now stop holding your breath.

My fever went up tonight to 100.7, which is "I feel like ass" territory. It's come down with some ibuprofen and adequate hydration. Hmph. These bodies of ours are so dang picky. Always needing food, water, and sleep. Demanding, demanding, demanding. I've been too tired to eat the last few days, and I've had zero appetite. Hence, a brand new, 10-pound weightloss. Not exactly how I wanted to get my weight down, but I'll take it for now.

I promised Eeny he could do Pilates with me tomorrow, if I feel up to it. He's very excited about it.

The Rooster has decided that since he has now figure out how to manipulate all of his limbs, save his legs (without using the furniture for balance, that is), he is now big enough to start doing his own stunts. Seriously. DarthHusband bought him a tshirt that reads, "I do my own stunts." Today, the child picks up a pillow, throws it (over his head) in front of him, and flings himself down on it, arms up, face first. Then, when the pillow got old, he went to the carpet in Eeny's room and did the same thing, sans pillow, on the carpet.

He also stuck Mr. Potato Head's eyes into the ear socket all by himself.

Eeny danced around today singing about how he's playing his guitar with Murray. That's child's adorable. A run to the doctor's office for a urine sample today meant we missed this morning's episode of The Wiggles. Good thing we have two on DVD-R. No. Really.

In planning for this year's Halloween costume, I think I shall send him as a Wiggle. Perhaps even the revered Murray.

In other news, according to the nurse at the doc's office, if I'm not feeling "a whole lot better" tomorrow, I'm to come in and be seen. Then they'll want to see something besides my urine.

DarthHusband's going back to work tomorrow...here's to "feeling a whole lot better."

My Happy Bunny and more of the day's adventures

it's all about me. deal with it.


Who's Your Happy Bunny?
brought to you by Quizilla


It's my Happy Bunny!

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The Rooster has made the dive into solid foods with gusto. I was eating chicken soup today (I have a possible kidney infection and I feel like crap), and he pulled up on the couch next to me and smacked his lips three times. I made TheHusband feed him. Heh.

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Eeny, at 3am, sounding alert, bright, and cheerful:
Hey Mom!

Me: Mmrff?

E: I want bread!

Me: Mmm..bread?

E: Mommy feels yucky? Mommy feels hot. Hot. Hm, I'm hot. Hot bread. Toast is hot.

Me (the height of grogginess): Uh-huh.

E: I want toast!

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In my feverish haze, I spent the 8 o'clock hour flipping back and forth between a DVD-R'd 7th Heaven and Cinemax's showing of The Phantom of the Opera.

Gerry Butler is a handsome, handsome man. Even with half of his face distorted, I like. Having his shirt open halfway down his chest more than made up for the make up job.

I've decided I shall try and include one Gerard Butler reference in every post. I think I'll do this to see how long it takes other Gerry fans to find it. Maybe I can hook them into reading the details of my oh so fascinating life.

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Possible kidney infection fun: Doc doesn't call back after I've called the office at two complaining of a fever (if you must know, it's 99.5, but since my normal temperature's 96.3, that translates my 99.5 into something closer to 102.7 for the average mere mortal), lower back pain, and general crap for crappiness, and it's after five. I feel like total crap, and since I hate feeling like crap, and furthermore, the wellbeing of two small urchins depends on my not feeling like crap, I call the office again at 10 to 6. They page the doc, who calls me back 40 minutes later to tell me to bring in a urine sample in the morning. If he runs a pregnancy test on it, I shall be most displeased. The peed-on stick of two days ago indicated that is an impossibility.

The fatigue from this stupid illness is very similar to first trimester of pregnancy tiredness, but there's no fever with that.

Medical websites should not post things like, "The result of an untreated kidney infection is blood poisoning and death," without clarifying some sort of time frame. "Yes, if you let this go for a week and a half, you'll turn septic, but two days isn't going to send you over the edge." I think that would do quite nicely, don't you?

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I'm sleeping on the couch tonight, but I'm avoiding going to sleep. Sleeping with a fever is a guaranteed wake up feeling hot and oogie deal. Of all the things I hate, I hate feeling hot and oogie. Eeny's sleeping with DarthHusband in the bed which is too hard for my feverish self, and I'm about to go bring Rooster out to the couch with me, although I think I'll put him on his floor cushion (foam, flat, and kid friend) until he wakes up for the first time. I don't want to be touched. I want to feel better. ::::whine::::

I’m tired. And cranky. Very cranky. AF #2 since Rooster’s birth, and it hasn’t been very kind to me in the hormonal department. I hate it when I’m a bitch, but at this time, I don’t really have the energy to be anything but.

