Our playdate this morning went well. Despite the part about how she needed a nap because I'm a mean mama and won't let her sleep. This is the hard part about shifting her sleep cycle two hours- to keep her up just a little later every night so that she wakes up just a little later every morning and naps in the afternoon after lunch and not before. Is this for my convenience? Not as much as it's going to help her self-soothe. Which is going to help her learn limits. Which, in the long run, is going to give us a mother-child foundation of Who's the Mama. It'll give me self-confidence in setting the rules, and give her limits to her world and if she learns that Mama won't let her go to bed at 4 and wake up 12 hours later to play then it may just be easier to keep her from playing in traffic or running with scissors. I hold out no hope that it will convince her potatoes are not a vegetable, or that she really can put the book down before she gets to the end of the next chapter.
That's genetic. It's not teachable. But I have hope that I'll not lose the parenting struggle at this point.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Sleep and My Baby
Last night I tried the Ferber method. This, as defined by me, is subtly different than that recommended by the actual experts, and for the delight of my audience I'll let you in on the secret.
1. Put Baby to bed. After five minutes of fussing, check and console. After ten minutes of fussing, check and console. After fifteen, remove child from crib, rock gently and sing while giving her a bottle.
2. Congratulations for getting the babe to sleep by 7pm, the targeted goal.
3. 9pm. The babe awakens. She's pissed. Go in, try to check and console. After the first check, cave in and go get her, rock her gently.
4. She's not sleepy. Eyes are wide awake, and she is horribly fussy. Flip through the channels on the tv, trying to find something that will keep you awake and calm the child.
5. Meet the Fockers comes on. As soon as that little blond kid appears, she quiets. Watches the movie in fascination, and goes quietly to sleep when I lay her in the crib at the movie's end.
1. Put Baby to bed. After five minutes of fussing, check and console. After ten minutes of fussing, check and console. After fifteen, remove child from crib, rock gently and sing while giving her a bottle.
2. Congratulations for getting the babe to sleep by 7pm, the targeted goal.
3. 9pm. The babe awakens. She's pissed. Go in, try to check and console. After the first check, cave in and go get her, rock her gently.
4. She's not sleepy. Eyes are wide awake, and she is horribly fussy. Flip through the channels on the tv, trying to find something that will keep you awake and calm the child.
5. Meet the Fockers comes on. As soon as that little blond kid appears, she quiets. Watches the movie in fascination, and goes quietly to sleep when I lay her in the crib at the movie's end.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Give me my Daily Dooce!
I'm all relieved now, cause I just read some new dooce. I've had her site minimized in my browser all day, obsessively hitting refresh every ten minutes, jiggling with impatience while the site reloaded, crying a little every time it was the old post. But now my body sings with the rush, like a hit of meth. She's that good. Really.
Dooce has saved my sanity as a SAHM many, many times over the past year. I'm never going to meet her, I'm never going to add her to my email-pal list, or ever get any sort of acknowledgement from the Dooce. Yet her blog has saved my sanity and helped me remember why I want to save my life. On those dark nights before I was able to go into the Nursery and see the KittyCat and say, "this is the reason. This is worth it. This is why I've got to keep my shit together." I would read Dooce into the dark hours. Through the insomnia between nighttime wakings, between bottles and diapers and colicky crying, I read Dooce. And it distracted me enough to not cut myself, made me laugh so I forgot about wanting to kill myself. Cause I did think about it. A lot. Sometimes when I'm having a Black day I still do. The difference is between wanting to and doing anything about it. A lot of people don't get that. Still, there it is.
Today the KittyCat and I were at the park before the library opened, and we had a Learning Experience. On one of the other benches were sitting two special needs adults and their caregiver, as well as another special needs adult in a wheelchair. From looking, and I realize that's a lousy way to label a person, they had down's syndrome. I know from my mother and her friends that one thing that such people really love are small children. I could hear them excitedly point it out to each other as we walked up and sat there. So I carefully took my daughter's hands and when we took our practice walk I walked her over to them to say hello. They were thrilled. Tiffany was thrilled. My mother, when I told her about this over the phone later, was thrilled. She told me how proud she was of me.
I'm more proud of my baby girl. She's so loving and open and accepting at this point. I want to nurture this. I want to keep her this way forever. I never want her to know about prejudice or the fear that many people have towards those with special needs. It's not contagious. It's really not. They're as much people as she is. They just don't have the capacity to process as easily as she'll be able to some day.
Give me my girl, and give me a daily shot of Dooce, and I know that we'll cruise through the next couple of years just fine.
Dooce has saved my sanity as a SAHM many, many times over the past year. I'm never going to meet her, I'm never going to add her to my email-pal list, or ever get any sort of acknowledgement from the Dooce. Yet her blog has saved my sanity and helped me remember why I want to save my life. On those dark nights before I was able to go into the Nursery and see the KittyCat and say, "this is the reason. This is worth it. This is why I've got to keep my shit together." I would read Dooce into the dark hours. Through the insomnia between nighttime wakings, between bottles and diapers and colicky crying, I read Dooce. And it distracted me enough to not cut myself, made me laugh so I forgot about wanting to kill myself. Cause I did think about it. A lot. Sometimes when I'm having a Black day I still do. The difference is between wanting to and doing anything about it. A lot of people don't get that. Still, there it is.
Today the KittyCat and I were at the park before the library opened, and we had a Learning Experience. On one of the other benches were sitting two special needs adults and their caregiver, as well as another special needs adult in a wheelchair. From looking, and I realize that's a lousy way to label a person, they had down's syndrome. I know from my mother and her friends that one thing that such people really love are small children. I could hear them excitedly point it out to each other as we walked up and sat there. So I carefully took my daughter's hands and when we took our practice walk I walked her over to them to say hello. They were thrilled. Tiffany was thrilled. My mother, when I told her about this over the phone later, was thrilled. She told me how proud she was of me.
I'm more proud of my baby girl. She's so loving and open and accepting at this point. I want to nurture this. I want to keep her this way forever. I never want her to know about prejudice or the fear that many people have towards those with special needs. It's not contagious. It's really not. They're as much people as she is. They just don't have the capacity to process as easily as she'll be able to some day.
Give me my girl, and give me a daily shot of Dooce, and I know that we'll cruise through the next couple of years just fine.
I've got to sleeptrain this child, before it gets any harder. She's a real gem. Real stubborn. Cute as a button and twice as cuddly as a kitten. And she's got a set of lungs that really work well... sigh. Maybe this phase won't last long and I'll be able to teach her to self-soothe pretty quickly. Like, say, in a week. I don't have much hope of that, though. I take some comfort in that she's just like I was as a baby this age- which means that what worked on me will likely work on her fairly effectively. It's saved me oodles of fussing already. I miss my Boy, and I want to stop time while he's gone so that he won't miss any of this. The joy I get out of watching her stand up, the thrill of cruising the furniture, it's just making my heart sing every day.
