Death and Monkeys

I’m a little bit hyped up this morning, despite feeling like crap, thanks to a breakfast consisting of approximately five cups of coffee, one partially burnt brownie, and a glass of Emergen-C, as well as finding proof that I’m either on the verge of death, or totally fine, depending entirely on the nature of what I discovered.

That should be explained.

Right, so, there I was, plucking my eyebrows using crappy tweezers and a half-broken hand mirror that E kept poking at in an effort to rearrange my face (he’s obsessed with touch-screens and tries to make things happen on the TV, laptop, and mirrors using his finger). Due to a strange (or not so strange, really) fear of having anything lodged in my teeth and smiling at people (this happened to me! I had broccoli for dinner, went to Walgreen’s, and was feeling overly smiley one night and didn’t realize til hours later that there was broccoli winking at the cashier when I flashed my pearly whites at him(this also is a reason why flirting just does not work for me))…

Whoa, slow down.

Ah, yes. I curled my lips back in an ugly snarly way to see if any bits of brownie had taken up residence between my teeth, and that’s when I noticed a tiny little round black spot on my gums.

I poked at it, tried to scrape it off in the hopes that it was ground pepper (which was silly, because I’ve not consumed pepper in days, and yes, I have in fact brushed my teeth since then. At least once, but if my memory is correct, it’s been more like six times).

It didn’t budge. It also didn’t hurt, either, so, as any sane person would do, I Googled it.

By the way, if you’re going to Google any kind of medical anything, don’t bother looking at the pictures, because not only will you see disgusting photos relating to what you’re actually looking for, you’ll be distracted by disgusting photos that are completely UNrelated to what you’re actually looking for.

Man, there are people out there with really, REALLY gross mouths.

Oh, hell, I’m one of them now! I’ve got a BLACK SPOT ON MY GUMS!

Anyway, the information I found tells me that this spot COULD just be a discoloration. It COULD just be a bruise from vigorous tooth-brushing.

Or it could be oral cancer in its earliest stages and I’ll probably die a horrible death if I don’t go see a dentist ASAP.

So, I’m either totally fine, or on the verge of death.

Actually, nothing said anything about dying, but that’s just my mind’s natural progression; I find a spot that didn’t exist as recently as yesterday, and I assume it’s a death omen.

Like on The Muppets Treasure Island (er, is that right? You probably know what I’m talking about, regardless), with the black spot. Totally similar.

To make my day even better, I’ve got what I suspect is a cold, but feels more like the flu, and I only think it’s a cold because it started with just a runny nose, then has slowly gotten worse over the last several days. I am now at the point where I feel much like crawling under a blanket and sleeping for a week. The problem with this plan is that L won’t let me sleep that long, and E would just pull the blanket off of me to throw on the floor. And then he wouldn’t even play with it.

Why are children so mean?

To tie all this together nicely…

I’ve had a headache nearly every day since my nose first started being all snotty. I had assumed the headache was courtesy of whatever bug I’ve caught, but now, since finding the spot on my gums, it seems far more likely that the headache is being caused by a major brain tumor that is showing itself through the spot on my gums.

And this is why I should

A) Not be left to my own devices for long periods of time
B) Not pluck my eyebrows
and
C) Never Google anything. Ever.

Now all I want to do is call Clint at work to run my theories by him and see if he agrees that I’m likely to die in the next few weeks.

Oooh, he’d be so mad.

Yeah, not about my death, about me calling him at work to discuss my death.

…BUT WHAT IF I REALLY AM DYING?!

He’d probably say, “Well, we can worry about that when I get home. It doesn’t sound like you’re going to kick the bucket before dinner time. Oh, speaking of dinner, what are we having?”

Because dinner is an acceptable discussion to have while he’s on the clock, but not my death.

He’s gonna feel really awful if this black spot has swallowed my whole head by the time he gets home.

Note: I think Clint tends to sound fairly heartless in my imaginary conversations with him. This is not the case. He’s just not impressed by my frequent claims that I’m dying.

Also, I imagine that one day I really will, really and truly, be convinced that I’m dying, and I will look back over my life and hate myself for all previous false alarms. Such a waste of time! Why, oh why do I spend so much life on being afraid of death?

Right, I’m totally going to live it up now. Sky diving, and…roller coasters…and…

Whatever. I’ll get to that stuff when this cold goes away and I’ve seen a dentist.