Rooster has started shaking his head “no.” He does it for fun, and it’s freaking adorable. Usually when someone’s talking about how Eeny is going to do something, he starts the shaking, with a big grin, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing. He calls me Mama. Eeny didn’t use Mama to mean me until well after a year old. This is nice. :) He’s such a snuggly little monkey. He’s getting closer to walking, but he still has this thing about moving that foot forward. Since he was crawling at 5 months, I’d held out hope for an early walker. No dice. I can almost guarantee this kid won’t walk before he turns one (April 5th).

Eeny is a crack up. TheHusband was putting him down for a nap today, and from his bedroom I hear, “No, Daddy! No, no, no, no, no! No take a nap! I need to play with my belly button!” Kinda hard to argue with that logic. Then tonight, while getting ready for bed (and this is a big cognitive thing), he was speaking in a very muffled tone, and DH asked, “Why does your voice sound like that?” Eeny answered, “I’ve got muffin in my mouth.” I’m so impressed. He’s 31 months old. Three is just around the corner. I can’t believe it. Three just seems so…well…big.

Of Masks, Milla Jovovich, and Gerard Butler

The Rooster is walking a dinosaur up my leg. In the opening words of every “Charlie and Lola” show, “he is small, and very funny.” He is, too.

Eeny’s arranged his dinosaurs very neatly around the tv. There are three easily accessible flat surfaces in the living room, and he picks the most complicated of the three. My child is a genius. LOL

DH is neither small, nor particularly funny. On purpose, that is. He was diagnosed with severe sleep apnea two weeks ago. His CPAP (it’s a breathing machine) arrived the night before last. Thanks to our insurance company’s fondness for red tape and paperwork, the medical supply company had to wait until they got approval from the insurance company before they could ship it. Said approval took a week. I’m sorry, how hard is it for someone to look at the information (28 year old male with sats consistently in the 70s during an apnea episode, with well over 800 of these episodes a night), and say yes. I’m cranky from a week longer than necessary of snoring, tossing and turning, and a husband who has finally discovered that there’s a reason for his exhaustion, and it’s not his schedule. It’s been a looooong few months.

So anyway, the machine has arrived. It fits well, he sleeps well with it, and the only complication we’ve had with it is that Eeny won’t stay in his usual spot, right next to TheHusband’s arm, in the middle of the night. The kids sleep with us. As long as at least one of them sleeps well, it works for us. We have a king sized bed, and there’s room for everybody. The addition of the mask to our sleep routine has temporarily (I hope) disrupted that. We discussed the option of giving it a name. Something that appeals to a two year old, that might make it less scary. We’re also weird people who occasionally name personal possessions. Case in point: I update this blog on a Dell Inspiron christened Lappy, after Strong Bad’s latest model.

Anyway, TheHusband shot down Masky (never really on the table to begin with) and Dylan. Why Dylan? I don’t know. I probably had some crazy association due to watching an SNL rerun with Jason Priestley as host. Of course, I was several years too young to fully appreciate the glories of 90210, but I could identify all of the main cast members. Anyway, Dylan has been vetoed. Then, TheHusband said if anything’s going to be on his face all night, it’s going to have a woman’s name. He suggested Milla (as in Jovovich). I told him if he did that, I’d get myself a “toy” and name it Gerard (Butler). Not so funny when the shoe’s on the other foot now, is it, Husband, eh?

He does have a thing for Milla Jovovich. It doesn’t really bug me, unless I stop to consider that I am sooo not her type. He’s a Milla in “The Fifth Element” fan. The tall, rail thin, bright blue eyes, and meh sized rack just get to him. It amuses me to no end that he ended up with me. I’m tall, but not overly so. I used to be pretty thin, but I’ve had two babies. I’m not fat, I’m just bigger than I used to be. He’s soooo not a boob guy. I have a set designed to impress. I’ll consider a reduction someday after we’re done having kids. The H-cup plus the 34 band size makes for a sometimes uncomfortable combination. On the other hand, it looks pretty darn good on me. I’ll keep them for now.

The worst drawback to the mask as apnea treatment I can think of is that it puts an end to the surprise middle of the night sex sessions. They’re how we got the Rooster, and I’ll be sad to see them go. Not like there’s been too much of that around here anyway. Please mentally add a heavy sigh after reading that sentence. That’s also been the worst side effect of the apnea in general. How many men are legitimately “too tired” for sex? I mean really, how annoying. I thought I was supposed to be the one fending off advances several times a week. No, instead, our evenings go with me making some sort of advance, and him shooting me down in about 5 seconds flat. I sincerely hope that once he gets used to the mask, and is actually getting some good sleep, he’ll have a sex drive again. I’ve reached consensus with Ani and Beej. I’m tall, nice, have a great chest and the ass isn’t half bad either, an extremely reasonable sex drive, and I put up with waaaaay more shit than I should. Which of these qualities is not to like in one's spouse?

