So, you know how I'm always saying, "Oh, I have no friends here, and it sucks, and I suck at making friends, and what do I do blah blah blah?" Well, I fully acknowledge that it's my fault. I think it's totally unfair that an extrovert gets saddled with sometimes crippling shyness (THANK YOU evil evil elementary school classmates), but that's my problem to deal with, not this mean, unfriendly town's. Well, what makes it worse is that James has a coworker who lives right here in town. Within walking distance of our house. His wife is a SAHM, and they have a two-year-old and a newborn. They are normal and nice people. They shower and do not smell of dirty socks. And yet! Here I am, a hermit in my own house while prime friend fodder lives just a mile away. Idiot.
Well, today we're bringing dinner over to their house (see above, regarding newborn and two-year-old), and I am flipping out. What if the food sucks? What if they die of food poisoning (seriously, I kept sniffing the meat as I cut it up, absolutely CERTAIN that the meat I'd taken out of the freezer just yesterday was maggoty and rotten)? What if I say something wildly inappropriate (okay, so that's a given, and I should just learn how to recover gracefully in these situations instead of worrying about the inevitable happening)? It's times like this a beer would be really handy. I actually laid awake at night, worried sick about how to make conversation without making a donkey's rear of myself.
And do you know what? All this stupid worry always turns out to be for naught. Sure, I say inappropriate things on a daily basis (I have this compulsive need to make everything funny, which means I sometimes do things like make fart jokes at the dinner table), but no one even notices except me. And when I've finally gotten to know people well enough to share with them that I was absolutely terrified of them for the first three years of our relationship, they say things like, "What? Really? You seem so outgoing."
Hah.
The dinner I am making is this fajita stew. It is fabulous. And it takes five minutes to prepare (provided you do not have a clingy fourth-grader-sized toddler hanging off your hip and screaming in your ear). I've made it twice before, and each time I'm surprised at how good it is. The best part is that you can use a super cheap cut of beef, and it's still tender and full of flavor. I love red meat like I love cheese and chocolate, but I refuse to pay $4/lb for a round steak, thank you very much (on special! in the middle of Farm Country, USA! I do not understand!).
Even The Child loves it. We always go through a few minutes of breathless anticipation before we try to feed her a new meal. Will she eat it? Will she get enough food for dinner that she won't be cranky all night? Will we want to kill ourselves for not making something else for dinner?
These days she rarely rejects anything we feed her, so long as she sees us eating it first. But it still happens. And since I'm evil, I won't just give her something different. She gets other dishes, of course, but only what I'm already serving her. So if all she gets for dinner is apple sauce and Cheerios, that's her problem. Except that it's also our problem because she makes it our problem. As I said, though, this is rare anymore. We actually have a bigger problem with finding enough foods for her to eat. The other day at lunch she had a bowl of stew, a scrambled egg with spinach, two fruit cups, some oatmeal, yogurt, and a trillion Cheerios. I started a mental tally in my head of all the foods in the fridge that were good for her to eat without any preparation. If she hadn't stopped after the Cheerios, it would have been a dessert of shredded cheese in milk. And yet, she's still a string bean. I wish I knew her secret.
I realize there will probably come a day when she's suddenly a really picky eater, but I'm hoping her current zeal for any and all foods means there's a chance she won't go through that stage. Or that it will be shorter. Or less severe. And this is where all you experienced parents clutch your bellies as you laugh and laugh and laugh.
All right. Lots to do today. I need to get off my rear (no small feat these days, by the way, despite my tiny weight gain; it seems I'm a thousand times less coordinated this time around than I was with Grace).
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Babies plural will probably do me in
I had a horrific dream last night. Thankfully, it was an absurd horrific dream, not a realistic horrific dream, so it was easy to shake once I was awake (unlike the ten or so times I've dreamed James has died in a car accident or shooting or whatever). I still woke up sobbing. I dreamed Grace had Alzheimer's. Which is really stupid, of course, but I dreamed I watched my baby lose her mind, and it cast a bit of a pall over much of my day. I kept watching her play so sweetly and thinking, "If she turns out to be a drug addict, I'll remember her at this age, and how horrible will that be?"
Yay for crazy pregnant ladies.
I know I haven't been around much lately, either reading or writing. The Child has shorter and shorter naps, and when she is awake, she is more and more demanding of my time and attention, so I just don't feel like being on here when she is asleep. Lame explanation, I know, but napping is one of the most important things in my life right now, when I can manage to fall asleep.
I did manage to start V, finally. I've been meaning to watch it since it premiered, but kept napping instead. So far, so good. I love seeing all these old Firefly cast members. Speaking of which, if anyone watches Castle, how awesome was the Halloween episode with all the Buffy and Firefly references?
Anyway, V was pretty awesome, and I like seeing the lady who plays Juliet (Lost) in a less annoying, less smirky role. Also, I have a girl crush on Inara (can't remember real life name). She's so pretty.
Doctor's appointment yesterday. Nothing exciting. Finally got to see my favorite doctor of the bunch, Dr. M. And I completely forgot to ask him his opinion on a VBAC. All of the other three have expressed pretty varied opinions (I like this; I realize doctor's offices have to have set policies on certain things, but I also like that they're individuals with their own opinions, not a hive mind), so I very much wanted his. Oh well. Next appointment, perhaps.
2.0 is hyperactive. She is awake and kicking all the time. Grace was more prone to sporadic (yet violent) outbursts. This one just does lazy somersaults all day.