P.S. Yeah, this post has nothing whatsoever to do with monkeys, but it’s the first title that popped into my (possibly cancerous) head. Oh, wait. Me and E watched Curious George this morning. So, there ya go. A monkey made it into this post.

 

 

Wherein I Accomplish Nothing

I was thinking this morning (about 3:45 this morning, actually) that I post way too much about my kids, and being their mom. So I tried very hard to come up with something completely different.

It got me nowhere, possibly because it WAS 3:45 in the morning.

Okay, so that’s not entirely true. I thought of a lot of things, all entirely unrelated to children and mommyhood, but after a lot of coffee, I realized, “Who wants to read about my opinion on…anything…when I can barely string together a sentence that makes sense?”

Evidently, I don’t really care, because here I am making a whole lot of no sense at anyone daring to muddle through this.

Sorry.

And then I put the kibosh on an entire post I’d written in my head involving not much else besides the proper procedure for snow removal and how much I want a pet giraffe.

I’d name him Elmer, in case you’re curious. And yes, it would be a boy giraffe, because in my experience, boy pets are the best pets. Girls are too…too…well, I’ve never had a female pet that I really liked. Probably our mood swings have been too similar and you know how a lot of times, when someone is JUST LIKE YOU, you somehow don’t really like them?

…what does that say about me, eh? Yeah, don’t answer that.

Oh, snap, I lied. I had a dog that I really liked. A girl, yes. My parents stole her and won’t give her back, though.

NOTE: That’s not true. Well, it’s true that they won’t give her back, but they didn’t steal her. I had to leave my doggy with them when I moved out, and it didn’t make sense to take her back because by then, she liked being with my parents, and they liked having her.

Dammit.

And now I’m stuck with one psycho kitten that really ought to be locked up for her own and everyone else’s safety (true story, we had her spayed a few weeks ago and the vet assistant refused to touch the cat to get her out of the cage, because this cat, as I said, is a psycho), one demon cat from hell, and one cat that seems totally out of place around here and throws up all over my house.

I put up with her puking because she’s the only cat we have who isn’t plotting my death. Or, more likely, she’s just being way less obvious about it.

I hate cats.

I also hate boxelder bugs, which I’ve been finding in my bathroom at random intervals all winter long. WHERE ARE THEY HIDING?! WHERE ARE THEY GETTING IN THROUGH?!

It occurs to me that I could solve so many of my problems with a flame thrower.

Overkill?

Absolutely, but talk about fun.

ANYWAY, my point is (oh yes, there’s a point), do I really want to be a mommy blog? I don’t even remember where I started this whole thing out. Probably I had grand plans, was going to DO things and then write about them. Cakes, maybe. Yes, I would write about cake. It’s an important part of my life.

And yet, strangely enough, my kiddos seem to be just a little bit MORE important than cake.

I guess that’s how you know you’ve crossed over from being just another house wife into Real Mommy Territory. By where cake ranks on your list of priorities.

Oh, I am totally posting this load of crap.

I’m Probably Already Way Beyond Crazy, But…

Because I am a stay-at-home mom/wife, and because there are now two little ones (both in diapers…ew) to hang out with, and because spring has not yet sprung and L is too little to go out in the cold yet anyway, and because over the course of the last month my house has become extremely un-cluttered…

I have a huge fear of becoming BORED. It’s like a four-letter word to me, except of course it’s really five, but that’s not the issue here.

I can’t afford boredom. It would come at a very high price, and that would be my sanity.

Here’s my situation:

I live in a tiny little town populated mainly by middle-aged and older people. Not that those people aren’t great (most of them), but I mean, Clint and I are 27 years old and much as we might get along with people who are older than we are (yes, as opposed to getting along with younger people, which we generally don’t)(wait, what the hell am I talking about? OH!), it’s not like we’re going to be hanging out at each other’s houses and inviting each other out to have coffee or…or…whatever people do to socialize with each other.

Cripes, I’ve become a hermit.

Anyway, we also live half an hour’s drive away from a real town (oh yes, I’ve just denied the actual township of my…non-town), and that being where most of my family lives, and it being a boring drive from here to there/there to here, not to mention (although I AM mentioning it…hmm) gas prices…

…

Sorry, the elipses was really entertaining, and yes, I use and abuse them. It? Is that plural?

