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)
Thursday, October 8, 2009
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!
Friday, August 28, 2009
Food, oh food!
I joined a blog roll (from now on, I am not going to tell you just how much I hate the word "blog" and how I cringe every time I type it, but please know that I HATE THAT WORD) a few months back and then completely forgot about it. I've skipped all the assignments. Until now! Even though my contribution to this one will be laaaaame, it's a start. Some of the past questions have been more suited to me, but I need to get my rear in gear with something, yes? So, without further ado:
I do not know what the most expensive meal I have ever eaten was because my husband and I are just coming out of the Poor College Student years, and most expensive meals have been on someone else's dime. We are moochers! Just kidding. Well, mostly. We aren't technically moochers because we do like to treat other people when possible. It's just that we usually treat them to Subway or Denny's. If I had to guess what my most expensive meal ever was--excluding weddings, because I have had some pretty fancy wedding meals, and I can't possibly remember them all--, it would have to be at my husband's family reunion in Canada two summers ago.
There was a salad buffet, if I remember correctly, but then we all got our own entrees. I ordered a steak, medium rare. I do not know if this is a Canadian thing, but my "medium rare" steak came out of the kitchen still thrashing its hooves about. Also, it was huge. Like, the size of my torso huge. The rareness of the steak really put me off; I have a hard time eating meat that is undercooked (I know it's safe; it's entirely in my head), but it WAS delicious. Despite feeling a little green around the gills, I could but recognize that it was one of the best steaks I've ever had in my life. And I've had a lot of steaks.
The best meal I've ever had was at Bunky's restaurant in Madison, WI. I've eaten there twice, which is a shame because it is, as I said, the best food I've ever had in my life. It's Mediterranean food, from Italian to Moroccan, and it is fabulous. There's the hummus and pita, which makes all other hummuses (hummusim?) and pitas hang their heads in shame. There were some other appetizery things that I do not know the names of, and this makes me sad because I like to remember such fond memories using actual words. Such beautiful things should not be treated like a cheap date. There was the fettuccine carciofi, which was your basic fettuccine alfredo, except with artichoke hearts the size of my fist. They have a special place in my heart forever. And, finally, the tiramisù, the crown jewel of the entire dinner. I can't even describe it. I have never had anything like it, and probably never will again, since we've now moved and Bunky's is a bit pricey for us anyway. Perhaps it will still be there when we finally win the lottery.
What's the most expensive meal you've ever eaten, and what's the best meal you've ever had?
I do not know what the most expensive meal I have ever eaten was because my husband and I are just coming out of the Poor College Student years, and most expensive meals have been on someone else's dime. We are moochers! Just kidding. Well, mostly. We aren't technically moochers because we do like to treat other people when possible. It's just that we usually treat them to Subway or Denny's. If I had to guess what my most expensive meal ever was--excluding weddings, because I have had some pretty fancy wedding meals, and I can't possibly remember them all--, it would have to be at my husband's family reunion in Canada two summers ago.
There was a salad buffet, if I remember correctly, but then we all got our own entrees. I ordered a steak, medium rare. I do not know if this is a Canadian thing, but my "medium rare" steak came out of the kitchen still thrashing its hooves about. Also, it was huge. Like, the size of my torso huge. The rareness of the steak really put me off; I have a hard time eating meat that is undercooked (I know it's safe; it's entirely in my head), but it WAS delicious. Despite feeling a little green around the gills, I could but recognize that it was one of the best steaks I've ever had in my life. And I've had a lot of steaks.
The best meal I've ever had was at Bunky's restaurant in Madison, WI. I've eaten there twice, which is a shame because it is, as I said, the best food I've ever had in my life. It's Mediterranean food, from Italian to Moroccan, and it is fabulous. There's the hummus and pita, which makes all other hummuses (hummusim?) and pitas hang their heads in shame. There were some other appetizery things that I do not know the names of, and this makes me sad because I like to remember such fond memories using actual words. Such beautiful things should not be treated like a cheap date. There was the fettuccine carciofi, which was your basic fettuccine alfredo, except with artichoke hearts the size of my fist. They have a special place in my heart forever. And, finally, the tiramisù, the crown jewel of the entire dinner. I can't even describe it. I have never had anything like it, and probably never will again, since we've now moved and Bunky's is a bit pricey for us anyway. Perhaps it will still be there when we finally win the lottery.