Monday, May 29, 2006
Product of the Day
Banana Flavored Crunchy Baby Bits. Formally known as Gerber Fruit Puffs. Baby loves them. Mommy loves them. It's a good thing.
Snack of the Day
Item: One single-serve packet of cream cheese, from Costco
Item: One handful of wheat thins
Item not currently available, but which would set this off perfectly: grapes, strawberries, or any finger-fruit.
I'm eating this for breakfast today. It's portable, munchable, and I absolutely adore those little cream cheese packets. Since they're single serving, I don't have to guesstimate how much I'm eating. I can indulge my love for this item without trying to use it all up before the container grows a science project. And since my cream cheese cravings seem to come and go without much warning, I feel that's the best "Cents" of all.
Item: One handful of wheat thins
Item not currently available, but which would set this off perfectly: grapes, strawberries, or any finger-fruit.
I'm eating this for breakfast today. It's portable, munchable, and I absolutely adore those little cream cheese packets. Since they're single serving, I don't have to guesstimate how much I'm eating. I can indulge my love for this item without trying to use it all up before the container grows a science project. And since my cream cheese cravings seem to come and go without much warning, I feel that's the best "Cents" of all.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
I must have been extra good this week. My daughter not only allowed me to sit through an entire church service, but she happily went back into the nursery so that I could attend Rector's Forum afterwards. The topic was the Anglican Communion. I did learn several things:
the major problems affecting us today seem to have started 40 years ago, when heresy was permitted in the American Episcopal Church. Homosexuality, despite the media frenzy, is really a minor point in the entire issue. And in America, it seems, you don't actually have to follow the accepted doctrine of the Anglican Church or preach the gospel, as long as your Bishop looks the other way.
I'm not sure about my own personal views of these things. It's complicated. And highly personal. And although this blog is, by nature, a personal forum, I don't feel that I should share my views just yet. This is the sort of thing that has to be considered carefully before I decide anything out loud. This is the sort of thing that causes heresy and schisms and religious wars and Hallmark Holidays which are the only thing a community can agree to hold sacred. But as soon as I figure this out, and maybe sleep on it, I'll be sure to post all about it.
the major problems affecting us today seem to have started 40 years ago, when heresy was permitted in the American Episcopal Church. Homosexuality, despite the media frenzy, is really a minor point in the entire issue. And in America, it seems, you don't actually have to follow the accepted doctrine of the Anglican Church or preach the gospel, as long as your Bishop looks the other way.
I'm not sure about my own personal views of these things. It's complicated. And highly personal. And although this blog is, by nature, a personal forum, I don't feel that I should share my views just yet. This is the sort of thing that has to be considered carefully before I decide anything out loud. This is the sort of thing that causes heresy and schisms and religious wars and Hallmark Holidays which are the only thing a community can agree to hold sacred. But as soon as I figure this out, and maybe sleep on it, I'll be sure to post all about it.
Saturday, May 27, 2006
Springtime is just about over. Or it already is. This is the first weekend of the summer, Memorial Day weekend, and I'm going to spend it alone with 1/3 of my family unit. Or is that 2/3? Either way, the Boy won't be here. I miss him. Do not mistake me, I am glad that he is doing something worthwhile, but some days I wish that he were here instead. Tucked up next to me at night. Greeting our daughter in the morning with a "Helloooooo! Good Morning, Baby Girl!" And that would be great.
Soon, no more than another 2 and a half months. 9 weeks. Give or take. And I'm looking forward to that first day back together as a family with him. I want him HOME.
Soon, no more than another 2 and a half months. 9 weeks. Give or take. And I'm looking forward to that first day back together as a family with him. I want him HOME.
I feel so dirty this morning, as I sit here basking in a little downtime while my daughter rolls around on the floor babbling and giggling while watching Barney. I always said that I'd never resort to Barney. Well, that didn't take into account the difficulty of loading a dishwasher without a small toddler trying to climb into said dishwasher. I rest my case. Barney is definately the lesser of two evils when it comes to not having a screaming child clinging to my legs, climbing into the dishwasher, pulling out all the dirty silverware, and then losing her grip and falling down to hit her head on the cabinet doors and go BOOM.
The groceries will come this morning because last night they had some sort of issue with the delivery van and/or the PM shift. Which in real terms probably means that the delivery guy never showed up, or the truck broke down, or something similar. The customer service manager called me at the end of my delivery window, and apologized for the inconvenience, and they'll come by this morning. I get a credit to my account for being so understanding. I could almost hear a giant wave of relief in his voice when he realized that there was still a smile in my voice and that I wasn't going to give them a hard time or demand explanations or cancel the order or any of the usual asshat things that irate customers often do. He was very happy about it. I can only imagine the yelling that occurred before he called me, because most of the people expecting deliveries last night probably called ten minutes before the close of the window. And I got the call at quarter after. So.
As a mother I have resigned myself to being a jungle gym. I'm some sort of baby furniture, that does tricks, and exists solely for her amusement. And to change poopy diapers. This isn't going to change today. My mission- to wear this child out enough that she both takes her nap and goes to bed on time without a complaint. I don't know if I'm going to be up to it.
The groceries will come this morning because last night they had some sort of issue with the delivery van and/or the PM shift. Which in real terms probably means that the delivery guy never showed up, or the truck broke down, or something similar. The customer service manager called me at the end of my delivery window, and apologized for the inconvenience, and they'll come by this morning. I get a credit to my account for being so understanding. I could almost hear a giant wave of relief in his voice when he realized that there was still a smile in my voice and that I wasn't going to give them a hard time or demand explanations or cancel the order or any of the usual asshat things that irate customers often do. He was very happy about it. I can only imagine the yelling that occurred before he called me, because most of the people expecting deliveries last night probably called ten minutes before the close of the window. And I got the call at quarter after. So.
As a mother I have resigned myself to being a jungle gym. I'm some sort of baby furniture, that does tricks, and exists solely for her amusement. And to change poopy diapers. This isn't going to change today. My mission- to wear this child out enough that she both takes her nap and goes to bed on time without a complaint. I don't know if I'm going to be up to it.
Friday, May 26, 2006
This morning I was talking to my mother about birthdays, and my birthday which is coming up in two weeks, and I mentioned that I just can't believe I'm going to turn 29. Because I've been 29 this whole past year. And then I reminded her that every time I need to put down my age for something I either have to do math or call her to ask. I can't be the only person in the world like this.