Speaking of Grace, she has now learned a new word. "Block." Only, it comes out "bop," and she applies it to all smallish toy-like objects, including my spice jars. She may also have "up" and "hi" and "bye," but the verdict is still out on that. Those teeny little one-syllable words are so hard to distinguish from pure coincidence. Throw in our own conviction that she's the most intelligent child on Earth, and it's pretty much impossible to figure out.
Her sleep is still unreliable, but it's no longer beating me relentlessly into an endless gray fog of hopelessness (sounds melodramatic, but that is exactly how I start to feel after just a few days of interrupted sleep). She'll go two to three days at a time now without incident, which allows me to catch up a little on sleep. I'm still a little dull in the head, which I think also contributes to my not writing. But! It seems things are getting better. And I hope I haven't jinxed it all just now.
The other night, she woke up at 5:30 in the morning. I brought her some water, and she downed about four ounces in one go. Then she snuggled up to me against the crib rails, and I started singing to her. Halfway through "You Are My Sunshine," she pulled away, looked up, put her hand on my cheek, and said, "Mama." Devious child got at least five extra minutes of cuddling just for that--after I picked my dead body up off the floor. I am such a sucker.
James is also "mama" now, by the way, which is endlessly amusing to me. If I exclaim, "Daddy's home!" or ask, "Where's Dada?" she goes completely nuts with excitement, though, so it's not as if she doesn't know his name. When he's in the room, I pretty much cease to exist. This bothers me less than you might think. If we were both away from her all day, it would probably hurt, but I enjoy the break.
I'm still swimming, hurray! It's getting harder. Most of the time, when you exercise regularly, things get easier, right? Well, not so much when your drag coefficient increases exponentially by the day. I do a lot of kicking, not so much actual swimming. It is very hard to keep my midsection afloat. I would think I'd become more buoyant, what with most of this weight being fat and water, but that's apparently not the way it works. Pregnant ladies get more awkward both on land and in water. Awesome!
The best part is getting out of the pool at the end of a workout. "Beached whale" has become a cliche because it is so true. I refuse to use a ladder. This is stupid. But still, I refuse. So I thrash my way up onto the edge of the pool and then struggle to my feet. It's not the weight so much as it is tired muscles and terrible balance on slippery tile. (actually, I'm still -3 lbs for weight gain) Still, I look like a beached whale. A beached whale trying to climb a ladder. A rope ladder. With missing rungs.
Also, I don't have a maternity suit, so I just look like I have the most bizarre body shape known to mankind. When your torso is the length of a postage stamp, that skinnier space between the bosoms and the belly is essential. Well, with a regular old suit, that space is webbed over in lycra. I look like a pumpkin stuck with four toothpicks and a cantaloupe out the top. We won't even get into how idiotic I look in a swim cap to begin with.
This is okay, though. I'm already feeling better about myself, even if the swimming itself isn't getting any easier. I sleep better, and I have more energy when I'm awake. It's a glorious feeling, this being able to function like a normal human kind of thing. Almost forgot what it felt like.
Yay for crazy pregnant ladies.
I know I haven't been around much lately, either reading or writing. The Child has shorter and shorter naps, and when she is awake, she is more and more demanding of my time and attention, so I just don't feel like being on here when she is asleep. Lame explanation, I know, but napping is one of the most important things in my life right now, when I can manage to fall asleep.
I did manage to start V, finally. I've been meaning to watch it since it premiered, but kept napping instead. So far, so good. I love seeing all these old Firefly cast members. Speaking of which, if anyone watches Castle, how awesome was the Halloween episode with all the Buffy and Firefly references?
Anyway, V was pretty awesome, and I like seeing the lady who plays Juliet (Lost) in a less annoying, less smirky role. Also, I have a girl crush on Inara (can't remember real life name). She's so pretty.
Doctor's appointment yesterday. Nothing exciting. Finally got to see my favorite doctor of the bunch, Dr. M. And I completely forgot to ask him his opinion on a VBAC. All of the other three have expressed pretty varied opinions (I like this; I realize doctor's offices have to have set policies on certain things, but I also like that they're individuals with their own opinions, not a hive mind), so I very much wanted his. Oh well. Next appointment, perhaps.
2.0 is hyperactive. She is awake and kicking all the time. Grace was more prone to sporadic (yet violent) outbursts. This one just does lazy somersaults all day.
Speaking of Grace, she has now learned a new word. "Block." Only, it comes out "bop," and she applies it to all smallish toy-like objects, including my spice jars. She may also have "up" and "hi" and "bye," but the verdict is still out on that. Those teeny little one-syllable words are so hard to distinguish from pure coincidence. Throw in our own conviction that she's the most intelligent child on Earth, and it's pretty much impossible to figure out.
Her sleep is still unreliable, but it's no longer beating me relentlessly into an endless gray fog of hopelessness (sounds melodramatic, but that is exactly how I start to feel after just a few days of interrupted sleep). She'll go two to three days at a time now without incident, which allows me to catch up a little on sleep. I'm still a little dull in the head, which I think also contributes to my not writing. But! It seems things are getting better. And I hope I haven't jinxed it all just now.
The other night, she woke up at 5:30 in the morning. I brought her some water, and she downed about four ounces in one go. Then she snuggled up to me against the crib rails, and I started singing to her. Halfway through "You Are My Sunshine," she pulled away, looked up, put her hand on my cheek, and said, "Mama." Devious child got at least five extra minutes of cuddling just for that--after I picked my dead body up off the floor. I am such a sucker.