Monday, August 17, 2009
I am being stalked.
Bored out of my SKULL, people. Once the baby goes to bed, I usually have no trouble finding things to do to keep myself entertained. But today my brain is all flebbbthpt. Like a decomposing jellyfish.
The Child has been teething for, like six weeks, I swear, and it's FINALLY started to poke through. Poor thing. She's utterly miserable half the time, and she woke up last night and three nights ago, completely distraught. We have some teething tablets that help for a little while, but if I want her to stay asleep for more than an hour, I have to give her Tylenol. Liver failure, here we come! Just kidding. I haven't given her that much. Yet.
I do handle these episodes better when I know the reason for them. If it seems she's just grouching because she woke up on the wrong side of the crib that day, I'm all selfish angry mom (I try not to be, and I continually remind myself that I'm lucky just to have a living, breathing, healthy baby, but still... I'm selfish and human). When I know she's hurting, it's not quite easy for me to drag myself out of bed in the middle of the night, but it makes my cold, dead heart flicker with just the faintest signs of tender compassion.
In other news, we believe she has some words. WORDS. MY BABY MAY BE TALKING. *sob* So far, we think it's just "mama" and "dada", but maybe also "hi". She waves hello and goodbye, but it's usually ten minutes after the target of her waving has disappeared from view. She also puts her arms up when she wants picked up. And she can climb onto our bed all by herself. She also climbs off the bed, face-first. We let her do this for a while, thinking it would hurt, and she'd learn, but she never did. She just started not caring. Face planting is fun!
She plays Where's the Baby? with blankets and shirts, even though half the time she's unclear on the concept called Actually Hiding Your Face from View. She holds the blanket about up to mouth-level and peers at you expectantly, like, "Hello? I'm PLAYING here, and you aren't playing back? Are you stupid?" Or sometimes she'll just be sitting in the middle of the floor by herself while I go about my business, and she'll start doing it, expecting me to immediately notice. The evil side of me likes to watch from the corner of my eye while she lifts blanket, puts it back down, turns to see if I'm watching, lift, let down, peek, lift, let down, peek, and then finally squeak to get my attention or crawl over and get up in my face so she can chew on my nose.
It's slowly dawning on me that I gave birth to a person. A Someone who will one day go to school, play sports, learn an instrument, fall in love, have babies of her own. I'm so very excited for those things, but they make me sad because I know that if she does those things, she won't be a tiny, snuggly baby anymore.
Do you people remember this:
This was seven months ago. SEVEN. That explosion your hear is the sound of my mind blowing up at the same time that my heart shatters into a million pieces (brain is too flebbbthpt to think of anything but clichés). Thank goodness for 2.0, or this growing up and turning into a little girl business would have killed me already.
Remember how I was all gung-ho about the Oil Cleansing Method a while back? Well, no, you probably don't, but I was fully gunged to the ho. I've never had nice skin. I've never had awful skin, either. It's just always been ick enough for me to be discontent but not ick enough to warrant going to a dermatologist. It also responds very badly to typical acne spot treatments like salicylic acid and benzoyl peroxide. No idea why, but it always seemed to flare up right before prom, and like an idiot, I'd get out the acne treatment gel, hoping this time it would work, and then I'd wake up the next day with Scale Face and cry.
Anyway. I first read about this and thought, "OIL? On my SKIN? On PURPOSE?" But then I tried it. And lo and behold, it worked! And I was thrilled! Mostly because it's much cheaper than the Neutrogena stuff I'd been using. But then I started thinking, well, maybe it's just that I'm pregnant, and I did start having pretty nice skin during second trimester, and it's not THAT much better. Maybe a little, but not a ton. And then I had the baby, and my skin stayed nice, but sometimes skin changes permanently during pregnancy, so I still didn't really know.
Well, this time around, I didn't get first trimester skin at all. A couple flare-ups, and slightly splotchy skin, but nothing like the horror of last time. The other day I ran out of oil mixture and went back to my old Neutrogena standby because I was too lazy to pour a little oil into a bottle. HOLY COWS. First trimester skin was back, and it was UGLY and MEAN. Because I'm an idiot, I kept using the Neutrogena for about a week and a half, and it was still horrible. Two days ago, I finally got around to changing back, and the change was immediate. I have my skin back! And now I can evangelize with full confidence!
