Oy. This morning I woke up to dreary skies and a sniffly, snotty Alaina. Poor munchkin caught the plague from an unknown source, and is now sneezing/coughing all over the place. I don’t have very much faith that the rest of us won’t follow suit, and man, is this going to be rough. Julianna has never had a cold before, and sick babies are NOT happy campers. Neither are sick husbands, and while I’m taking care of sick babes, I don’t know if I’ll have the strength to baby Andrew like every man craves.
What is it with men, anyway? I had some sort of AWFUL virus a while back, puking all over the place and doubled over with horrific, gut-wrenching stomach cramps. I got treated somewhat like I was exaggerating. A man gets the sniffles and it’s all over. They are going to DIE, they lay on the couch moaning piteously about being toooo haaaaawt and then they are freeeeezing, and then before you know it, they’re hungry and can’t find the remote and need a tissue and a dose of Dayquil and wah wah wahhhhh. If you’re not available to wait on them hand on foot, you clearly do not love them and my GAWD, how DARE you be in the bathroom, he needs VAPOR RUB, you selfish whore. Ahem. I don’t have issues with sick husbands, I swear! I think I’m just in need of a little TLC now and then to combat this (slight) bitterness.
Moving on… I ordered an exersaucer from Amazon, and it’s not here yet. It says it should be here tomorrow, but I am of little faith. The tracking info says it was shipped on the 29th, but nothing else. As far as I know, my exersaucer is still in Kentucky. Which, no… bad… NOT OKAY. I need that thing! My sanity! It is at stake here! Please, please deliver my exersaucer tomorrow, FedEx people. A sick toddler and a baby who could be getting sick and a mom who could very well lose the three effing marbles she is so desperately clinging to would really appreciate it.
P.S., it looks like it may just rain around these parts in the near future. Andrew broke my windshield wipers mid-summer, and hasn’t found the time (too busy playing with his boat) to fix them yet. If you don’t hear from me soon, it may be because I have killed him.
Today I had jury duty and completely forgot all about it. COMPLETELY. I have been looking at the slip of paper for over a week, which is sitting on my computer desk as a reminder to NOT FORGET to call and let them know that I’m not coming, they can’t make me, so THERE. Though I must admit, I feel the need to confess. A little part of me was actually kind of intrigued by it all. They want me? ME? I must be special or something. Maybe it would be a big interesting murder trial or something. While I realize that it’s not very nice to fantasize about a person being murdered and the need of a murder trial to inject a bit of interest into my boring life, I can’t say that I didn’t have a moment or two where I actually considered doing everything within my power to ditch the kidlets with an unsuspecting relative in order to fulfill my civic duty. (Award for best run-on sentence ever goes to… (wait for it)… ME!)
I was reminded that I had somewhere to be as I talked on the phone with a friend of mine, and she said something about a county clerk (some sort of clerk, I don’t know) in a book she’s reading. Clerk? Jury DUTY! Expletive, expletive! Then I got off of the phone and called the court, where I sat on hold for no less than twenty minutes before my phone abruptly hung up. Needs charging, read the caller-id. Niiiice. I’m going to go TO JAIL to be beaten with sticks because you are a needy shithead who needs to be charged CONSTANTLY, lest you just give up and die. Hate, hate, red-hot HATE you, cheap stupid VTech phone.
So I haven’t talked to anyone from the court yet, and I honestly don’t know what to do. Call and beg? Be honest and tell them that I read the paper extensively doing the one-eyed mom speed-read? Feed them my excuses? Plead for a break because MY KIDS, they make me insane and my HUSBAND, he worked every day last week except Sunday and it’s his fault I don’t know what day it is and my PHONE, wouldn’t let me call if I even really, really wanted to? Blech. Blah. Wretch. Help?
So on Monday when I said that I would post the results of Julianna’s well check on Tuesday, that was a big fat LIE. Sorry, life got a little bit hectic, as it sometimes does with children in tow. I really can’t blame my kids this time, because my mother was here Sunday night through Thursday night. No time for blogging, no time for photo editing. Now that mom went home, I have more time for stuffing my face with Wheatables and playing in Lightroom while the kidlets nap.
Lia is now tipping the scales at 16 pounds, and she’s a whopping 26 inches tall. While she is only in the 50th percentile for her weight and height, she is in 6-9 month clothes, already having outgrown her newborn, 0-3, and 3-6 month sized outfits. She’s already getting so big, so independent. She’s eating solids (I use the term “solids” loosely), and even some rudimentary crackers and cookies. She’s sitting up. She’s rolling and scooting all over the dang place. She’s even getting up on her sweet little hands and pudgy little knees, giving her belly full ground clearance. She rocks back and forth and gurgles and coos until she inevitably falls, only to get right back up again. That’s my girl.