Age used to be so important to me. Once I hit 22, though, I stopped paying attention. There were always more important things to deal with, to do, and I was finally old enough to be legal to do all of them. So. I'm going to turn 29 again this year. I can deal with that. I just don't know if I can deal with having it come up so quickly.
Since Tiffany came home from the NICU, life has been surreal around here. Days blur together. Holidays are only noted by the commercials I see on tv. Weekends? Who knows about weekends? I only could keep track of the days of the week because of my appointment book. Now that's calmed down a bit I have so much more motivation to get off my ass and really be a Mommy. There was only one appointment in my book all this past week. And she came to the house. I love it. I love it so much that I changed the sheets on my bed and made it. I love it so much that I'm having groceries delivered tonight for the entire next month, minus milk and bread. This is going to be wonderful. When I wake up tomorrow all I have to do is play with my daughter in the sunshine. Same for Sunday. Same for Monday. I could cry, I'm so happy about that.
Age used to be so important to me. Once I hit 22, though, I stopped paying attention. There were always more important things to deal with, to do, and I was finally old enough to be legal to do all of them. So. I'm going to turn 29 again this year. I can deal with that. I just don't know if I can deal with having it come up so quickly.
Since Tiffany came home from the NICU, life has been surreal around here. Days blur together. Holidays are only noted by the commercials I see on tv. Weekends? Who knows about weekends? I only could keep track of the days of the week because of my appointment book. Now that's calmed down a bit I have so much more motivation to get off my ass and really be a Mommy. There was only one appointment in my book all this past week. And she came to the house. I love it. I love it so much that I changed the sheets on my bed and made it. I love it so much that I'm having groceries delivered tonight for the entire next month, minus milk and bread. This is going to be wonderful. When I wake up tomorrow all I have to do is play with my daughter in the sunshine. Same for Sunday. Same for Monday. I could cry, I'm so happy about that.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
I have a theory that babies are an intermediary stage between pets and people. If not, then why is the baby section of the supermarket usually right across from the pet food? Why else do they make a special “baby food” that resembles something between the two? Maybe they’re really like chia pets. Chia Baby! Sprinkle with water, and wait a few weeks, and it’ll turn into a toddler.
Like this theory you can safely assume that my brains are a little scrambled at the moment. Lulled into a false sense of security by the full night's sleep I got yesterday, and the now worn out sleepy toddler in her crib. I should be sewing on the machine, finishing some blankies and a sundress I cut out yesterday, or cleaning the kitchen. I'm not. I'm sitting here watching a movie and knitting instead.
Who knows? I don't. Tomorrow the Early Intervention team is coming back out to work with us, and I have to get ready for that. I have a bundle of questions to ask about nutrition, feeding, parenting in general... And I should vacuum so that the house looks a bit neater before they get here. I also need to clean my fridge again. It looks like the Blob That Swallowed Hoboken is ready to muster forces and take over the entire bottom shelf.
Like this theory you can safely assume that my brains are a little scrambled at the moment. Lulled into a false sense of security by the full night's sleep I got yesterday, and the now worn out sleepy toddler in her crib. I should be sewing on the machine, finishing some blankies and a sundress I cut out yesterday, or cleaning the kitchen. I'm not. I'm sitting here watching a movie and knitting instead.
Who knows? I don't. Tomorrow the Early Intervention team is coming back out to work with us, and I have to get ready for that. I have a bundle of questions to ask about nutrition, feeding, parenting in general... And I should vacuum so that the house looks a bit neater before they get here. I also need to clean my fridge again. It looks like the Blob That Swallowed Hoboken is ready to muster forces and take over the entire bottom shelf.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
post-it notes are where it's at. I really mean it. Without them I'd be so screwed, and not in that fun way. Right now I've got about five of them scattered over and under my laptop. All in various stages of coherency, and all but one I don't really need anymore. Plus, my computer's thinking things over a bit too hard, and at the moment I can only see about five words of what I'm typing at a time. Which makes the touch typing that I learned in grade school oh, so, appropriate now.
My cousin and his wife are having a baby. I'm so happy for them. Even though she's made it further than I ever got, I'm really glad for them. And ok, just a bit jealous at times. This is not helping the baby fever that I've got this week. Did it ever really end? I want to do it again. Soon. And this time I want to look pregnant, dammit. If I'm going to be sick, I want visible proof other than the pea-soup green face. But regardless of that, good luck you two! I wish you all the luck in the world. Be safe. To take somebody else's words, "don't be scared. I know you can do this." It's a scary and wonderful feeling to see that new parent bracelet on your arm. You'll never forget it.
My cousin and his wife are having a baby. I'm so happy for them. Even though she's made it further than I ever got, I'm really glad for them. And ok, just a bit jealous at times. This is not helping the baby fever that I've got this week. Did it ever really end? I want to do it again. Soon. And this time I want to look pregnant, dammit. If I'm going to be sick, I want visible proof other than the pea-soup green face. But regardless of that, good luck you two! I wish you all the luck in the world. Be safe. To take somebody else's words, "don't be scared. I know you can do this." It's a scary and wonderful feeling to see that new parent bracelet on your arm. You'll never forget it.
A Shocking Experience
Who knew that motherhood was so dangerous? Some sort of freak power surge just happened in one of the living room lamps. The bulb exploded. And the lamp base was all tingly. Which was odd, since it was wood. Clean up! Clean up by the couch! Fortunately, this sort of thing was covered in home ec during my senior year in high school as well as in elementary chemistry. Pity they didn't cover what to do with wiggly hypercurious toddlers.
Monday, May 22, 2006
Who knows the stubbornness that lays in the heart of Toddlers?
TIFFANY!
She knows. God, does she know. In the past ten minutes she has undergone contortions that would make a circus performer or a stripper blush, in an attempt to go around the desk, behind the chair, behind the other chair, and back to the side of the recliner where she started. And then we go BOOM again.
There was glory in the BOOM. There was blood, there was sweat, there were even tears. Oh, and she was upset too. I thought at first she had just done the fall like most of the others she's done in the past week. I picked her up, cuddled her, and then I saw the blood. Oy, the blood. It should not be possible for my heart to stop like that. I've lost track of the times I've seen blood. Myself, other people's. And I can cope just fine. But this is my BABY. Bleeding. Like any mother of the animal kingdom I put my nose about two inches from her body, examining every inch of her with a forensic scrutiny that CSI would be proud of. What happened is, she bit her lip. And it bled. Not much, not badly, but yet- my baby got hurt.