(Unlike the website, I don't think this is guaranteed to work for everyone, but if you're like me and your skin responds poorly to even the expensive stuff, or you just want to try something new and see if it will save you some money, just try it. For a week or two. Seriously.)
So, you people know how I am afraid of bugs and spiders and everything in between? (And how on EARTH are spiders part of the animal kingdom? They should make a whole separate kingdom just for horrors of nature, and call it the evil kingdom) These things are stalking me. The other day James and I went on a walk and passed a beetle so huge I was almost not afraid of it because it could have been a puppy. It was black with red or orange markings and two or two and a half inches long. Then, on Friday, I went out with some friends. I was in the middle of a bar in downtown Madison when I looked down and saw another beetle on my leg. I think it was a patent leather beetle, but I'm not sure. I made a scene and hurt a hip muscle. It was embarrassing. Night before last, I was about to snuggle up to my laptop in bed, when I looked over to see a spider scrabbling eagerly toward me. I killed it with my power supply. I do not know how I did this without waking the baby, whose door was open. For the first time in my life, I encountered a spider and did not scream like a teething baby.
The Child has been teething for, like six weeks, I swear, and it's FINALLY started to poke through. Poor thing. She's utterly miserable half the time, and she woke up last night and three nights ago, completely distraught. We have some teething tablets that help for a little while, but if I want her to stay asleep for more than an hour, I have to give her Tylenol. Liver failure, here we come! Just kidding. I haven't given her that much. Yet.
I do handle these episodes better when I know the reason for them. If it seems she's just grouching because she woke up on the wrong side of the crib that day, I'm all selfish angry mom (I try not to be, and I continually remind myself that I'm lucky just to have a living, breathing, healthy baby, but still... I'm selfish and human). When I know she's hurting, it's not quite easy for me to drag myself out of bed in the middle of the night, but it makes my cold, dead heart flicker with just the faintest signs of tender compassion.
In other news, we believe she has some words. WORDS. MY BABY MAY BE TALKING. *sob* So far, we think it's just "mama" and "dada", but maybe also "hi". She waves hello and goodbye, but it's usually ten minutes after the target of her waving has disappeared from view. She also puts her arms up when she wants picked up. And she can climb onto our bed all by herself. She also climbs off the bed, face-first. We let her do this for a while, thinking it would hurt, and she'd learn, but she never did. She just started not caring. Face planting is fun!
She plays Where's the Baby? with blankets and shirts, even though half the time she's unclear on the concept called Actually Hiding Your Face from View. She holds the blanket about up to mouth-level and peers at you expectantly, like, "Hello? I'm PLAYING here, and you aren't playing back? Are you stupid?" Or sometimes she'll just be sitting in the middle of the floor by herself while I go about my business, and she'll start doing it, expecting me to immediately notice. The evil side of me likes to watch from the corner of my eye while she lifts blanket, puts it back down, turns to see if I'm watching, lift, let down, peek, lift, let down, peek, and then finally squeak to get my attention or crawl over and get up in my face so she can chew on my nose.
It's slowly dawning on me that I gave birth to a person. A Someone who will one day go to school, play sports, learn an instrument, fall in love, have babies of her own. I'm so very excited for those things, but they make me sad because I know that if she does those things, she won't be a tiny, snuggly baby anymore.
Do you people remember this:
This was seven months ago. SEVEN. That explosion your hear is the sound of my mind blowing up at the same time that my heart shatters into a million pieces (brain is too flebbbthpt to think of anything but clichés). Thank goodness for 2.0, or this growing up and turning into a little girl business would have killed me already.
Remember how I was all gung-ho about the Oil Cleansing Method a while back? Well, no, you probably don't, but I was fully gunged to the ho. I've never had nice skin. I've never had awful skin, either. It's just always been ick enough for me to be discontent but not ick enough to warrant going to a dermatologist. It also responds very badly to typical acne spot treatments like salicylic acid and benzoyl peroxide. No idea why, but it always seemed to flare up right before prom, and like an idiot, I'd get out the acne treatment gel, hoping this time it would work, and then I'd wake up the next day with Scale Face and cry.