I look my chubby little Lia and how big she’s already gotten, and I feel so robbed. I feel stupid for lamenting for a single moment, much less months, that she was a girl baby and so we may be done having children (for hubby’s fear of a third girl) (not the end of the effing WORLD, in my opinion). I had a hard time truly bonding with her because of that, until I really took some time to examine my feelings and realize how selfish I was being. She is a beautiful, healthy little girl, and to wish for anything besides her was wrong from day one. I’m so thrilled that I’ve kicked those ill-placed feelings of resentment and fallen so completely in love with my second little princess, my Squish, my Lia Bee. This is the way it’s supposed to be, and I’m finally 100% there.
I’m feeling a whole lot better lately since I only have two doses left of my high-priced Keflex and my girly parts are no longer in constant agony. My IUD and I are getting along better these days, less pain and cramping all the time and more no-fuss birth control, which, SCORE. I wouldn’t mind being knocked up again, but oh man would Andrew be one unhappy camper. This way, when we have our next baby it will have been a (mostly) mutual decision and he can be happy too (or at least pretend).
My mom is over visiting for a while, which is nice. The days go by a lot faster with someone to talk to besides myself and a toddler who mostly asks questions and a baby who still only gurgles. Today’s agenda was grocery shopping, most of which I still haven’t put away because my pantry needs to be re-organized (yes, I organize my pantry) and cleaned, and I just don’t feel energized enough for that tonight. Especially when I know tomorrow’s agenda includes hauling ass to get ready for Julianna’s 6-month well-check at 9:45 in the morning.
On that note, when did my little precious newborn get so big? Big enough to be learning to crawl? I can’t believe how fast the time has gone. I really feel like I was JUST pregnant with her a few weeks ago, and already she’s almost through her first year of life. In a way I feel robbed, because I honestly cannot fathom where the last six months have slipped away to.
More tomorrow… pictures, Julianna’s six-month stats, etc. Now to go clean my pantry. Maybe.
So it turns out I totally DO have a UTI, go me and my bacterial self! I have been prescribed Keflex, an antibiotic that apparently there is no generic form of, and it cost me $35 even with my insurance. That kind of pissed me off, seeing as I’ve never paid more that $5 for a bottle of pills EVER. I talked with the pharmacist, and apparently, Keflex is “safe” for breastfeeding. By safe, they mean it won’t kill my baby, it just might give her some good old fashioned thrush, maybe some diarrhea. As an added bonus, maybe I’ll get a yeast infection. Party in my pants, everyone. Because my life? Is fabulous and you want to be me so badly right now you can hardly contain yourself.
Indication that you are too drugged to be typing a blog: you just spelled ‘diarrhea’ no less than eleven times before deciding that the ‘h’ goes near the end there, and if it doesn’t, it can screw itself. Also, you just invited the entire internet to a party in your pants. Where are your manners tonight?
Anyway, to go with my perpetual IUD-induced uterine bleeding, I now have bladder bleeding, and to go with that I have a smashing migrane headache. I dug out the drugs my OB/GYN prescribed me when Julianna was born, determined to at least feel a bit less craptastic. One was Motrin, one was Vicoden. I took the Motrin and it didn’t do BEANS for my headache, let alone anything else. So I decided, you know what? I’m tired, I’m hurty all over, and I just want to sleep… nice, drug induced sleep. I took a Vicoden with my antibiotic and instead of going to sleep, here I am. Blathering on like an idiot because for one, I wanted some cranberry juice and on the way I found the computer, and two, I may or may not be dreaming right now. I guess if this post is here in the morning, I’ll know for sure. Goodnight, sleep tight, so on and so forth.
Last night was Jennie Wednesday, which means that my sister and friend came over and we watched the premiere of America’s Next Top Model (yes, I watch, and yes, I love). We had Shannon dye our hair, ate manicotti (YUM), and discovered that I have a urinary tract infection. Go meeeee! I started feeling like I had to pee an awful lot, then it hurt when I peed, and then it BLED when I peed. Score. It was 11:00 at night, past the hours of urgent care, and I wasn’t going to make a trip to the ER for this. So Shannon and I went down to the local grocery store to stock up on cranberry juice. I figured at the very least, being hydrated can’t be a negative point. So, cranberry juice and woe-is-me feelings for moi last night. And now? It’s off to urgent care to hope that they’ll give me some fast, hard drugs to make this thing leave me alone. Something that I can take that will make me all better, and hopefully not poison my breastfeeding infant, like the last time they tried to give me medicine there. GAH.
