Friday, January 30, 2009

Mostly not about the baby I promise.

Lost is giving me brain lesions. And I LIKE it.

The Child had more vaccines today. She was so happy and shrieky this morning. I swear she plans it that way so the knives of guilt in my heart will feel even duller and rustier as Those Weirdos Who Torture Babies jab her, and I just look on, doing NOTHING to protect her from these barbarians.

Things I learned at the pediatricians office today:

1) My baby is enormous.
2) Her flat head is fine.
3) My baby is enormous.

She's 16.25 pounds (89th percentile), 27" long (>97th percentile) and 17.25" around the head (96th percentile). I was wrong last time, by the way; her weight at 2 months wasn't 95th percentile, but 85th. So girl likes her snacks, apparently.

We came home, and she was again extremely cheerful for a couple hours. Then BAM the world was ENDING and can't you see my PAIN and why can't I just SLEEP on your BOOB?

(there are few things worse in this world than chapped, raisiny nipples; just trust me on this)

Then she crashed in her bouncy seat and has been asleep for an hour and a half already. Which is good. Because she didn't sleep at all this morning. And we got to hear all about it.

I made chicken tacos earlier. I made a quadruple batch. And yet I have a feeling it will not last through tomorrow even though it has to because I'm bringing it to church on Sunday. Crap. What will I eat? Maybe I will just "drop" my contribution to the potluck "on the ground" on Sunday morning. "Oops".

Which brings me to my next point. I AM STARVING ALL THE TIME. I keep saying this, but nothing helps. NOTHING. Healthy fats and lots of protein and fiber just disappear into the endless vacuum of my stomach. It's a black hole. This might explain, though, how The Child grew 2.5 pounds and three inches in just two months. Some days, when I'm really hungry, and she's not being particularly pleasant, I look at her and see a giant cooked turkey in my arms. With delicious aroma lines coming off it. Like in the cartoons.

Facebook. Ooooooh, Facebook. 25 Things about Me is getting old. OLD. REALLY OLD. I finally gave in and did it. One of you people even tagged me. Which is fine. I'm not actually mad. But now I've been tagged for two more surveys on Facebook and I refuse. REFUSE! LOOK HOW YOU'RE MAKING ME USE ALL CAPS.

My sister doesn't like them because they're narcissistic. Not that I disagree. They are narcissistic, but I keep a blog, so for me to criticize them for that is kind of PotKettleHi. They're just like those eight billion Facebook applications, though. Every time I get tagged for one, I feel guilty for not wanting to do it. Like the person who tagged me will be hurt if I don't. This is stupid because I'm pretty sure some people just tag all their Facebook friends and couldn't care less if I responded. Same goes for the applications.

But because I'm a narcissist, I just assume that most people are waiting with bated breath for my 25 Things about Me Because I'm Just That Interesting. So I did it.

And now I'm starving. Again. Even though I had four chicken tacos less than three hours ago.



  1. Hello,

    My name's Monique and I came here from etiquettehell hoping I have the right person. Is there a way to contact you by email?


  2. (I wrote it that way in hopes that a spambot doesn't come around and ravage my inbox.)