Not that she knows it now. She's on a determined exploration of the linen cupboard. I'm so thankful that I stacked the linens all on the bottom. Because that's one cupboard that I don't get afraid that she's going to get into mischief with, what with the opening and closing of the door. This might be more fun than standing up.
TIFFANY!
She knows. God, does she know. In the past ten minutes she has undergone contortions that would make a circus performer or a stripper blush, in an attempt to go around the desk, behind the chair, behind the other chair, and back to the side of the recliner where she started. And then we go BOOM again.
There was glory in the BOOM. There was blood, there was sweat, there were even tears. Oh, and she was upset too. I thought at first she had just done the fall like most of the others she's done in the past week. I picked her up, cuddled her, and then I saw the blood. Oy, the blood. It should not be possible for my heart to stop like that. I've lost track of the times I've seen blood. Myself, other people's. And I can cope just fine. But this is my BABY. Bleeding. Like any mother of the animal kingdom I put my nose about two inches from her body, examining every inch of her with a forensic scrutiny that CSI would be proud of. What happened is, she bit her lip. And it bled. Not much, not badly, but yet- my baby got hurt.
Not that she knows it now. She's on a determined exploration of the linen cupboard. I'm so thankful that I stacked the linens all on the bottom. Because that's one cupboard that I don't get afraid that she's going to get into mischief with, what with the opening and closing of the door. This might be more fun than standing up.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
I need to grow up. I just lost it. I'm extremely PISSED at the Boy right now, and I can't even put it into words. All I can do is blither on about nothing. It's possible that it's not even him that I'm mad at- he's just the most convenient target.
This morning I found that I can't hold a conversation without bringing up the KittyCat. I can't go for more than five minutes without bringing her prematurity or my false teeth into the spotlight. I proudly declare that she was 9 weeks early. That she weighed 2 and a half pounds. That I have false teeth on both the top and the bottom, and that the dentist who did it was a genius. So I guess that I'm mad at myself for turning into this person. I used to read the news obsessively, and I could discuss most things with the Boy. I could talk about intelligent, grownup type things. Now I can't talk about anything but the baby. I'm not his wife anymore, I'm the nanny. Just a glorified executive assistant, sending him reports and pictures every day. And I'm tired of it. I'm just wishing that I was still more than that.
This morning I found that I can't hold a conversation without bringing up the KittyCat. I can't go for more than five minutes without bringing her prematurity or my false teeth into the spotlight. I proudly declare that she was 9 weeks early. That she weighed 2 and a half pounds. That I have false teeth on both the top and the bottom, and that the dentist who did it was a genius. So I guess that I'm mad at myself for turning into this person. I used to read the news obsessively, and I could discuss most things with the Boy. I could talk about intelligent, grownup type things. Now I can't talk about anything but the baby. I'm not his wife anymore, I'm the nanny. Just a glorified executive assistant, sending him reports and pictures every day. And I'm tired of it. I'm just wishing that I was still more than that.
Saturday, May 20, 2006
someday. I'll figure everything out, and then there's going to be no stopping me. Today went really well. I got my bloodwork done. I got to play with the kid, the Light of my Life. I had the strength to do some housework afterwards, and I'm actually working some more on the blankie for Simi's baby. Which will be a girl. Who will be about as cute as my Munchkin, and hopefully more patient about getting here.
I'm definately going to bed with a good book tonight. I just hope that I can slow down my thoughts enough to go to sleep.
I'm definately going to bed with a good book tonight. I just hope that I can slow down my thoughts enough to go to sleep.
This afternoon has been, I'm afraid, a wash. We've spent most of it in bed, and now she's awake and groggy, crawling around with her Spoon. I'm awake and groggy and aware of what time it is, playing on the 'Net. This is alright, so far. While I was laying in bed feeding her a bottle for naptime I had this long post composed in the back of my brain. It was very effective, very well-done. And I'm a bit upset that I've forgotten most of it now. Hopefully it'll come back soon, and then I'll post it. In the meantime, the child is still the light of my life. Even though she just spit up on the rug. Somehow I know that I'll never see our security deposit again. I'm okay with that.
Friday, May 19, 2006
It's hard to wonder why I'm so eager for another baby. That baby-head smell. That chubby little pink body wriggling away from the diaper as fast as she can move. Those cute little dimples on the backs of her knees. I remember the wrinkled spider monkey that I delivered a year ago, who was hooked up to tubes and wires and PICC lines and IVs and all of that... and I wonder, why do I want to do this again?
Why would I inflict the sickness of pregnancy on my body again? Why would I want to do the depression, that awful PPD, those long nights that scared the everliving shit out of my friends? Why do I want to see my husband have to suffer through that again?
I wish I had an answer. I really do. But I don't. I keep telling myself to be patient and grateful for what I've got. There's no telling how complicated the next child would be, or what we'd end up with, and I do have a painful awareness of exactly how lucky we were to have a 31weeker with no complications or developmental delays. Fetal distress, brachys, and my seizure risks at the end non-withstanding. There has been one very painful moment when the Boy was a bit intoxicated when he clutched me close, buried his head in my shoulder, and said that he was afraid that he'd lose both me and the baby that last night, and he couldn't see how he could go on without us. That without me he'd be dead in a ditch downtown, with no reason to go on. That's harsh. I feel the same way about him, sometimes. I know, though, that he'd manage to go on if I passed on and he had the KittyCat to care for. Not that I'm about to let him risk that. So I guess I'm not goin
Why would I inflict the sickness of pregnancy on my body again? Why would I want to do the depression, that awful PPD, those long nights that scared the everliving shit out of my friends? Why do I want to see my husband have to suffer through that again?
I wish I had an answer. I really do. But I don't. I keep telling myself to be patient and grateful for what I've got. There's no telling how complicated the next child would be, or what we'd end up with, and I do have a painful awareness of exactly how lucky we were to have a 31weeker with no complications or developmental delays. Fetal distress, brachys, and my seizure risks at the end non-withstanding. There has been one very painful moment when the Boy was a bit intoxicated when he clutched me close, buried his head in my shoulder, and said that he was afraid that he'd lose both me and the baby that last night, and he couldn't see how he could go on without us. That without me he'd be dead in a ditch downtown, with no reason to go on. That's harsh. I feel the same way about him, sometimes. I know, though, that he'd manage to go on if I passed on and he had the KittyCat to care for. Not that I'm about to let him risk that. So I guess I'm not goin
One more hour before I can pack us in the car and go off to the doctors. One more hour before I can leave, which will allow me to park the car and not feel ungodly early. Where the definition of ungodly early is two and a half hours before the appointment. Maybe that would get them to agree that I'm serious about this whole thing? To be candidly painfully honest, I don't really expect them to find anything wrong with me this time either. I've just about given up, in my deepest heart, on ever feeling stronger and ever having the strength to get up off the floor and do housework or play with my baby girl in the sunshine. It's the hope that maybe this time they'll find out what's wrong with me that keeps me going back. Hope, that one day I won't be exhausted. That I'll have some of my old pep back.