Off to pee in a cup…
Our long weekend (or really, our week, since Andrew took some time off) was pretty kicked-back and relaxed, which was much needed. Somewhere in that week we celebrated our 2-year marriage anniversary, saw The Dark Knight (awesome, amazing, run to your nearest theater), and took the kidlets to the boardwalk. We had lunch at a little Mexican place, walked around downtown Santa Cruz, the mall, and downtown Capitola, drove around and listened to music and went to Dairy Queen (Snickers-Butterfinger Blizzard = heaven in a cup) all CHILD-FREE. I really needed that. I miss spending time alone with Andrew, when we can just enjoy one another without having to wipe boogers/change diapers/raise little humans. We get along so nicely at those times… it gives me hope that maybe when the kids are grown and gone, my husband won’t have died years before from blunt force trauma mysteriously poisoned dinner um, stress? The hope is that we will still get along and will be able to enjoy the rest of our lives. Days to ourselves really remind us that we care about one another, and that there was a time (before babies and bills) when our love was simple. I’m thinking we should definitely implement a Date Day. At least once a month, because the days following are blissful, and the stress relief is unimaginable. Unless you have two (or however many) small children of your own, and then you likely know EXACTLY what I’m talking about.
So, rambling aside, this last week was a pretty good one. The kids had a blast and I am not plotting my husband’s demise at present (this is subject to change). Back to work for everyone today! Back to laundry and exploding poop diapers. To dishes and grocery shopping and chicken nuggets on the run. My sister came over after work and came with us to Target and Winco, and that was pretty awesome. An extra pair of hands to baby-wrangle or toddler-threaten is always a plus.
Side note: Hypothetically, if your mother-in-law was terrifyingly like Marie Barone a la Everybody Loves Raymond, what would you do? Hypothetically?
P.S. This post was really all over the place, because my thoughts are mostly fragmented at present. Thank you, Firefox spell check, for keeping me from looking like a TOTAL idiot. Instead, I’m only sort of an idiot.
P.S.S. More coherent thoughts brewing. I think. I hope! While you wait, gaze upon my way-cute children.
So, after yesterday’s touch of insanity, I’m feeling a bit better today. I no longer have the violent urge to throw one of my children like a lawn dart, nor the urge to beat my husband beyond recognition. Yay! It’s much nicer to NOT feel like at any moment, I could combust. I think my uterus is a little angrier today, though. Cramps galore! Fun! The kids have been WAY less screechy and whiny today, which makes for a much happier mama. Much less likely to throw one of them, lawn dart style.
(What? I would NEVER throw one of my kids. Maybe.)
Julianna has started solids, full speed ahead. She started waking up during the night again for a little midnight snack, so I assumed she wasn’t getting enough anymore to keep her satisfied through the night. The pediatrician said at her four month visit that her body was READY for cereal, but to hold out as long as I could (for allergy reasons). Well, this whole “holding out” thing I was doing was beginning to cut into my precious sleep time, so rice cereal was introduced. At first she made a lot of “yuck” faces, and even did The Full-Body Shiver of Disgust. She had a few more feedings, and got to the point where she couldn’t get enough. So I gave her some bananas, and life was good. She loved it, no reactions, just a happy, well-fed chub, who slept through the night, praise jeebus. Until the next day, when she unleashed that banana/rice cereal combo from the other end. Her purple butterfly outfit will never be the same.
I love my family, I really do. Lately though, I get the feeling that if I don’t get some breathing room, this will all end unhappily. And you may hear about it on the news. Is it fair that men don’t really have the same responsibilities as women when it comes to raising kids? I’m sure some do, some lucky girls who found Mr. Mom and who is as giving as can be. My husband thinks that he worked all week, so he has earned two days off to do whatever he wants (aka, fishing). I disagree. I get NO days off, EVER. I want to SLEEP IN, dammit. Do something BY MYSELF. Seriously, you know it’s bad when you go to your annual pap smear appointment and actually enjoy it, because for one beautiful hour, you weren’t mom, you weren’t wife, you were just YOU.