Oh! And then there’s my best friend, and also my big sister, who live even further away.

And we don’t have free/unlimited long distance. If we could get decent cell phone reception out here, that wouldn’t be a problem. But, as things stand, my bestie (oh dear, I’ve done it. I swore I would never, NEVER, ever ever ever use that word) and my sister live JUST far enough away to be long distance.

Crappy.

It’s not like I don’t have things to occupy a good portion of my time. I mean, kids are pretty time consuming (no, that’s not a complaint, just fact), and then there are the average household cleaning duties such as laundry and dishes. However, since I’ve been washing dishes every morning, and sometimes in the afternoon too, and the laundry pile is dwindling down to almost manageable, and between me, my mom, and my other mom (she’s not technically mine, she’s Clint’s, but I always steal his stuff anyway, so why not his mom, too? Reasonable?) most every problematic, highly cluttered spot in my house is…organized.

It’s super weird.

Not the cleanliness of it, I just mean no longer having all these overwhelming piles of useless junk lurking in every available corner or closet or cupboard of my house.

Today, I dusted the entertainment center, and if you know anything about me, you know that’s a pretty drastic measure for me. I also washed the dishes, vacuumed, and cleaned up one of the last scary cabinets in the house.

Turns out, I have a LOT of empty picture frames.

And flower seeds.

And incense.

Also an inexplicable amount of masking tape.

I’ve also spent a lot of time with both of the munchkins, started a roast in the crock pot, and baked a double batch of brownies (oh yes, homemade and inevitably delicious). While mixing the batter, I sang and danced to terrible (and yet so loveable) songs from the 90’s while E sat by in his high chair and “helped” by smearing flour and cocoa around his tray, pausing every now and then to demand “more choc-late!”

I washed my hair.

I watched a deer climb up onto my neighbor’s porch.

I changed L’s stinky diaper THREE times in a ten minute period because APPARENTLY, I am impatient/kinda dumb.

I made fun of Michael Jackson to E, who laughed despite his lack of understanding just how hilarious the joke was.

Yeah, I’d say that if spring doesn’t get here ASAP, I’m likely to go completely psycho.

Benefit of Recent Sleep Deprivation…

Last night, I was awake with L for a total of three hours. This was actually a good night with her, because those hours were not spent screaming and crying and grunting, but just eating and listening to Mommy sing a made up song about an “Early-Rising Girly”.

Poor little girl.

During those awake hours (that were not, by the way, consecutive), my over-tired brain was actually working. Thinking. Contemplating life, the universe, and everything (42!! And if that makes no sense to you, you’re missing out on some funny stuff. Weird, but funny).

One of those thoughts revolved solely around my big, fat, fatness…which, I am very happy to be able to say, is not so big and fat anymore.

I started out my pregnancy with L weighing a whopping 242 pounds. I lost ten of that before I found out I was pregnant, and I stayed right around 230 my whole pregnancy.

The scale delivered excellent news to me this morning, informing me that I now weigh 207 pounds.

Not where I want to be, but far better than where I was. Granted, after I had E, my weight dropped down to 205, and the more I thought about keeping the weight off, the faster it seemed to creep back on.

Not this time, dammit! Not going there again. E.V.E.R.

This time, I have a plan. And a fancy scale to check up on myself frequently. And two kiddos instead of just one, one of whom is old enough to learn bad habits or good habits from his parents. I’m shooting for teaching him GOOD eating habits.

Another thought was how much I really love being a stay-at-home mom/wife. I might not be spectacular at it, and chaos erupts several times a day, and I forget to pay important bills, and I lose my mind at random intervals…

But this role? It just…FITS. I can honestly say, despite the inevitable bad day here and there, that I have never been happier in my life than I am now, simply hanging around the house with E and my husband and now our daughter. I’m loving learning how to run this household in a way that not just works for all of us, but is comfortable and fun. I love those good days when everything (miraculously) is clean and nice for when Clint comes home. I love teaching E new things, and learning constantly from him. I’m beginning to learn to love L for more reasons than simply because she is mine.

I almost, ALMOST don’t even mind cooking so much anymore. Even if I still suck at it.

No, honestly, I’m horrible with food. As in, it’s a stroke of luck if I manage to cook a pot of pasta correctly.