Mount WashMore has exploded in a giant lava flow of dirty underwear. I don't even have the heart to wash it out by hand and iron it dry this week, and so I took advantage of the fluff n fold service at the laundromat. This marks the second occassion in my life that I've given in to this exhaustion in such a manner. I know that realistically, there's nothing wrong with it, that it's a smart move, but my thrifty ancestors are turning over in their graves. What has the bloodline come to, that a daughter of the line is Sending Out the Washing? Willing to pay a premium to make it go away. Willing to cough up the cash, so that the energy I have can be spent doing better things. Worthier things. Like taking care of my daughter.
And that's another thing I'm struggling with a lot lately. She's growing up. Really, truly, growing up. She's not my preemie anymore. She's a big girl, with a personality, and yesterday we had the first real experience of Why Don't I Just Weld You To My Hip And Be Done With It? For a few hours in the morning every time I set her down it felt like the world would end, with the screaming and wailing and gnashing of her tiny little teeth.
I'm just praying that maybe today I'll have an answer. Maybe today I'll have some more hope.
Mount WashMore has exploded in a giant lava flow of dirty underwear. I don't even have the heart to wash it out by hand and iron it dry this week, and so I took advantage of the fluff n fold service at the laundromat. This marks the second occassion in my life that I've given in to this exhaustion in such a manner. I know that realistically, there's nothing wrong with it, that it's a smart move, but my thrifty ancestors are turning over in their graves. What has the bloodline come to, that a daughter of the line is Sending Out the Washing? Willing to pay a premium to make it go away. Willing to cough up the cash, so that the energy I have can be spent doing better things. Worthier things. Like taking care of my daughter.
And that's another thing I'm struggling with a lot lately. She's growing up. Really, truly, growing up. She's not my preemie anymore. She's a big girl, with a personality, and yesterday we had the first real experience of Why Don't I Just Weld You To My Hip And Be Done With It? For a few hours in the morning every time I set her down it felt like the world would end, with the screaming and wailing and gnashing of her tiny little teeth.
I'm just praying that maybe today I'll have an answer. Maybe today I'll have some more hope.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
still tired. I can't believe that I'm still tired. I've done nothing but rest all night, and now I've been awake all of an hour and I'm still tired; if I could I'd lay down flat on the floor and pull a blanket over me and stare at the ceiling trying to get some rest.
I can't believe that this is all just depression. I can't believe the docs don't believe there's anything wrong with me. I need something else. I need an answer. I need to feel better soon.
I can't believe that this is all just depression. I can't believe the docs don't believe there's anything wrong with me. I need something else. I need an answer. I need to feel better soon.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Another day, another screaming fit, another call from social workers who want to help me. There are worse things. I could be having nobody call wanting to help. I could be sitting here with a screaming feverish baby all alone and depressed.
Oh, and I've got no strength today either. Zilch. Nada. It finally got me off my ass to make that followup appt about my blood sugar. Hey, this could be good news? Whatever. I'm just not feeling very perky today. Wish I could hear from the Boy. That would make me feel better.
... and Hi Simi!!!!.... glad to know you've been following along! Hope your bun continues growing on schedule!
Oh, and I've got no strength today either. Zilch. Nada. It finally got me off my ass to make that followup appt about my blood sugar. Hey, this could be good news? Whatever. I'm just not feeling very perky today. Wish I could hear from the Boy. That would make me feel better.
... and Hi Simi!!!!.... glad to know you've been following along! Hope your bun continues growing on schedule!
Monday, May 15, 2006
'kay
Okay. I'm calm again. My composure has been returned, slightly the worse for wear. KittyCat is asleep in her crib, completely worn out by today's Events. Actually, 'Events' seems far too tame a word. Let's call it, oh, I don't know, GREAT HONKING FLIPPING INSANITY CIRCUS?
Perspective is a good thing. A lot of preemies don't do this well at their one year checkup. I need to stay focused on the good stuff and not the bad. I sure as hell don't need to think about why I was a soggy heap of Mommy-Puddle when the pediatrician walked into the examining room. My only explanation to her? I'm just tired today.
Tired also doesn't quite describe the feeling. Tired is something you feel after PRT. Tired is something that covers the morning after the night before. Tired is for wimps. I've been tired now for just about eighteen months. I sleep, and it does do me some good, but never enough. I rest, and that also never does enough. Exercise doesn't help. Nutrition changes don't help. I have tried everything the docs tell me, I've upped my antidepressant. It doesn't help. And when KittyCat decides to throw her weight around, I get strung even tighter.
It's hard to believe that a person that small can have this big an impact. She's just now figuring out how to whimper and wail to express her Royal Displeasure over not getting her way. Add to that her natural distaste for medical procedures, and that was how my morning was going. Plus the crying. Then we get to the actual part of the exam where she had the blood tests and the vaccinations. Turns out that she has her Mommy's veins. Hard to find, buried deep, and when the needle gets there the vein isn't where it's supposed to be. Then we have to find the vein. Then we have to keep the needle in the vein. Then we have to not blow out the vein. She's got little bruises all over her elbow and legs from this- big bruise from the bloodwork and little bruised vampire bites where the shots went in. After that, a nap just wasn't happening. I finally got her to bed about an hour ago. Now I have a nice cup of vanilla tea.
I wish it were stronger. With a little paper umbrella in it, and chunks of fruit. On toothpicks.
I guess I have some stuff to be proud of though. She's not anemic, despite no iron supplements. The doc says she doesn't have to go back on the prilosec. Even though her weight is still falling behind the curve, her length is at 50%. She's bright, and normally happy, and very active. Not shabby for a 31weeker. Not shabby for a mostly-single-due-to-the-military mommy.
Perspective is a good thing. A lot of preemies don't do this well at their one year checkup. I need to stay focused on the good stuff and not the bad. I sure as hell don't need to think about why I was a soggy heap of Mommy-Puddle when the pediatrician walked into the examining room. My only explanation to her? I'm just tired today.
Tired also doesn't quite describe the feeling. Tired is something you feel after PRT. Tired is something that covers the morning after the night before. Tired is for wimps. I've been tired now for just about eighteen months. I sleep, and it does do me some good, but never enough. I rest, and that also never does enough. Exercise doesn't help. Nutrition changes don't help. I have tried everything the docs tell me, I've upped my antidepressant. It doesn't help. And when KittyCat decides to throw her weight around, I get strung even tighter.