James is also "mama" now, by the way, which is endlessly amusing to me. If I exclaim, "Daddy's home!" or ask, "Where's Dada?" she goes completely nuts with excitement, though, so it's not as if she doesn't know his name. When he's in the room, I pretty much cease to exist. This bothers me less than you might think. If we were both away from her all day, it would probably hurt, but I enjoy the break.
I'm still swimming, hurray! It's getting harder. Most of the time, when you exercise regularly, things get easier, right? Well, not so much when your drag coefficient increases exponentially by the day. I do a lot of kicking, not so much actual swimming. It is very hard to keep my midsection afloat. I would think I'd become more buoyant, what with most of this weight being fat and water, but that's apparently not the way it works. Pregnant ladies get more awkward both on land and in water. Awesome!
The best part is getting out of the pool at the end of a workout. "Beached whale" has become a cliche because it is so true. I refuse to use a ladder. This is stupid. But still, I refuse. So I thrash my way up onto the edge of the pool and then struggle to my feet. It's not the weight so much as it is tired muscles and terrible balance on slippery tile. (actually, I'm still -3 lbs for weight gain) Still, I look like a beached whale. A beached whale trying to climb a ladder. A rope ladder. With missing rungs.
Also, I don't have a maternity suit, so I just look like I have the most bizarre body shape known to mankind. When your torso is the length of a postage stamp, that skinnier space between the bosoms and the belly is essential. Well, with a regular old suit, that space is webbed over in lycra. I look like a pumpkin stuck with four toothpicks and a cantaloupe out the top. We won't even get into how idiotic I look in a swim cap to begin with.
This is okay, though. I'm already feeling better about myself, even if the swimming itself isn't getting any easier. I sleep better, and I have more energy when I'm awake. It's a glorious feeling, this being able to function like a normal human kind of thing. Almost forgot what it felt like.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
I'm a little stoned, so this may ramble a bit
Don't worry; the drugs are fully sanctioned by my doctors. And yes, everybody's fine.
Nothing like getting kicked when you're down. I was just getting over that stupid cold, FINALLY, when Mother of All Headaches stopped by for a visit. Well, okay, I've had worse headaches. Lots worse. But it's been years. And a lot has changed since then, like having a boisterous toddler (almost toddler, actually... dawdler?) and a boisterous fetus. Even though it totally ruined the weekend, I must say the timing on this headache was perfect.
It started as a nice, meek tension headache sometime around Friday. I usually ignore those, since there's not much I can do about them except wait for my neck muscles to unclench (thank you, pregnancy, for robbing me of my sweet, sweet ibuprofen; well, actually, until 30 weeks I'm allowed to take it when absolutely necessary, but I limit myself to the really bad headaches). And then I was really stupid and gorged myself on sugar Friday and Saturday, forgetting that sugar is a migraine trigger. It's been so long since I had a migraine that I haven't had to worry about it in ages. Anyway, the real beating started on Sunday, and James--wonderful James!--picked up the slack like a champion. Cheerfully, even. I think I'll keep him.
So I spent Sunday moaning and clutching my head. And since there was no light/sound sensitivity this time around, I just thought it was a really bad tension headache. Of course, then the throbbing temple vein and the nausea set in on Monday, and I figured it out. Thankfully, I had a doctor's appointment yesterday. That meant I didn't have to deal with The Child all day and feel guilty about lying on the couch and moaning instead of showing her love and affection an all that other garbage kids apparently need in quantity.
Headaches make me stupid. Stupider, at least. I get dull-witted and slow and kind of look stoned. Sometimes I mouth-breathe because *smells make it hurt more. I also hate it when people think I'm stupid, especially doctors. Not that any of my current doctors have treated me that way. But people in general (and here I'm talking about my experiences waitressing) often treat me like I'm dumb, mostly because I still look like I'm about twelve. And I turn into a blithering, inarticulate moron whenever I'm nervous. So. I promise this is going somewhere.
(*Do you have any idea what kind of superpower Migraine Nose and Pregnancy Nose become when they mate? My goodness, people. I was lying on the couch last night while James fed The Child, and I could smell the fruit cup from there. I had a blanket around my head, and I was twenty feet away, facing in the opposite direction. There's got to be a market for this.)
I hadn't intended to bring up my headache with the doctor, because what's he going to do about it? (see previous, regarding headaches making me stupid) But when he walked in (and by the way, he's a new doctor with the practice, and I love him every bit as much as I do the others, and where do they find these doctors?) and asked, "How are you today?" I said, "I've had a headache for three days, but otherwise I'm okay," intending to explain to him that headaches make me stoopid, so he would have to speak slowly and in small syllables.
Instead he said, "Oh?" all concerned-like, and then, "Is it a migraine? Does this happen often?" and a bunch of other questions I don't remember because I was too busy drooling on my socks. At that point I hadn't figured out if it was a migraine or not, so my answers were pretty useless. But he gave me a small prescription for oxycodone just so I could function until the headache went away.
Oh, and the baby is fine, and I'm gaining weight, finally, despite going days where all I can eat is lettuce. Another reason I love this practice: they listen to the woman who is actually carrying the baby. When I say something like, "Well, I think this baby's going to be a lot smaller than Grace was," I don't get patronizing head pats and stupid smiles. Dr. R told me that a woman's feel for the baby's size is about as accurate as an estimate made from ultrasound. Well, a woman who's had at least one other child to compare it to, at least. And I'm almost certain this baby is going to be small compared to The Child. Yet another reason I'm leaning more heavily toward a VBAC, but we'll wait and see on that; it's still early yet to judge the size on this one.