Something else that occurred to me in the wee hours of the morning was that I am sick of being a door mat. I don’t mean that people are mean to me and I just sit there and take it (well, that doesn’t usually happen, anyway). I mean, it seems like nearly everybody I know has a stronger, more agressive, or more out going personality than I do, and therefore, I get trampled.

People rarely ever hear/listen to what I have to say on any given subject. For instance, I have a family member who will make a comment about something going on with E, and I will then try to explain what’s going on there. This person completely ignores what I have to say, which causes them to worry unneccessarily about E.

If they would just LISTEN, there’d be no problem. No worries. Granted, if this person DID actually listen to me, ever, it might mean that I am actually an intelligent human being WORTH listening to…

Maybe I won’t go into that right now. I’ll just get myself irritated.

Anyway, where I was going with this…

I don’t HAVE to be a door mat. I don’t have to be POLITE to everyone, I don’t have to waste my time trying to make myself heard in a POLITE way, I don’t have to let anyone else waste my time because I am trying to be POLITE and not tell them to buzz off.

More importantly, I realized that I don’t want to teach my children that it is alright to let other people treat THEM the way a lot of people treat me (i.e, as though my opinions/thoughts/time don’t matter). I want them to know how/when to stand up for themselves, something that I’m just starting to learn myself.

Wow, I should do more late-night thinking.

Three Weeks Later (almost)…

I think I’m having a weird time adjusting to this whole having two children thing. Not a hard time. Not a bad time. Just very strange, sort of like, “This is my life now? Huh.”

I was so used to it being just me and E around here during the week days. We watched a couple of cartoons on PBS in the morning. We laughed and talked while I changed his diaper. We made goldfish crackers swim, swim, swim and *MUAH*! Fish kiss!

We counted. We sang songs. We read stories. We went out for short walks.

Now, with little tiny, sweet, precious L in our lives, we TRY to still do those things. L sleeps much like newborns tend to do (as in, all the time if I’m not tired, and what feels like never if I’m exhausted). I have time for E. I talk to him and play with him maybe even MORE than I used to do, whilst feeding or changing L, because I’m so worried that E will end up being left out.

And E, he is the sweetest, most observant, most intelligent little boy I have ever met, and I’m absolutely terrified that one bad day, one too harsh word when all he’s trying to do is help, will ruin him for life.

He just gets so…so…SAD, when I have to get really stern with him.

And as for spanking him?

Clint and I always just assumed that we would spank our kids when they deserved it. We never really discussed what sort of behavior in a child actually warrants a spanking, but we figured we would just know when E needed a spanking. But then, through the first year, it made zero sense to us to swat his butt for things, because come on, he was still just tiny.

Now that he’s turned two, we still can’t see spanking him for anything. Partly because he’s still just tiny (albeit less tiny than he was a year ago…HEY, that means I’m doing something right!) and partly because he IS so tender-hearted.

So what do we do for discipline? Because let’s face it, we have a TWO YEAR OLD, and try as we might to be patient with him and let him explore his world, there are times when I want to tear my hair out and just let Clint handle it (actually, I never want to be the mom who passes off all discipline to Dad, thereby turning him into “the bad guy” or instilling any kind of fear into E of his daddy).

Anyway, this isn’t about toddler discipline (although you may think otherwise from the last few paragraphs). This is about…

Do you know, I don’t remember what I started this out as. And I even read through what I wrote.

Huh. Baby brain is still in full swing, I see.

Just to really throw my readers for a loop…

I can’t keep still. I had a C-section, for crying out loud, and from the time I came home from the hospital, all I want to do is things I’m not allowed to do.

Like vacuuming the ceiling. Oh, yes, I did. I held the vacuum in one hand (about two feet off the floor to make the hose reach the ceiling) and vacuumed cobwebs with the other. I don’t advise this for anyone who has just had any kind of surgery, by the way.

But darn it, I have so much stinking ENERGY since I had L! I absolutely cannot just SIT. I suspect this has a lot to do with how much weight I’ve lost since I first found out I was pregnant last spring (yeah, yeah…don’t worry, the pregnancy was fine, and L is perfectly healthy). Also, I absolutely cannot obey the rule about not lifting anything heavier than L. I HAVE to lift E. And he is a good twenty (twenty-four) pounds heavier than his baby sister.

Anyway, it’s been almost three full weeks since the C-section, and I know I’m supposed to chill for another three, but…

No.