It's hard to believe that a person that small can have this big an impact. She's just now figuring out how to whimper and wail to express her Royal Displeasure over not getting her way. Add to that her natural distaste for medical procedures, and that was how my morning was going. Plus the crying. Then we get to the actual part of the exam where she had the blood tests and the vaccinations. Turns out that she has her Mommy's veins. Hard to find, buried deep, and when the needle gets there the vein isn't where it's supposed to be. Then we have to find the vein. Then we have to keep the needle in the vein. Then we have to not blow out the vein. She's got little bruises all over her elbow and legs from this- big bruise from the bloodwork and little bruised vampire bites where the shots went in. After that, a nap just wasn't happening. I finally got her to bed about an hour ago. Now I have a nice cup of vanilla tea.
I wish it were stronger. With a little paper umbrella in it, and chunks of fruit. On toothpicks.
I guess I have some stuff to be proud of though. She's not anemic, despite no iron supplements. The doc says she doesn't have to go back on the prilosec. Even though her weight is still falling behind the curve, her length is at 50%. She's bright, and normally happy, and very active. Not shabby for a 31weeker. Not shabby for a mostly-single-due-to-the-military mommy.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
I try to be patient, and understanding, and embrace the myth of the Super Mommy. For all the trying, there are still days when I want to stamp my foot up and down and scream at the top of my lungs.
I guess I was expecting a Hallmark Moment today. I didn't get one. I feel like crap, my head hurts, I feel guilty for expecting an email message from my husband telling me happy mother's day. I feel guiltier because there's a cute little girl asleep in the next room who reminds me of her daddy and I should just be happy that she's alive and doing so well. Why can't I be happy with the reality of it? Why do I want some sort of mushy sentiment? A hug?
Most of the other women I know would be extremely pissed right now. Not me. I wonder what I did to deserve being forgotten.
I guess I was expecting a Hallmark Moment today. I didn't get one. I feel like crap, my head hurts, I feel guilty for expecting an email message from my husband telling me happy mother's day. I feel guiltier because there's a cute little girl asleep in the next room who reminds me of her daddy and I should just be happy that she's alive and doing so well. Why can't I be happy with the reality of it? Why do I want some sort of mushy sentiment? A hug?
Most of the other women I know would be extremely pissed right now. Not me. I wonder what I did to deserve being forgotten.
how stupid is this? I'm getting all ready to wake up in a snit because I didn't get a Happy Mother's Day well-wishing from the boy. Maybe he fell down the p-way and broke a leg or something, thus preventing him from giving me an email. My whole life I laughed at the women who seemed to revolve their entire lives around such hallmark holidays. The ones who got depressed and pissed without a card or a box of candy, or some other special mark of the day.
This Mother's Day is our second since becoming parents. Last year it was bittersweet, and my girl was still so fragile that she could only come out of her warming bed for five minutes at most. But my first mother's day seemed special like the day I was a bride. I was slightly off center stage, the supporting actress, and everybody was wishing me well. Especially given the circumstances.
He's not going to remember mother's day. I won't get any acknowledgement of it from him. Because it's just not going to occur to him to do anything about it.
This Mother's Day is our second since becoming parents. Last year it was bittersweet, and my girl was still so fragile that she could only come out of her warming bed for five minutes at most. But my first mother's day seemed special like the day I was a bride. I was slightly off center stage, the supporting actress, and everybody was wishing me well. Especially given the circumstances.
He's not going to remember mother's day. I won't get any acknowledgement of it from him. Because it's just not going to occur to him to do anything about it.
Saturday, May 13, 2006
One year perspective
I found my child
At the end of a long cold sleep
I woke to a polaroid picture
my husband, grinning from ear to ear
as he says-
"She's perfect"
"She could fit in my hand"
At the end of a long weekend I managed to go down the hall
to find my daughter in an isolette
You couldn't even breathe on your own
I found my child
spent weeks learning you
what you looked like, what you sounded like
how you held my finger with your fist
I found you
pumping milk day after day
no more milk but the child grows
Our daughter thrives
as the baby fat swelled your skin and made dimples rise
we brought you home
loved you
cuddled you
held you in the darkness of the night
those first nights, when none of us slept
we found you
where you had always been
in our hearts
At the end of a long cold sleep
I woke to a polaroid picture
my husband, grinning from ear to ear
as he says-
"She's perfect"
"She could fit in my hand"
At the end of a long weekend I managed to go down the hall
to find my daughter in an isolette
You couldn't even breathe on your own
I found my child
spent weeks learning you
what you looked like, what you sounded like
how you held my finger with your fist
I found you
pumping milk day after day
no more milk but the child grows
Our daughter thrives
as the baby fat swelled your skin and made dimples rise
we brought you home
loved you
cuddled you
held you in the darkness of the night
those first nights, when none of us slept
we found you
where you had always been
in our hearts
Today I started to notice that she really has a mind of her own. With desires, wants, and objectives that may have nothing to do with what mommy wants. Case in point, I was at the market with her earlier today and she tried her best to touch every piece of produce she could. She couldn't. Mommy was mean. And every time her will was thwarted, she started to fuss and whimper. This evening that has grown to full-out protest. She does not want to do what mama wants her to do. And I'm tired. At least her sniffles seem to be clearing up.
twitch. Twitch. I feel like the little squirrel on Ice Age, twitching from nerves and stress while unable to relax enough to sleep. My guts are twisted up in knots, my stomach hurts. I wish that the kidlet would take her nap so that I can take a nap of my own. Maybe later. I hope.
Bread is baking. I realize that bread won't cure all my problems, but it'll make me feel better. And with luck, it'll provide spiritual nourishment as well as feeding my body.
Bread is baking. I realize that bread won't cure all my problems, but it'll make me feel better. And with luck, it'll provide spiritual nourishment as well as feeding my body.
Nothing compares to the feeling that suctioning half an ounce of yellow chunky snot out of your toddler's nose gives a person. This, truly, is motherhood. And why, I ask myself, do I never think about suctioning my own nose when I'm that painfully congested? It's certainly faster than trying to blow, blow, blow it out.
Friday, May 12, 2006
huh. so I guess by now everyone's heard that I lost the baby and gained a toddler?
The past two days have been a real test of my nerves in this respect. And my stamina. I've never felt so tired. Not this month, anyway. And I'm thinking longingly of my bed even at this ungodly hour of the morning. Later on I'll get ambitious. Later on, I'll do stuff, like get dressed and put my contacts in and go to the park. Just let me enjoy this morning while I've got it, and my toddler while she's still a heavy armful of warm sweet-smelling baby in my arms when she sucks back on a morning smoothie.