(I'm really sorry for the rambling, by the way. Headache is mostly gone, but I took another pill a while ago, and it makes me a little garrulous and incoherent. It also makes me really emotional. The I-love-you-so-much-I'm-crying kind of emotional, which is really weird and uncomfortable for me.)
So, I got my prescription filled (took forever because it was lunchtime), headed home, took some drugs, and then waited for the headache to go away. Only it didn't really go away. The pills definitely diminished the pain, and kind of wrapped it in a fuzzy blanket and set it far in the back of my mind, so it was no longer a flashing neon light directly in front of me. But it was still there. My mom stayed a while extra so I could lie down for a bit. And then shortly after The Child took her nap, and then James got home and did most of the parenting for the rest of the night. Cheerfully, again. I landed me a good one.
So, today has been better. I'm exhausted and my head is still protesting a little, but I got ten hours of sleep. Yeah, TEN. The Child has a sixth sense. Yesterday she was all sweetness and light and easy napping. And today has been more of the same. I keep telling people that 2.0 is going to be a nightmare from the start. She's got to be. The Child has used up all the good baby points for this family.
I've started swimming again. I know, I know, not supposed to start any new exercise during pregnancy, blah blah blah. Well, 15 minutes twice a week isn't going to bring on early labor. Especially when 8 of those minutes are spent panting in the shallow end. I needed something to make up for all the walking I'm not going to be able to do now that the weather's cold. And we are NOT going to have another winter like the last one. I didn't realize just how miserable I was until spring came, and I'd regained half the baby weight, and I could barely walk up a flight of stairs without dying.
The high school, which is just two blocks from us, has an hour of free lap swimming every Monday and Wednesday evening. It's a stupid time slot, and almost worthless, but I think I prefer it this way. If it were open every night, I'd feel pressured to go all the time, and then, of course, I wouldn't go all the time, and then I'd feel guilty, and after just a day or two of swimming, I'd quit entirely. This way I can keep reminding myself that it's only twice a week, and I can easily handle that.
I didn't go last night because my head was doing its best to force me into suicide, but I'm going tomorrow. As depressing as it was to get back in the pool and find out just how far I've fallen, I still felt really, really good afterward. My knee and foot didn't ache like they do when I haul myself around on land, and even though I'm out of shape, I'm still a darn good swimmer. It feels awesome to do something I'm good at. I'm not talentless, but I'm not a superstar in anything; I never was in swimming, either, but I think it's the furthest above average I've ever been in anything. Except for maybe Sudoku, but they don't hand out medals for that.
Nothing like getting kicked when you're down. I was just getting over that stupid cold, FINALLY, when Mother of All Headaches stopped by for a visit. Well, okay, I've had worse headaches. Lots worse. But it's been years. And a lot has changed since then, like having a boisterous toddler (almost toddler, actually... dawdler?) and a boisterous fetus. Even though it totally ruined the weekend, I must say the timing on this headache was perfect.
It started as a nice, meek tension headache sometime around Friday. I usually ignore those, since there's not much I can do about them except wait for my neck muscles to unclench (thank you, pregnancy, for robbing me of my sweet, sweet ibuprofen; well, actually, until 30 weeks I'm allowed to take it when absolutely necessary, but I limit myself to the really bad headaches). And then I was really stupid and gorged myself on sugar Friday and Saturday, forgetting that sugar is a migraine trigger. It's been so long since I had a migraine that I haven't had to worry about it in ages. Anyway, the real beating started on Sunday, and James--wonderful James!--picked up the slack like a champion. Cheerfully, even. I think I'll keep him.
So I spent Sunday moaning and clutching my head. And since there was no light/sound sensitivity this time around, I just thought it was a really bad tension headache. Of course, then the throbbing temple vein and the nausea set in on Monday, and I figured it out. Thankfully, I had a doctor's appointment yesterday. That meant I didn't have to deal with The Child all day and feel guilty about lying on the couch and moaning instead of showing her love and affection an all that other garbage kids apparently need in quantity.
Headaches make me stupid. Stupider, at least. I get dull-witted and slow and kind of look stoned. Sometimes I mouth-breathe because *smells make it hurt more. I also hate it when people think I'm stupid, especially doctors. Not that any of my current doctors have treated me that way. But people in general (and here I'm talking about my experiences waitressing) often treat me like I'm dumb, mostly because I still look like I'm about twelve. And I turn into a blithering, inarticulate moron whenever I'm nervous. So. I promise this is going somewhere.
(*Do you have any idea what kind of superpower Migraine Nose and Pregnancy Nose become when they mate? My goodness, people. I was lying on the couch last night while James fed The Child, and I could smell the fruit cup from there. I had a blanket around my head, and I was twenty feet away, facing in the opposite direction. There's got to be a market for this.)
I hadn't intended to bring up my headache with the doctor, because what's he going to do about it? (see previous, regarding headaches making me stupid) But when he walked in (and by the way, he's a new doctor with the practice, and I love him every bit as much as I do the others, and where do they find these doctors?) and asked, "How are you today?" I said, "I've had a headache for three days, but otherwise I'm okay," intending to explain to him that headaches make me stoopid, so he would have to speak slowly and in small syllables.
Instead he said, "Oh?" all concerned-like, and then, "Is it a migraine? Does this happen often?" and a bunch of other questions I don't remember because I was too busy drooling on my socks. At that point I hadn't figured out if it was a migraine or not, so my answers were pretty useless. But he gave me a small prescription for oxycodone just so I could function until the headache went away.