All I want to do is clean my house all the time.

Speaking of which, this is kind of really strange behavior for me. I mean, I never really MINDED cleaning my house before, but this is a whole new side of me.

I get up around seven, as usual (although these days that’s only after a long night with L). I get E out of bed and feed him. I feed L while I have my coffee. I do the facebook thing. And then, by eight o’clock, I am washing the dishes. And vacuuming.

And HEY, would you look at that, I just had a package delivered by UPS, and it’s the comforter and sheets I ordered last week to replace a set I loved that my stupid, stupid cats tore apart (fake silk and cat claws…bad mix), and so I now end my ramblings.

Lucky you.  Oh, and here’s L at two weeks…

P.S.- By the way, I refuse to be held responsible for anything I say that makes no sense at all.

Who Wears Makeup for a C-Section?

Oh, yeah. That’s right. ME.

It’s not like it sounds- and I know it sounds like I’m one of those super frilly-fru-fru girls that can’t go a day without makeup. Really, what happened was that I woke up really early that morning, because E woke up really early that morning, and so I had extra time to kill before Clint and I drove into town to the hospital for them to do the slice and dice (I said that on facebook last week, and was told I’m a sicko).

Anyway, so, what with nerves and all, I occupied my hands/time by putting on some eye shadow, mascara, and eye liner. So it wasn’t even like it was a full face of makeup. I’m not THAT ridiculous.

Usually.

My mother-in-law (a.k.a Super Woman-more on that later) stayed with E while Clint and I went to the hospital. We got there just before 6 a.m. and checked in through the ER. A nurse led us to a room, insisted that I pee in a cup and get naked for hospital gown purposes (worst piece of ‘clothing’ in the entire world, I swear), and within minutes had stabbed me and put an IV in. Blood was drawn, and my mother showed up before anything interesting had even happened, followed closely by my best friend and both kiddo’s god-mother (if you didn’t catch that, I meant she’s the same person. Bear with me, we have a nasty cold going around in our house and I’m short on sleep). I can’t remember who else/how many other people might have showed up before I even went into the OR.

And I wasn’t even on drugs.

The C-section was scheduled for eight o’clock, and probably around 7:30, I think I started freaking out. The silent kind of freaking out, where I was more focused on my nerves than what was going on around me. I’m pretty sure Clint’s mom showed up with E in tow around then, and I think that a nurse might have put those horrible stocking things on me that help with circulation and I hear that E really, really didn’t like that. As in, he touched my toe and I twitched and he screamed and scared the Happy Juice man (er, anesthesiologist) bad enough that every time they saw each other after that, the poor guy was a little wary.

Even if he was scared of my little screamer, he’s pretty much my hero because when I had E, it was a different guy giving the epidural, and I got stabbed with that needle about nine times. This guy? One shot.

Thank you, Mr. Happy Juice man.

And oh, the fascination of not being able to feel half of your body! You know, when you know it’s only temporary.

Clint was with me the whole time, and we were chit-chatting and people were making jokes, and looking back, the whole thing seems totally surreal. I do remember that the baby didn’t want to come out, and so somebody was putting a hell of a lot of pressure on my stomach to get her out. The doctor had to use the suction thing on L’s head. I don’t think that’s real normal for a C-section. Apparently, it was warm and cozy in there and I don’t blame her for not wanting to come out.

Although I’m very glad she did. She’s pretty cute.

And then I threw up on myself. Wait, no, that came right after they showed me my tiny little girl (6 lbs, 10 oz) and let me kiss her on the head.

And then I threw up on myself.

And then there was the recovery room, where I puked some more and was very glad my mommy sneaked back to see me even though she wasn’t supposed to, and I vaguely remember that I woke up in my own hospital room and there were people everywhere.

The best friend was stuck in a corner a lot, I noticed in between groggy, blurry wakeful moments. I didn’t like that. She says that at some point in my conked-out state, I mumbled something about wanting to knock somebody out. Possibly I was angry at everyone for shoving her in a corner. Who knows? I was on drugs.

I spent that entire day sleeping/waking up to mumble things that almost nobody heard/throwing up at random. The nurse wouldn’t let me eat anything until I’d proven I could handle some apple juice, but I kept telling her I would quit puking if they’d get some food into my system. I don’t know who won, but I remember that HEY, after I had a turkey sandwich and some chips, there was no more throwing up.