The past two days have been a real test of my nerves in this respect. And my stamina. I've never felt so tired. Not this month, anyway. And I'm thinking longingly of my bed even at this ungodly hour of the morning. Later on I'll get ambitious. Later on, I'll do stuff, like get dressed and put my contacts in and go to the park. Just let me enjoy this morning while I've got it, and my toddler while she's still a heavy armful of warm sweet-smelling baby in my arms when she sucks back on a morning smoothie.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
I recently picked up a copy of the No Cry Sleep Solution. We'll see if it works, I'm hoping mainly to get some tips from it to help me with the KittyCat and her lack of desire for bedtime. Or the I'm Not Sleepy stage... We had a lot of fun at the library this afternoon. After we picked out some books, we sat on the grass in the little park outside and I spent a fascinating few minutes watching her watch bugs. Then she needed to individually pick up stalks of grass. Then we had a discussion about the things that Mommy wants her to put into her mouth. I have the feeling that 'nutritive value' is a phrase that's going to come back and haunt me in later years.
Sitting here in a pretty pink cami, and I'm thrilled beyond belief that I managed to take a shower today. Who knew? I must be some sort of motherly miracle in the flesh, cause I managed to take a shower, wash my hair, and rinse out a week's worth of underwear in the sink so I can avoid a trip to the laundromat before Friday. Yes, I occasionally get desparate enough to hand-launder my underwear. The sucky thing is that I don't have a drying rack anymore, and the bathroom in our apartment has no windows. If I expect the stuff to dry before Thursday I'm going to have to move ahead to my next trick- which is almost as bad as hand-laundering underwear. Heat will dry most wet clothing. An old trick is to iron it. My mother used to tell me about hanging out the laundry to dry in the winter, and while this might at first seem like just another walking through the snow for five miles barefoot to get to school story, it also smacks of good old practicality. You need to launder. You need to get the wet stuff dry. It's going to drip and mostly dry in the cold air outside over the course of the day, but come nightfall the residual moisture is going to freeze. It's still getting the wet out of the clothing. The trick is to smack it sharply against your knee, bring it in, and iron it all right away. On the bright side, that way doesn't require starch.
Well, off to iron my panties. Then I'm going to curl up and go to sleep. My Sister-in-law arrives tomorrow afternoon, so that's going to be a real treat.
Sitting here in a pretty pink cami, and I'm thrilled beyond belief that I managed to take a shower today. Who knew? I must be some sort of motherly miracle in the flesh, cause I managed to take a shower, wash my hair, and rinse out a week's worth of underwear in the sink so I can avoid a trip to the laundromat before Friday. Yes, I occasionally get desparate enough to hand-launder my underwear. The sucky thing is that I don't have a drying rack anymore, and the bathroom in our apartment has no windows. If I expect the stuff to dry before Thursday I'm going to have to move ahead to my next trick- which is almost as bad as hand-laundering underwear. Heat will dry most wet clothing. An old trick is to iron it. My mother used to tell me about hanging out the laundry to dry in the winter, and while this might at first seem like just another walking through the snow for five miles barefoot to get to school story, it also smacks of good old practicality. You need to launder. You need to get the wet stuff dry. It's going to drip and mostly dry in the cold air outside over the course of the day, but come nightfall the residual moisture is going to freeze. It's still getting the wet out of the clothing. The trick is to smack it sharply against your knee, bring it in, and iron it all right away. On the bright side, that way doesn't require starch.
Well, off to iron my panties. Then I'm going to curl up and go to sleep. My Sister-in-law arrives tomorrow afternoon, so that's going to be a real treat.
Monday, May 08, 2006
I finally got around to getting a decent picture of the beaded necklaces I've made and posting them over on Etsy. More to follow, if these are successful!
Sunday, May 07, 2006
another bedtime has been achieved, Momma has another anxiety attack, and needs to stop singing patriotic songs from the era of the Civil War. Even though they're sad and slow and perfect for lullabies. They make her cry, and that's not good when she's putting the baby to bed.
Curling up in bed now with tea and Blue Collar Comedy. Maybe I'll read during the commercials. Maybe I'll try to get some sleep myself. Tomorrow will be brighter, tomorrow the sun will shine just a little bit more in a bluer sky. That's what I tell myself. Someday it'll come true.
Curling up in bed now with tea and Blue Collar Comedy. Maybe I'll read during the commercials. Maybe I'll try to get some sleep myself. Tomorrow will be brighter, tomorrow the sun will shine just a little bit more in a bluer sky. That's what I tell myself. Someday it'll come true.
Things to Do with Pork
It's the other white meat. No, not *that*. I mean a real pork roast. I had one stashed away in the freezer and I finally cooked it up last night. Today we're running some more wierd science/cooking experiments in my kitchen and I thought I'd share the results with y'all.
For starters, the pork roast was easy-peasy to make. Take one roast, remove the plastic wrap and butcher's packaging. Place in crockpot. Take one bottle barbecue sauce, any type. Pour the entire bottle over the roast, put on the lid, and leave it alone for the rest of the day.
I whipped up some bread to go with the meal. It occurred to me that adding some herbs to it would make one of those cool deli-like breads, that are usually way too yummy not to spend the money on. To my basic Milk Bread recipe (from the Joy of Cooking) I added two tsp Mrs Dash. An instant herb/garlic blend with no added salt or yuckiness. That was also a resounding success. One loaf on the table, one loaf put aside for a drive-by breading. I just got a call from the victims of my drive-by; it seems that the loaf is now completely gone. Cool.
And for lunch today, I diced up some of that pork, put in a can of drained carrots, a can of chicken noodle soup, some steamed celery... and it's one of the more delicious things I've eaten this week. With the advantage of knowing that it's healthy for me! Now, there's a success if ever I saw one.
For starters, the pork roast was easy-peasy to make. Take one roast, remove the plastic wrap and butcher's packaging. Place in crockpot. Take one bottle barbecue sauce, any type. Pour the entire bottle over the roast, put on the lid, and leave it alone for the rest of the day.
I whipped up some bread to go with the meal. It occurred to me that adding some herbs to it would make one of those cool deli-like breads, that are usually way too yummy not to spend the money on. To my basic Milk Bread recipe (from the Joy of Cooking) I added two tsp Mrs Dash. An instant herb/garlic blend with no added salt or yuckiness. That was also a resounding success. One loaf on the table, one loaf put aside for a drive-by breading. I just got a call from the victims of my drive-by; it seems that the loaf is now completely gone. Cool.