Oh, and the baby is fine, and I'm gaining weight, finally, despite going days where all I can eat is lettuce. Another reason I love this practice: they listen to the woman who is actually carrying the baby. When I say something like, "Well, I think this baby's going to be a lot smaller than Grace was," I don't get patronizing head pats and stupid smiles. Dr. R told me that a woman's feel for the baby's size is about as accurate as an estimate made from ultrasound. Well, a woman who's had at least one other child to compare it to, at least. And I'm almost certain this baby is going to be small compared to The Child. Yet another reason I'm leaning more heavily toward a VBAC, but we'll wait and see on that; it's still early yet to judge the size on this one.
(I'm really sorry for the rambling, by the way. Headache is mostly gone, but I took another pill a while ago, and it makes me a little garrulous and incoherent. It also makes me really emotional. The I-love-you-so-much-I'm-crying kind of emotional, which is really weird and uncomfortable for me.)
So, I got my prescription filled (took forever because it was lunchtime), headed home, took some drugs, and then waited for the headache to go away. Only it didn't really go away. The pills definitely diminished the pain, and kind of wrapped it in a fuzzy blanket and set it far in the back of my mind, so it was no longer a flashing neon light directly in front of me. But it was still there. My mom stayed a while extra so I could lie down for a bit. And then shortly after The Child took her nap, and then James got home and did most of the parenting for the rest of the night. Cheerfully, again. I landed me a good one.
So, today has been better. I'm exhausted and my head is still protesting a little, but I got ten hours of sleep. Yeah, TEN. The Child has a sixth sense. Yesterday she was all sweetness and light and easy napping. And today has been more of the same. I keep telling people that 2.0 is going to be a nightmare from the start. She's got to be. The Child has used up all the good baby points for this family.
I've started swimming again. I know, I know, not supposed to start any new exercise during pregnancy, blah blah blah. Well, 15 minutes twice a week isn't going to bring on early labor. Especially when 8 of those minutes are spent panting in the shallow end. I needed something to make up for all the walking I'm not going to be able to do now that the weather's cold. And we are NOT going to have another winter like the last one. I didn't realize just how miserable I was until spring came, and I'd regained half the baby weight, and I could barely walk up a flight of stairs without dying.
The high school, which is just two blocks from us, has an hour of free lap swimming every Monday and Wednesday evening. It's a stupid time slot, and almost worthless, but I think I prefer it this way. If it were open every night, I'd feel pressured to go all the time, and then, of course, I wouldn't go all the time, and then I'd feel guilty, and after just a day or two of swimming, I'd quit entirely. This way I can keep reminding myself that it's only twice a week, and I can easily handle that.
I didn't go last night because my head was doing its best to force me into suicide, but I'm going tomorrow. As depressing as it was to get back in the pool and find out just how far I've fallen, I still felt really, really good afterward. My knee and foot didn't ache like they do when I haul myself around on land, and even though I'm out of shape, I'm still a darn good swimmer. It feels awesome to do something I'm good at. I'm not talentless, but I'm not a superstar in anything; I never was in swimming, either, but I think it's the furthest above average I've ever been in anything. Except for maybe Sudoku, but they don't hand out medals for that.
Monday, October 12, 2009
So much for my intuition
Well. We had a spectacularly awful night last night. I'm getting over that cold, which means I'm in the bark-like-a-seal-and-then-cry-when-your-throat-turns-to-sandpaper stage. Sometimes this cough goes away in a day or two. Sometimes it turns into a nasty little buzzard who hangs around for a week, waiting for my body to cool.
So when she screamed for two and a half, three hours last night, and I barked like a seal and cried for about the same amount of time, I felt about a thousand times worse than I did in the early mornings when she was first born. You're never going to get better! over and over again in my head. Add crappy pregnancy immune system to the lack of sleep, and we have a real storm a-brewin'.
CHILD! You used to sleep for 12 hours straight! What is your deal? I am not going to be a good mother if I'm sick for the next three weeks, ok?
I think she's getting a cold. And is on the verge of walking. Both would explain crappy sleep. But what awful timing. She was very good all day today. She hardly got a nap since today was a doctor's appointment, and we spent much of it in the car or at the doctor's office. I was optimistic about her sleep tonight.
WELL. We put her down twenty minutes ago, and she's still whimpering off and on. I'm probably going to sleep on her floor last night. Getting up out of my comfy, warm bed to go into her room every ten minutes and tell her I love her is just not something I have the will power for right now. James was up with her half the night last night, and he has to work tomorrow. I got a good hour and a half nap this evening, so I hope it works out.
Sigh. It is impossible to enjoy this pregnancy the way I did the last one. We'll have one or two really good weeks, and then she's right back to horrible sleeping again. This is bad enough when you're not pregnant. And sick. Blaaah.
On a lighter note! I had the 20-week ultrasound today. And... It's a girl! So much for "just knowing" it's a boy. Hah!
Crap. We have no girl names. I love Hava and Michal, but they're a little bit strange. Together I think they'd be really pretty. I love Ashira, too (one of my OD faves here has a daughter named Ashira). Most Old Testament girl names are really out there, though.
Anyone know of any other good female Hebrew names that aren't already used a lot? All the pretty ones, like Rachel, Rebecca, Sarah, are pretty common. I don't dislike them, but I prefer somewhat unusual names. I always liked having a name where, if I heard it in a crowd, I could be almost certain it was directed at me.