Thursday morning, they got me up out of bed and I took a shower. And then I wanted to be home. Yeah, barely 24 hours after being sliced and diced, I was ready to leave. Not because I hate hospitals so bad, but because I felt so good. Barely any pain, walking was pretty smooth, I could stand entirely straight.

Completely different experience from the C-section for E.

They wouldn’t let me leave until I’d been there a full two days. But, lo and behold, we made it home with our little girl and I can’t lift anything over 7 pounds which means that Clint’s mom, a.k.a Super Woman, has been a life saver (probably I should tell her that). It’s rough not being able to lift our son (I dunno, a 30 lb. two year old is only a little over my lifting limit, right?).

Oh but hey, enough chatter, here’s a couple of pictures.

Ha! My eye liner stayed put.

 

Proud daddy 🙂

 

E was pretty nervous about the whole thing, but he likes his baby sister.

More pictures when/if I get to them…

Yay! L is a week old now!

Bursting at the Seams

…Almost literally, it feels like. As of Wednesday, I was 38 weeks pregnant. Which means that I am now very large, very tired of being very large, and having one hell of a time with simple things like rolling from one side to the other when I’m trying to fall asleep.

Clint, of course, is amused by my lack of mobility. He says really helpful, encouraging things like, “Hey…you look pregnant.”

Thanks, dear.

This week, I’m nesting. People have been trying to tell me since Christmas that there are things I should probably try to get done sooner rather than later, but did I listen? No, because…!

A) I’m a procrastinator

B) The more anyone tells me I need to be doing something, the less likely I am to even attempt it

Which left me with a whole lot of projects to get done before February 6th, and I really only started doing them yesterday. Because I like to add excitement (panic) to my life, you know.

So, I have done what seems like a zillion loads of laundry. I even folded most of it. I set up L’s crib with crib skirt, bumper pads, quilt and all, even though she won’t be sleeping in it for a couple of months. I deep-cleaned the bathroom yesterday, using a toothbrush in spots and scrubbing the inside of the toilet with a pumice stone. Because apparently, in my crazy pregnant lady mind, ‘sparkling white’ was just not good enough for the inside of a bathroom fixture that catches…

Well, anyway, I didn’t stop at ‘clean’.

Possibly the strangest thing I’ve done was actually dusting the entertainment center. Yes, weirder than putting my hand into a toilet.

It has occurred to me a time or two, whilst vacuuming the house, that if I would just run a dust cloth over everything AS PART OF VACUUMING…there would be no dust anywhere. I vacuum every day. Hmm.

Anyway, after Wednesday the 6th (cripes, THIS WEDNESDAY), for a little while at least, I won’t have to worry about it.

I’ll be…not sleeping. Trying to walk without hurting my incision (C-section, remember). Feeding tiny children. It’ll be like I’ve just had a baby or something.

And then, just about two weeks later, E turns TWO!

Which means I’ve got to decide if we’re having a birthday party for him or not. We have to do something, of course…he only has one second birthday. I just know that I won’t feel up to going all-out for it, so it’s really good I have a lot of people I can impose upon to help me out (‘impose upon’ isn’t really right- these people would probably love to throw a party for my kiddo(I think)).

And now it’s time to hunt down any dirt remaining in the house and KILL. I mean, get the toothbrush out again.

If I can still bend without like, having a baby or something.

Keep Calm and…right, that’s not working for me

I’m on the verge of going into panic-mode over the impending arrival of our little girl. You know, like I haven’t been expecting this for approximately nine months. Well, eight, really, but who’s counting?

Besides me. And my husband. And our families. And the doctor.

Do you know how much work it is to prepare for the arrival of a baby? If you’ve never had a baby, you can probably only take a wild guess, and you’d probably be wrong. Not that I think you’re stupid, of course, but see, I’ve had a baby already and was still unprepared for the preparation of this second baby.

What I’m saying is, don’t have babies. They’re just terrible.

I’ve tried to separate in my mind all the projects/prep work into two categories- Finished, and Someday We Might Get This Done.

Under the Finished category, we’ve chosen a name! So instead of being Baby Number 2, she will, from here on out, be referred to as L, or any other cute nick names that spring to mind after I’ve seen her little baby face.

In 17 days. Or is it 16? Wait, I thought I was actually counting.