Okay, enough bitching and talking in the third person. I just have my plate piled high from the shit buffet right now. Andrew got into a car accident (everyone is fine) and now we’re dealing with the insurance garbage about that. A good friend of mine recently had a baby who passed away a short 13
days after being born. Another friend of mine has something wrong with her, it’s pretty serious but we don’t know what it actually IS yet. I got one of those Mirena IUC deals installed in my poor, unsuspecting uterus, who is 100% pissed off, making me crampy and bloaty and gross. Bills. Kids. Husband. Anniversary in one week and completely unprepared. And Hallmark. FUCKING Hallmark. They have their stupid Christmas ornaments out. Already. Since July. JULY. Don’t they know that this makes me psychotic and neurotic and… crazy?! I can’t even really handle that Halloween is bearing down on me, much less effing Christmas. The universe can just go ahead and stop crapping on my life now. Really. Anytime now.
*Exhale*
And to make this not a completely horrible post, how about some pictures of my way cute children?
Julianna, being adorable a giggly and sweet. Seriously, it’s a good thing I had a (mostly) happy baby. Because otherwise? My head may have exploded. For reals.
And here’s my little monster, being a little monster on the swings at the park. This girl has so much attitude, I just… agh! Mom, all your curses were not in vain. I have a child at LEAST as patience trying as I was.
Today marks a monumental step for me as a cook. I am right now, at this very minute, boiling a whole chicken. The reasons that this is such a big deal are threefold: one, every kind of meat I’ve ever cooked before has been of the frozen, processed variety; two, I’m a big wuss and there is a WHOLE DEAD BIRD in my pot; and three, it actually may come out of said pot edible. Yes, that was the whole point, but I have this incredible knack for messing up food. When it’s as simple as boil a chicken in water, if I were to somehow inject my usual dose of folly into the situation, the results could be disastrous.
My grandma happened to call right after I put the chicken into the pot, and had been freshly icked-out by the chicken. She laughed and laughed as I told her that I was supposed to purchase a whole CUT UP fryer, not a whole fryer. Then how I was really, REALLY hoping that this little bird wouldn’t be like a turkey – hollowed out with only the tasty organs left inside. Much to my dismay, it was. I rinsed the chicken in cold water as instructed, and was horrified when what appeared to be this poor bird’s NECK fell out of it’s… um… cavity. (Would it be inappropriate to call it the bird’s ass? Yes? Okay.) I finished rinsing the chicken and put it in a pot of water boiling on the stove. As water filled the uh, cavity, it bubbled and gurgled and pooped out another organ. I fetched a spoon, fished out what appeared to be a tiny liver, and flung it into the garbage disposal as if it were infecting my hand via the spoon. My grandma just laughed as I recounted my tale of horror and anguish, told me I was a big baby, and then congratulated me for not just chucking the whole thing into the garbage and reverting to frozen breasts as my own mother would have done. Which made me feel proud of myself until the chicken was done, and I had to fish it out of the pot again.
First, I tried using a big spoon and a fork. WRONG. Oh so wrong. It just made the bird fall into about a zillion pieces that I now had to fish for. I got a second large spoon and scooped up the main piece of chicken. Then I used a slotted spoon to fish out the smaller pieces, reserving the broth for another step in the recipe I was using. After the chicken cooled to temperatures that didn’t seer my flesh off (yes, I tried to pick it apart right away, I am blond), I pulled the chicken off of the bones and set it aside. Not before I had a fit over the spine and the discovery of yet another organ, which Hubby pointed out was probably the heart. In a word? Eww!
The end of this story is a happy one! I survived and turned out quite a yummy dish, if I do say so myself. And I can attribute this success to my solid-steel stomach and resolve (ha), and The Pioneer Woman, whom I love and adore.
Meal Stats!
Dinner Prepared: Chicken Spaghetti
Time: A loooong time, but only because I am disorganized and crazy and had to take a break to give my two year old a bath, who then pooped in the tub. The longest part was cooking the chicken and picking the meat off of the bones. Assembling the dish and chopping the veggies was simple and went together in a snap. You can get this dish cooked relatively quickly if you follow PW’s directions. I’m no good at following directions. I’m a rebel (again, HA).
Hubby said: Good… not fond of the fact that there are vegetables in this dish. Dislikes crunch and texture and just KNOWING they are there. Otherwise, yummy overall flavor and very filling.
Toddler said: Yummy! Except when she came across a veggie, which she pulled out of her mouth and declared, “Too yucky!”
Overall: I would definitely make this again. Next time I will either sauté the peppers and onions, or use a food processor to mince them away to nothing. Or maybe both, so there will still be delicious flavor, but less complaining from the peanut gallery.