So when she screamed for two and a half, three hours last night, and I barked like a seal and cried for about the same amount of time, I felt about a thousand times worse than I did in the early mornings when she was first born. You're never going to get better! over and over again in my head. Add crappy pregnancy immune system to the lack of sleep, and we have a real storm a-brewin'.
CHILD! You used to sleep for 12 hours straight! What is your deal? I am not going to be a good mother if I'm sick for the next three weeks, ok?
I think she's getting a cold. And is on the verge of walking. Both would explain crappy sleep. But what awful timing. She was very good all day today. She hardly got a nap since today was a doctor's appointment, and we spent much of it in the car or at the doctor's office. I was optimistic about her sleep tonight.
WELL. We put her down twenty minutes ago, and she's still whimpering off and on. I'm probably going to sleep on her floor last night. Getting up out of my comfy, warm bed to go into her room every ten minutes and tell her I love her is just not something I have the will power for right now. James was up with her half the night last night, and he has to work tomorrow. I got a good hour and a half nap this evening, so I hope it works out.
Sigh. It is impossible to enjoy this pregnancy the way I did the last one. We'll have one or two really good weeks, and then she's right back to horrible sleeping again. This is bad enough when you're not pregnant. And sick. Blaaah.
On a lighter note! I had the 20-week ultrasound today. And... It's a girl! So much for "just knowing" it's a boy. Hah!
Crap. We have no girl names. I love Hava and Michal, but they're a little bit strange. Together I think they'd be really pretty. I love Ashira, too (one of my OD faves here has a daughter named Ashira). Most Old Testament girl names are really out there, though.
Anyone know of any other good female Hebrew names that aren't already used a lot? All the pretty ones, like Rachel, Rebecca, Sarah, are pretty common. I don't dislike them, but I prefer somewhat unusual names. I always liked having a name where, if I heard it in a crowd, I could be almost certain it was directed at me.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
The red and the black
I love how, now that I'm pregnant, The Child suddenly up and grows a stubborn streak and a will and a strong desire to party all night long. So my only coping tool is... lying on the couch and feeling sorry for myself. Or insane housework. It really depends on the day and what kind of mood Crazy Pregnant Lady is in. Seriously, though, I nearly shot myself last night. Three hours of Not Sleeping, for no apparent reason. She was tired, she was not in pain, she was not hungry. Milestone, perhaps? It doesn't help that I have a cold. Because I am a sissy now, colds just knock me flat. I remember just a few years ago, a cold was no big deal. Now I'm all, "I'm DYIIIIIIING!" and "MELODRAMA!" and "CAPS LOCK WHINE WHINE CAPS LOCK!"
She did do very well for a couple weeks there, and I almost caught up on sleep. I even scrubbed all the floors in the downstairs and vacuumed twice, which is pretty much unheard of. It was a very good couple of weeks.
There are box elder bugs everywhere here. Yesterday, I felt like I was in an X-Files episode--the one with the robotic cockroaches, and YES, that IS a real episode, and one of the characters' names IS Bambi, and I love it, thank you very much--, with every move I made monitored by the box elder bug hive mind. I'd walk into a room, and see on sitting on the wall above the doorway, probably staring at me. I'd go into the laundry room, and there another one was, hanging out on my sink, probably whispering discreetly into a tiny wrist watch. I walked to Piggly Wiggly (WORST grocery store name EVER, by the way, except for Sooper Dooper in Winner, SD) and at least seven managed to throw themselves under the stroller wheels. I do not know what they were trying to accomplish.
They don't really bother me as individuals. Its their omnipresence that freaks me out. I fully expect to wake up tomorrow morning to find my entire house pulsing under a red and black carpet of legs and carapace.
These are the things that happen to your brain when you watch too many sci-fi/horror shows.
Okay, I was going to make this longer, but I just realized The Child is actually sleeping for this nap, and I think that means I can attempt the same. Yay!
(cue screams... NOW)
She did do very well for a couple weeks there, and I almost caught up on sleep. I even scrubbed all the floors in the downstairs and vacuumed twice, which is pretty much unheard of. It was a very good couple of weeks.
There are box elder bugs everywhere here. Yesterday, I felt like I was in an X-Files episode--the one with the robotic cockroaches, and YES, that IS a real episode, and one of the characters' names IS Bambi, and I love it, thank you very much--, with every move I made monitored by the box elder bug hive mind. I'd walk into a room, and see on sitting on the wall above the doorway, probably staring at me. I'd go into the laundry room, and there another one was, hanging out on my sink, probably whispering discreetly into a tiny wrist watch. I walked to Piggly Wiggly (WORST grocery store name EVER, by the way, except for Sooper Dooper in Winner, SD) and at least seven managed to throw themselves under the stroller wheels. I do not know what they were trying to accomplish.
They don't really bother me as individuals. Its their omnipresence that freaks me out. I fully expect to wake up tomorrow morning to find my entire house pulsing under a red and black carpet of legs and carapace.
These are the things that happen to your brain when you watch too many sci-fi/horror shows.
Okay, I was going to make this longer, but I just realized The Child is actually sleeping for this nap, and I think that means I can attempt the same. Yay!