And for lunch today, I diced up some of that pork, put in a can of drained carrots, a can of chicken noodle soup, some steamed celery... and it's one of the more delicious things I've eaten this week. With the advantage of knowing that it's healthy for me! Now, there's a success if ever I saw one.
Friday, May 05, 2006
Before this morning, I never really considered the amusement factor of a silicon nipple. I should have payed more attention when the Boy was trying to teach me about p0rn, I guess, cause it just didn't occur to me that any person could be fascinated by one. The Munchkin's been playing with this object for the past two hours. Crawl around, suck, chew thoughtfully, crawl around some more, bang her chubby knees against the carpet, remove the nipple to eat a veggie puff, and then chew thoughtfully on the nipple some more.
Why is this?
And, why is my mind so thoroughly in the gutter this morning? I heard from the Boy. He said that his mouse just died. Immediately I decided to take the dirtiest possible conotation of this- mind you, my mind isn't really that dirty compared to some of the other people I know. Maybe it's just hormones. Hormone Terrorists. With little tampon-shaped dart guns.
One of my good friends is getting to be very pregnant. This is opposed to being only Slightly Pregnant, which is like saying that she's a little knocked up. Another three months and she will graduate to the realm of Very Pregnant, which is also commonly referred to as the Beached Whale Phenomenom. I say this out of love, hon. It's not a slam on you, it's just a Female Thing. Even those women lucky enough not to bloat on a lunar cycle have discovered that there is a day when you feel so big and bloated and fat and icky that you honestly expect a knock on the door from Greenpeace to drag you back to the ocean. This is obviously a disadvantage of living so near SeaWorld.
I've really been able to commiserate with my inner hormonal terrorist, since this week I'm doing the Fake Morning Sickness thing. For those of you lucky enough to have never heard of it, it's a thing I do a couple times a year. It's all the fun and excitement of morning sickness without the baby. Lucky for me it only lasts a week, and this was once a source of some consternation when I was first dating the Boy. "Are you *sure*?" some people would ask me. Uh, yeah. I'm sure. As I found out a while back, the fake stuff really did make it easier for me to have the real thing. Kinda like training for the Olympics of Nausea. Certainly easier than watching Martha Stewart Living nonstop for three weeks. However, one of the neat things I discovered at that PARADISE is ginger tea. Which I'd heard about before, only I'd never done anything about it. I'm here to report that I've only puked once this morning, and I haven't tossed up my breakfast yet. Or my pill cocktail. Which is making my emotional side extremely happy.
Why is this?
And, why is my mind so thoroughly in the gutter this morning? I heard from the Boy. He said that his mouse just died. Immediately I decided to take the dirtiest possible conotation of this- mind you, my mind isn't really that dirty compared to some of the other people I know. Maybe it's just hormones. Hormone Terrorists. With little tampon-shaped dart guns.
One of my good friends is getting to be very pregnant. This is opposed to being only Slightly Pregnant, which is like saying that she's a little knocked up. Another three months and she will graduate to the realm of Very Pregnant, which is also commonly referred to as the Beached Whale Phenomenom. I say this out of love, hon. It's not a slam on you, it's just a Female Thing. Even those women lucky enough not to bloat on a lunar cycle have discovered that there is a day when you feel so big and bloated and fat and icky that you honestly expect a knock on the door from Greenpeace to drag you back to the ocean. This is obviously a disadvantage of living so near SeaWorld.
I've really been able to commiserate with my inner hormonal terrorist, since this week I'm doing the Fake Morning Sickness thing. For those of you lucky enough to have never heard of it, it's a thing I do a couple times a year. It's all the fun and excitement of morning sickness without the baby. Lucky for me it only lasts a week, and this was once a source of some consternation when I was first dating the Boy. "Are you *sure*?" some people would ask me. Uh, yeah. I'm sure. As I found out a while back, the fake stuff really did make it easier for me to have the real thing. Kinda like training for the Olympics of Nausea. Certainly easier than watching Martha Stewart Living nonstop for three weeks. However, one of the neat things I discovered at that PARADISE is ginger tea. Which I'd heard about before, only I'd never done anything about it. I'm here to report that I've only puked once this morning, and I haven't tossed up my breakfast yet. Or my pill cocktail. Which is making my emotional side extremely happy.
This morning was so neat. I tucked Kitty up in her highchair, and I scrambled some eggs with cream cheese and a tad of minced onion. She had two wagon wheel cookies and a scrambled egg, all mixed up on her tray, and fed herself most of it. I didn't want to push her, though. Already this is amazing. I know, a lot of other babies are doing this by now. But this is *my* baby. This is the only one that counts to me.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Once again I gotta say that I Heart Online Grocery Shopping. It arrives at my door, with a smile, and is carried into my kitchen. All I have to do is put it away after that. With a squirmy little girl, this is really the way to do it. Especially since I'm on my own with her right now. And even more especially because I've got little girly arms and absolutely zilch by way of upper body strength.
I also Heart my sister-in-law Debbie. She turned me onto a tea store, which is kinda like a little slice of paradise. It takes me back to my youth and a little hole in the wall shop called the Spice Smuggler. They sold loose teas and spices by the ounce, and other odds and ends that dealt with hard-to-find specialty items. Like clotted cream. Like Cream Tea. Like every kind of tea strainer imaginable. I probably spent too much money on that stuff while I was visiting the inlaws, and I don't care because of that. It's just that good. You can visit this awesome place HERE. With luck I'll make the money back on earrings, which I'm working on tonight. Will let everybody know when I get to posting the pics on my Etsy site, and why don't you settle down for the evening with a good book and a cup of tea?
I also Heart my sister-in-law Debbie. She turned me onto a tea store, which is kinda like a little slice of paradise. It takes me back to my youth and a little hole in the wall shop called the Spice Smuggler. They sold loose teas and spices by the ounce, and other odds and ends that dealt with hard-to-find specialty items. Like clotted cream. Like Cream Tea. Like every kind of tea strainer imaginable. I probably spent too much money on that stuff while I was visiting the inlaws, and I don't care because of that. It's just that good. You can visit this awesome place HERE. With luck I'll make the money back on earrings, which I'm working on tonight. Will let everybody know when I get to posting the pics on my Etsy site, and why don't you settle down for the evening with a good book and a cup of tea?
Wierd Science
Heating carrots in the microwave is good.
Superheating carrots in the microwave is bad, and will make chicken noodle dinner go in interesting directions, as well as the Big Orange Thing That Swallowed Hoboken.
Superheating carrots in the microwave is bad, and will make chicken noodle dinner go in interesting directions, as well as the Big Orange Thing That Swallowed Hoboken.
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