Also under the Finished category, Clint has finished with the two coats of primer that were necessary for a room in the basement to be turned into a guest room, mainly for my mother-in-law, who will be here to help us get/keep things under control. Hopefully. I mean, hopefully she will be here, not hopefully she will help. I know she’ll help. It’s just that there’s this whole annoying jury duty obstacle she’s trying to work around.

Like I said, hopefully she’ll be here.

As for the jury duty I was supposed to have last week, they postponed it for me, due to me sneaking up on my due date. Which means they’ll probably call me in for real at the earliest, and second most inconvenient time they can find for me.

Under the Someday category falls…everything else.

Sorting through E’s room and clothes. Sorting through L’s clothes and setting up her crib. Arranging our bedroom in a way that makes sense for a baby and bassinet to move in with us for a couple months. Actually painting/decorating the guest room.

Actually having this baby.

Oh, hell. I’m freaking out.

 

Whaddya Do?

The other day, little Mr. E was having one heck of a meltdown. I don’t remember why, really, unless it had something to do with the beginning of the day when he kept kicking his own baby butt (it involved a lot of really silly moves that resulted in him landing flat on his back and pouting…like trying to pick up a basket that he was standing in). At some point during his screaming, I said, “Hey! Quit freaking out, kid!”

He didn’t quit.

And so I scooped him up and plunked him in his crib with no toys so’s he could get calmed down before I did something rash, like start screaming and crying myself.

He did calm down, although once the crying stopped, he started in with his old stand-by; rocking against the side of his crib to move it across the room (honestly, I have no idea how he manages to NOT knock it over).

I don’t like it when he rocks like that. My mommy brain goes into over-drive, imagining all the terrible things that could come from a nearly two year old child exerting so much force against a piece of furniture that shouldn’t hurt him, but could easily do so if abused too often. Wood snapping and stabbing him. Cribs falling on his head. That sort of thing.

So I went in to get him, but as I opened the door, he let out a shriek that caused approximately twelve separate levels of pain in my skull.

Without considering my words or the age of the recipient of them, I yelled, “What the hell are you doing?!”

E stopped rocking and threw his arms up in the air and yelled back, “FREAKING OUT, MAMA!”

Oh…but of course. I should have realized.

Days like that one, I wonder two things:

1. Why, oh why did I have a kid?

2. How can anyone NOT want kids when they’re so much fun?

Oh, and also “Whose kid IS this, anyway?!”

 

 

Comfortability

Most people have a personal bubble- an amount of space around them that they would like other people to stay the hell out of. I believe the amount of space varies from person to person, culture to culture. Was it Americans I heard have really small personal bubbles? Or were they big bubbles?

Dang, I can’t remember.

Anyway, my own personal bubble is huge. Basically, I would like for people to remain about five feet away from me at all times, or I start to feel crowded and overwhelmed and extremely uncomfortable. You know those people who like to stand almost toe to toe with you while they talk directly into your face?

I hate those people.

Back off!

In large crowds, I steer clear of the thickest piles of humans and if I have to actually try to walk through them, I tend to hold my breath and give myself a pep-talk.

I kind of wonder if I just hate people, period.

But then, it’s not ALL people that bother me when they’re close by. In fact, calm people, and people who don’t yell or touch or steal my breathing air almost right out of my nose don’t bother me. They can be ohh, two feet away.

High-energy people, however…

Ugh.

Crazy people. People who get loud. People who wave their hands a lot. People who just never hold still. I can’t handle them up close. It’s hard enough to deal with them in the same room, let alone all up in my business. They’re exhausting, and irritating. Or, even if they’re not irritating, I feel irritable towards them just for existing in all their overflowing energy-ness…

Yeah, spell-check doesn’t like that word, hyphenated or no.

Anyway, I’m pretty sure this is why I choose the doctors I do, and what makes me like/dislike hair stylists or cashiers or waitresses or anyone else who has reason to be within my five-foot radius of stay-the-hell-away-from-me.

Actually, come to think of it, this is all why I don’t like Princess Zelda, Psycho Kitten.

Too. Much. Energy.

What am I saying? I get freaked out by my own husband being too energetic or just plain crazy anywhere near me. What would be so wrong with just chilling the eff out?!

Right, so, that’s about the extent of my brain’s ability to function for now. I’m sure it was riveting.

Oh, and hey! Happy New Year!