(cue screams... NOW)
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
I need to stop it with the parentheses
I have been on a quest for a really good pickle for weeks now. The really salty ones they give you in restaurants. Also, yes, I realize those two sentences could sound really dirty if your mind were in the gutter, but I know you are all ladies and gentlemen. Ahem. So, pickles! A quest! The only three kinds at our local grocery stores were Vlasic (ho hum), Milwaukee's (ok in small quantity) and Roundy's (never tried). None were what I was looking for, and this Crazy Pregnant Lady is obsessed with pickles, like so many movie cliches. And then! A Twitter friend recommended Claussen pickles, and I was perplexed. I cannot find Claussen anywhere! And then! Today! Finally! Exclamation point! I was walking past the bacon and sausage (gutter minds, keep your comments to yourselves), and there, on the shelf, were the Claussen pickles. A whole shelf full of them.
And I ate a whole jar tonight. They were THAT good. And now I'm drinking the juice. I will regret this later, but people, these are the best pickles ever in the world, amen.
(Thank you, Twitter friend)
I am acquainted with a couple of internet ladies who just had babies. And these babies, they have SO MUCH HAIR. I am no longer the hairy baby queen, which would make me sad and jealous, except these babies are so cute as to be edible. Also, fat.
I'm not bringing this up just to talk about hair. I'm bringing this up because these soft, fuzzy babies are making me insane. March is eons away, light years, even (and I'm in a rickshaw, not a space ship)! I want my baby now, darn it. Well, except I don't. He would be all unhealthy and such if that were to happen.
(I only say "he" because I think he's a he, and so I call him that. But we don't find out until the 12th. If he cooperates.)
I CHOPPED my hair. I do not think it has ever been this short before. People, I love it. LOVE. I have attempted to take pictures, but they all look terrible. I do not do pictures. My avatar is pretty much the best picture of me ever, which is why I have had it up for years and years even though my hair is back to blond, and it has not been that long in forever. And I still don't think it looks anything like me. Not that I think I'm Heidi Klum or anything, but I swear my nose is not that large, and I do not ordinarily look stupidly smug.
Anyway. I chopped it. Hacked it right off. And got some highlights. The next day, I woke up, took a shower, and attempted to blow-dry it to what it looked like the day before. HAH! Silly Naomi. Even though my stylist doesn't do much in the way of styling (she likes to cut it and style in ways that I can deal with it, and she knows I have fourteen thumbs when it comes to doing hair), I can still never get it the same. I walk out with this fabulous haircut, and the next day it's like a bad hangover mingled with lots of regret over stupid things you've done the day before (I actually have not experienced this--I don't think--, but I have seen enough movies).
My hair, when it air dries (and when I blow-dry it, but to a lesser degree), does this Farrah Faucett swoop off one side of my head. And, unfortunately, I do not possess Farrah Faucett's DNA, and I cannot pull of such a look. I just look like an idiot. Like Zac Efron (circa High School Musical, and can I just say I'm really glad that haircut is going out of style?) caught in a violent sideways wind.
So instead of crying, like I wanted to do, I bought a cheap flat iron. And now I wish I'd bought one six years ago. People, it fixes everything. Everything! I can now let my hair air dry, and then when I'm ready to go out, three quick swipes on the swoopy parts of my head, and hello, normal hair! It's a beautiful thing. And it only cost $15.
Guess what I just spilled all over the couch. Yeah, that's right. Pickle juice! It will go nicely with the milk I spilled there three days ago. The cover is washable, but a little of each got into the cushion itself, and I'm sure that's going to be fragrant in a couple of days.
I do not know why I keep doing this (a couple months ago it was a giant glass of water). I set the glass up against the back of the couch and say to myself, "Okay, self, glass of liquid on the couch. Remember not to tip it over." And then five minutes later I kneel over the back of my couch to get a cord for my laptop, or I lie down, or I gesture expansively, and whoops! a couch baptism!
Moron.
I had another dentist appointment last Monday. And I enjoyed it. These people are made of magic. And my teeth feel beautiful and shiny. Wales Dental Arts, people.
(Not in the UK. Wales, Wisconsin)
Oh, and I now own 47 toothbrushes and samples of floss and toothpaste. (If I brush my teeth seldom enough and have to keep going to the dentist, we will end up saving money, yes?) And the hygienist gave me a kid's toothbrush just because I mentioned that The Child is obsessed with the things.
You may have noticed that I have not mentioned The Child's sleep habits yet. That is because I do not want to jinx anything. Not that I'm superstitious.
(But I kind of am)
And I ate a whole jar tonight. They were THAT good. And now I'm drinking the juice. I will regret this later, but people, these are the best pickles ever in the world, amen.
(Thank you, Twitter friend)
I am acquainted with a couple of internet ladies who just had babies. And these babies, they have SO MUCH HAIR. I am no longer the hairy baby queen, which would make me sad and jealous, except these babies are so cute as to be edible. Also, fat.
I'm not bringing this up just to talk about hair. I'm bringing this up because these soft, fuzzy babies are making me insane. March is eons away, light years, even (and I'm in a rickshaw, not a space ship)! I want my baby now, darn it. Well, except I don't. He would be all unhealthy and such if that were to happen.
(I only say "he" because I think he's a he, and so I call him that. But we don't find out until the 12th. If he cooperates.)
I CHOPPED my hair. I do not think it has ever been this short before. People, I love it. LOVE. I have attempted to take pictures, but they all look terrible. I do not do pictures. My avatar is pretty much the best picture of me ever, which is why I have had it up for years and years even though my hair is back to blond, and it has not been that long in forever. And I still don't think it looks anything like me. Not that I think I'm Heidi Klum or anything, but I swear my nose is not that large, and I do not ordinarily look stupidly smug.