I'm back

It's been a while. Things have been busy. TheHusband has Obstructive Sleep Apnea. I'm listening to him choke and struggle to breathe over the baby monitor now. He's very excited about getting his CPAP machine. He's looking forward to being able to breathe and actually get beyond stage one sleep for once.

The Gerard Butler fascination continues. Dang, he's hot.

I went to the Women's Fair today, with C (business partner and friend). We've nicely networked ourselves into some free advertising. :D Yay us! We had to park at the local baseball stadium, and a shuttle service was provided. The shuttle service was intelligent enough to provide us with eye candy drivers. C and I hopped on the bus and had the lovely opportunity to swoon. Shuttle Driver number one was vurra vurra nice. Shuttle Driver Number Two was also very nice, and it turns out I knew him from college. If I'd married him, I could have had redheaded children. C seemed impressed by my knowing the eye candy.

TheHusband and I have just been released from our last free session of marriage counseling. It's been a very positive thing. Now, if he'll just get some sleep so his sex drive can return, I'll be a happy woman.....

A Day in the Life of...

Our house. My New Year's Resolution--update this thing more often.

The Rooster has an ear infection. Eeny hasn't ever had one, so we're on new turf. Rooster's on amoxicillin for it. He did really well the first few days, but today has given me zero cooperation.

Our Adventure in Infant Medication:

Step 1: Attempt to squirt medication via syringe into Squirming Hollering Infant's cheek.

Step 2: Wipe bright pink staining medication off of Infant's mouth, head, and outfit, then off of self, the couch, and brand new shirt.

Step 3: Since the syringe obviously isn't working, try putting a little bit in a baby spoon and see if he'll bite.

Step 4: Oh, he bites all right. No really. I'd like the spoon back, please. Stop waggling it at me and giggling. You're getting pink stuff everywhere.

Step 5: Wipe bright pink staining medication off of Infant's mouth, head, and outfit, then off of self, the high chair, and brand new shirt.

Step 6: Out of desperation, think to mix meds with prunes. Cautiously edge spoon to infant's mouth.

Step 7: After prying spoon from Infant's teeth, wipe Prun-icillin from self, brand new shirt, jeans, table, and hair.

Step 8: Put mixture in the fridge for an hour or so later, and acknowledge that an 8 month old has beaten me.

Step 9: Deposit amoxi-prune-covered Infant in bathtub, and watch him expend large amounts of energy crawling back and forth and splashing. Attempt to scrub mixture from Infant's face and end up realizing that the brand new shirt will never be the same again, and the bathroom floor really needs a good mopping.

Step 10: Convince Infant that the bathtub is worth leaving by surreptitiously pulling the plug. Realize the towel has been forgotten and rush dripping Infant through the house to the room, where it is realized that the only clean dry thing resembling a towel is a flannel receiving blanket.

Step 11: Dry Infant with receiving blanket amid gales of baby laughter that is almost certainly at Mommy and not with Mommy. Diaper.

Step 12: Take cute pictures of Infant with Flock of Seagulls 'do, then another of Infant with a mohawk, then another of the Infant attacking Mommy with kisses.

Step 13: Stuff protesting infant into sleeper.

Step 14: Nurse infant to sleep and hope he'll stay that way long enough for his clothes to be thrown in the washer, then despair of him ever getting to wear cute little "Born at Home" t-shirt in public again.



Now that that's done, some Eenyisms:

Eeny: Where's Jeff?
(Jeff's the Purple Wiggle, for those unaware of the details of children's television)
Me: I don't know.
Eeny (knowingly): Sleepin da countryside.
Me: He is? Oh good.
Eeny (emphatically): Sleepin da countryside.
Me: Where's Jeff?
Eeny: Sleepin da countryside. Sleepin da backseat. Oh, big red car.


My pint-sized Wiggles fan has also decided that no one may sleep if he's awake. Someone sleeping results in:

Eeny: Rooster sleeping.

Me: Yes, Rooster's sleeping. Please use your quiet voice.

Eeny: Rooster sleeping. Let's wake 'im up.

Me (hoarse whisper): Ack! No! Shhhhhhh!!!!

Eeny (waaaay too enthusiastically): Ooooooone! Twooooooooooo! THREE! WAKE UP
ROOSTER!!!!!

Rooster: ::::cracking one eye::::

Me: Whew! Eeny, you must be quiet. Rooster is taking a nap.

Eeny: No, Rooster wake up. WAKE UP ROOSTER!

Rooster: :::baby grumbling, progressing to a full-fledged yell::::

Me: Why couldn't you sing "Rock a Bye Your Bear?" Argh.