Anyway. I first read about this and thought, "OIL? On my SKIN? On PURPOSE?" But then I tried it. And lo and behold, it worked! And I was thrilled! Mostly because it's much cheaper than the Neutrogena stuff I'd been using. But then I started thinking, well, maybe it's just that I'm pregnant, and I did start having pretty nice skin during second trimester, and it's not THAT much better. Maybe a little, but not a ton. And then I had the baby, and my skin stayed nice, but sometimes skin changes permanently during pregnancy, so I still didn't really know.
Well, this time around, I didn't get first trimester skin at all. A couple flare-ups, and slightly splotchy skin, but nothing like the horror of last time. The other day I ran out of oil mixture and went back to my old Neutrogena standby because I was too lazy to pour a little oil into a bottle. HOLY COWS. First trimester skin was back, and it was UGLY and MEAN. Because I'm an idiot, I kept using the Neutrogena for about a week and a half, and it was still horrible. Two days ago, I finally got around to changing back, and the change was immediate. I have my skin back! And now I can evangelize with full confidence!
(Unlike the website, I don't think this is guaranteed to work for everyone, but if you're like me and your skin responds poorly to even the expensive stuff, or you just want to try something new and see if it will save you some money, just try it. For a week or two. Seriously.)
So, you people know how I am afraid of bugs and spiders and everything in between? (And how on EARTH are spiders part of the animal kingdom? They should make a whole separate kingdom just for horrors of nature, and call it the evil kingdom) These things are stalking me. The other day James and I went on a walk and passed a beetle so huge I was almost not afraid of it because it could have been a puppy. It was black with red or orange markings and two or two and a half inches long. Then, on Friday, I went out with some friends. I was in the middle of a bar in downtown Madison when I looked down and saw another beetle on my leg. I think it was a patent leather beetle, but I'm not sure. I made a scene and hurt a hip muscle. It was embarrassing. Night before last, I was about to snuggle up to my laptop in bed, when I looked over to see a spider scrabbling eagerly toward me. I killed it with my power supply. I do not know how I did this without waking the baby, whose door was open. For the first time in my life, I encountered a spider and did not scream like a teething baby.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Safety is overrated.
We are FINALLY getting around to doing a little babyproofing. I mean, I'd moved all the dangerous chemicals out of The Child's immediate reach (though I have no doubt she'll be quite able to scale the refrigerator by the time she's 2), and anything breakable is out of her reach (again, scaling bookshelves in no time, I'm sure). But I hadn't put anything on the cabinets in the kitchen, and we never do plan to completely babyproof. I like my books and bookshelves within easy reach, and she is perfectly capable of learning what is off limits. She already has, in fact. (please note: this does NOT mean she doesn't sneak off to the bookshelf once in a while because she does, and then she looks over her shoulder at me with a sly little devil grin, and it is VERY hard for me not to laugh and encourage that behavior)
So, with the new one coming, I decided it was in my best interest to make SOME things, at least, a little harder to get at. I started installing "childproof" latches on the kitchen cabinets a few days ago, and I finished up today.
Dear Safety 1st,
USER FRIENDLY FAIL
Love,
A Very Frustrated Parent
It's enough to make a mom booze it up while The Child gets herself stuck in the slow cooker.
Granted, this may have been a whole lot easier if we owned a drill, but people, not all parents own drills. Now, though, I would probably sell The Child for a good drill set. This is home project #98372 for which I've had to install screws in something without a drill, and I have had enough.
It does not help that The Child did her absolute best to "help" me do the installation. Mostly this involved shimmying up my backside and grabbing for the hammer (or screwdriver or latch or whatever shiny, dangerous object happened to be closest) and breathing strangely in my ear. I keep saying I'll do it while she's napping, but it seems like such a waste to spend her naps working. That's my lunch break, yo!
Silver lining: My arm and shoulder muscles are BULGING.
So, with the new one coming, I decided it was in my best interest to make SOME things, at least, a little harder to get at. I started installing "childproof" latches on the kitchen cabinets a few days ago, and I finished up today.
Dear Safety 1st,
USER FRIENDLY FAIL
Love,
A Very Frustrated Parent
It's enough to make a mom booze it up while The Child gets herself stuck in the slow cooker.
Granted, this may have been a whole lot easier if we owned a drill, but people, not all parents own drills. Now, though, I would probably sell The Child for a good drill set. This is home project #98372 for which I've had to install screws in something without a drill, and I have had enough.