Anyway. I chopped it. Hacked it right off. And got some highlights. The next day, I woke up, took a shower, and attempted to blow-dry it to what it looked like the day before. HAH! Silly Naomi. Even though my stylist doesn't do much in the way of styling (she likes to cut it and style in ways that I can deal with it, and she knows I have fourteen thumbs when it comes to doing hair), I can still never get it the same. I walk out with this fabulous haircut, and the next day it's like a bad hangover mingled with lots of regret over stupid things you've done the day before (I actually have not experienced this--I don't think--, but I have seen enough movies).
My hair, when it air dries (and when I blow-dry it, but to a lesser degree), does this Farrah Faucett swoop off one side of my head. And, unfortunately, I do not possess Farrah Faucett's DNA, and I cannot pull of such a look. I just look like an idiot. Like Zac Efron (circa High School Musical, and can I just say I'm really glad that haircut is going out of style?) caught in a violent sideways wind.
So instead of crying, like I wanted to do, I bought a cheap flat iron. And now I wish I'd bought one six years ago. People, it fixes everything. Everything! I can now let my hair air dry, and then when I'm ready to go out, three quick swipes on the swoopy parts of my head, and hello, normal hair! It's a beautiful thing. And it only cost $15.
Guess what I just spilled all over the couch. Yeah, that's right. Pickle juice! It will go nicely with the milk I spilled there three days ago. The cover is washable, but a little of each got into the cushion itself, and I'm sure that's going to be fragrant in a couple of days.
I do not know why I keep doing this (a couple months ago it was a giant glass of water). I set the glass up against the back of the couch and say to myself, "Okay, self, glass of liquid on the couch. Remember not to tip it over." And then five minutes later I kneel over the back of my couch to get a cord for my laptop, or I lie down, or I gesture expansively, and whoops! a couch baptism!
Moron.
I had another dentist appointment last Monday. And I enjoyed it. These people are made of magic. And my teeth feel beautiful and shiny. Wales Dental Arts, people.
(Not in the UK. Wales, Wisconsin)
Oh, and I now own 47 toothbrushes and samples of floss and toothpaste. (If I brush my teeth seldom enough and have to keep going to the dentist, we will end up saving money, yes?) And the hygienist gave me a kid's toothbrush just because I mentioned that The Child is obsessed with the things.
You may have noticed that I have not mentioned The Child's sleep habits yet. That is because I do not want to jinx anything. Not that I'm superstitious.
(But I kind of am)
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Broken record
I have been informed that the some of you (or, actually, just one of you) is not content with my diary as of late. You know, with the falling off the face of the earth and all.
Three words: new nap schedule. Also, child not sleeping. And, tired all the time. (Yes, that last one was four words. Shut it.)
Seriously, any entry written on here over the last month would go something like this, "WHINE WHINE WHINE TIRED WHINE WHINE WHINE NOT SLEEPING WHINE WHINE WHINE." So I've refrained.
I mean, there are aspects to my life other than child-rearing, of course, but when I'm this tired all the time, I can't remember anything beyond what happened in the last five minutes. It's really pathetic.
And I'm sitting here staring at my computer, sure that I'll come up with something clever to write about, and I just can't. Agh. The good news is that The Child seems to be slowly inching her way back toward normalcy. I am thinking, though, that this new nap schedule was a bad idea. No morning nap, and then a three-hour afternoon nap. Except those three hours are two hours, no matter how tired she is, and it is making me foam at the mouth. The first two days were great. Crappy morning followed by three hours of silence, followed by good afternoon and evening. Not so much now. Feh. But at least now she's sleeping until 6:30 or better, which is definitely an improvement from what she was doing, which was waking up and screeching like a Nazgûl anywhere from 2:30 to 5:30 in the morning, and then taking an hour to get back to sleep. That was tons of fun.
So I'll be back shortly. Today has been much better. I am optimistic about the future. Yesterday I was not. Yesterday I was pretty sure that having two of these things hanging off me at all hours was going to kill me. Now I think I may make it, possibly with the assistance of drugs, but I may make it. Yay!
Three words: new nap schedule. Also, child not sleeping. And, tired all the time. (Yes, that last one was four words. Shut it.)
Seriously, any entry written on here over the last month would go something like this, "WHINE WHINE WHINE TIRED WHINE WHINE WHINE NOT SLEEPING WHINE WHINE WHINE." So I've refrained.
I mean, there are aspects to my life other than child-rearing, of course, but when I'm this tired all the time, I can't remember anything beyond what happened in the last five minutes. It's really pathetic.
And I'm sitting here staring at my computer, sure that I'll come up with something clever to write about, and I just can't. Agh. The good news is that The Child seems to be slowly inching her way back toward normalcy. I am thinking, though, that this new nap schedule was a bad idea. No morning nap, and then a three-hour afternoon nap. Except those three hours are two hours, no matter how tired she is, and it is making me foam at the mouth. The first two days were great. Crappy morning followed by three hours of silence, followed by good afternoon and evening. Not so much now. Feh. But at least now she's sleeping until 6:30 or better, which is definitely an improvement from what she was doing, which was waking up and screeching like a Nazgûl anywhere from 2:30 to 5:30 in the morning, and then taking an hour to get back to sleep. That was tons of fun.
So I'll be back shortly. Today has been much better. I am optimistic about the future. Yesterday I was not. Yesterday I was pretty sure that having two of these things hanging off me at all hours was going to kill me. Now I think I may make it, possibly with the assistance of drugs, but I may make it. Yay!
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