It does not help that The Child did her absolute best to "help" me do the installation. Mostly this involved shimmying up my backside and grabbing for the hammer (or screwdriver or latch or whatever shiny, dangerous object happened to be closest) and breathing strangely in my ear. I keep saying I'll do it while she's napping, but it seems like such a waste to spend her naps working. That's my lunch break, yo!
Silver lining: My arm and shoulder muscles are BULGING.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Who wants a cute baby? Just for a day?
I wrote myself one of those lame quizzes on Facebook (you are welcome to check it out): "How well do you know _________?" I entitled it, "I'm a narcissist!" The joke is that I kind of am. I have a blog, people, and the number one pronoun used on that blog is "I". Followed closely by "me".
Speaking of me, I need friends, people. How do you make friends in a tiny town when you don't go to school, church or work there, and when all your neighbors are either unfriendly or waaaay outside your age/family situation demographic. Not that I'm only willing to make friends with hip 20-somethings who have babies, but it'd be really nice to have some mom friends. I am an extrovert. I need to meet some people around here, or I will probably slash my wrists. (not really, don't worry)
Today is one of those days. No car today; it's James's week to drive. I'm stuck inside because it's hot out, and heat triggers my nausea (*sob* normally I love ridiculously hot weather). That means no walk. That means feeling blah. That means I'm impatient with Grace, and she gets cranky, and so I'm more impatient, and no housework gets down, and everyone's unhappy, and poor James comes home from a long day of work to find a messy home and a crazy wife and a grouchy baby. Yay!
So I'm not typically this Debbie Downer, but dudes, I am lonely on days like today. I know I chose this life. I chose to be a stay-at-home-mom, and most days I wouldn't trade it for anything. Today? I want to run away. Just for a couple hours. I even called people. On the telephone. Everyone is busy.
In other news, our upstairs hallway remains half-painted. I painted it halfway in a nesting frenzy a few days ago, and it's been so hot and humid that that idea has been out ever since. It would just gum onto the walls and slowly seep toward the floor. Not so awesome. The one good thins is that it looks completely idiotic, and it lifts my spirits a little bit every time I walk through it.
The Child is sleeping again. I suppose I have that to be thankful for. In fact, yesterday she slept until 9 (9! That's 13 hours of sleep!), and today it was 8:30. Weirdo.
Time to do something around here, even if it's just to pick up the dining room table. I find that if the dining room looks neat (the first room you see when you open the door), the rest of the house feels neater. Yes, I have learned to cheat and deceive at housewifery. And I'm proud of it.
Speaking of me, I need friends, people. How do you make friends in a tiny town when you don't go to school, church or work there, and when all your neighbors are either unfriendly or waaaay outside your age/family situation demographic. Not that I'm only willing to make friends with hip 20-somethings who have babies, but it'd be really nice to have some mom friends. I am an extrovert. I need to meet some people around here, or I will probably slash my wrists. (not really, don't worry)
Today is one of those days. No car today; it's James's week to drive. I'm stuck inside because it's hot out, and heat triggers my nausea (*sob* normally I love ridiculously hot weather). That means no walk. That means feeling blah. That means I'm impatient with Grace, and she gets cranky, and so I'm more impatient, and no housework gets down, and everyone's unhappy, and poor James comes home from a long day of work to find a messy home and a crazy wife and a grouchy baby. Yay!
So I'm not typically this Debbie Downer, but dudes, I am lonely on days like today. I know I chose this life. I chose to be a stay-at-home-mom, and most days I wouldn't trade it for anything. Today? I want to run away. Just for a couple hours. I even called people. On the telephone. Everyone is busy.
In other news, our upstairs hallway remains half-painted. I painted it halfway in a nesting frenzy a few days ago, and it's been so hot and humid that that idea has been out ever since. It would just gum onto the walls and slowly seep toward the floor. Not so awesome. The one good thins is that it looks completely idiotic, and it lifts my spirits a little bit every time I walk through it.
The Child is sleeping again. I suppose I have that to be thankful for. In fact, yesterday she slept until 9 (9! That's 13 hours of sleep!), and today it was 8:30. Weirdo.
Time to do something around here, even if it's just to pick up the dining room table. I find that if the dining room looks neat (the first room you see when you open the door), the rest of the house feels neater. Yes, I have learned to cheat and deceive at housewifery. And I'm proud of it.
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