I am a klutz.
Scratch that.
I am the Queen of all That is embarrassingly Clumsy. All Hail Queen Klutz.
Some days, it is all I can do to walk upright 2 feet without tripping on the air in front of my feet. And I have always been like this.
I've tried to improve my balance and gracefulness. I've taken ballet. I was told I looked like an Orangutan having a seizure. I've tried Yoga. Mr X nearly called 911 because he thought I was having a stroke. I do pilates. Notice that I said do and not did. It's not that I don't look ridiculous because I do. It's just that I do it in my living room when no one else is home so no one minds that I look like I have been possessed.
Girl X has inherited my, um..... gracefulness? Yeah. Because I have so much of that. How about my need to always be wearing a helmet and shin guards because the Earth might spin today and that means I will fall. And fall often.
Yup. That about sums that up.
I know what it feels like to lose a pencil in a cast because the itching is making you crazy. When the Dr cut my foot cast off after 6 weeks I had 5 pencils, 3 pens, a pixi stick, and my brother's Darth Vader action figure Light Saber thing in there. The Dr just looked at me like I had 3 heads.
My pinky will never again go straight on it's own. I got it caught in a drill press while I was wearing gloves. It was bent so far back my entire finger turned a lovely shade of eggplant.
Scars? Yup. Got plenty of those. There's the one on my knee from when I thought I could cut an apple in half in one chop. While it sat on my knee. With a very sharp knife. I was 7. Remember when I said we weren't the smartest kids in the neighborhood? Yeah. I meant me too.
Girl X hasn't had a cast yet but give her time. My first wasn't until I was 12. We have had to make a few trips to the ER for her. Like the year she went backwards on her tummy down the never-ending slide. In the rain. In a skirt. She was 5. She ripped her skin off from her chest to her tummy and didn't say a word until she got home from school 3 hours later. It was ugly. I cried. So, naturally, she started crying.
She's fallen off the monkey bars. Once a week for a few months before I finally said "no more monkey bars". Now she just doesn't tell me when she falls off them.
I hope Baby X takes after his dad. We're lucky we have insurance but I think it's supposed to be a bad thing when the ER Dr's know you by name.
They see me and mutter to each other "I can't believe she's still alive!" and "Haven't they learned to keep her away from all things sharp?"
Last night I made a beautiful dinner. Roast beef, Mashed red potatoes, Mushroom gravy (and I hate gravy but love this stuff!), veggies. I did it all without hurting myself.
Until I tried to take the roast out of the dish.
It slipped right off my fork and splashed back into the baking dish. Grease. Everywhere.
Then I started to burn. I had managed to burn my boob. It hurt. I yelped.
Sadly, this is not the first time I have done something so stupid. Even more sad..........
It won't be the last.
Monday, October 24, 2005
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Why?
Why does my saying 'Get back here!' make Baby X crawl faster towards whatever it is that he isn't supposed to be getting into? Why is he fascinated with eating paper? Especially important papers like say, his sister's homework? I wonder how that excuse worked at school! Why is Baby X fascinated by the trash can?
It's Karma people.
It's payback for all the things I used to do to my parents. I didn't get to experience a lot of this with Girl X because I was working a lot.
Today I have pulled Baby X out of the trash can twice because Girl X keeps forgetting to close the closet door that we hid the trash can in. I've turned the ceiling fan light on and off 565 times and set the ceiling fan on low to keep up with his fascination of all things spinning and flashy. What is that about anyway? I could stand at the light switch for an hour and he wouldn't get bored. Bright. Dark. Bright. Dark. Bright. Dark. Meanwhile, I'm dying for some adult conversation because Mr X has been buried in remodel hell and I've been sick.
I almost forgot that there are no sick days for moms. I tried convincing Baby X that it was my day off but even hugging the toilet didn't deter him from happily chewing on Cat's tail, much to Dog's amusement.
And of course Baby X had to go and get sick to despite the fact that I said 'No'. I think telling him 'No' makes him more determined to do it.
And while crawling around with a snot bubble the size of Cleveland may seem like fun to him, I cannot resist the urge to wipe it away. This, naturally, makes him furious. I took his new toy away.
And after spending the second morning in a row hugging the toilet and waking up at 3 am starving for the 3rd night in a row (nevermind that I can't eat during the day) I'd like to take a moment and pray that the rabbit is still alive.
It's Karma people.
It's payback for all the things I used to do to my parents. I didn't get to experience a lot of this with Girl X because I was working a lot.
Today I have pulled Baby X out of the trash can twice because Girl X keeps forgetting to close the closet door that we hid the trash can in. I've turned the ceiling fan light on and off 565 times and set the ceiling fan on low to keep up with his fascination of all things spinning and flashy. What is that about anyway? I could stand at the light switch for an hour and he wouldn't get bored. Bright. Dark. Bright. Dark. Bright. Dark. Meanwhile, I'm dying for some adult conversation because Mr X has been buried in remodel hell and I've been sick.
I almost forgot that there are no sick days for moms. I tried convincing Baby X that it was my day off but even hugging the toilet didn't deter him from happily chewing on Cat's tail, much to Dog's amusement.
And of course Baby X had to go and get sick to despite the fact that I said 'No'. I think telling him 'No' makes him more determined to do it.
And while crawling around with a snot bubble the size of Cleveland may seem like fun to him, I cannot resist the urge to wipe it away. This, naturally, makes him furious. I took his new toy away.
And after spending the second morning in a row hugging the toilet and waking up at 3 am starving for the 3rd night in a row (nevermind that I can't eat during the day) I'd like to take a moment and pray that the rabbit is still alive.
Saturday, October 15, 2005
I'm sorry Erik Estrada
Yes. It's that guy from CHIPS.
And something more recent.So why am I showing you pictures of Erik Estrada?
Because I have a problem. Or I need to stop sleeping with my t.v. on at night. (I need noise to sleep).
Because last night Erik Estrada invaded my dreams. I told Mr X about it and he was jealous for all of 2 seconds until I told him what happened. Then I got the Look. The Look is this thing he does to tell me I'm crazy.
See, in my dream, we were hanging out with a bunch of my friends. By 'we' I mean Erik Estrada and myself. It was some sort of group therapy thing. At first he was the modern Erik Estrada. Then suddenly he was the CHIPS era Erik Estrada with the uniform and everything. We were joking around and I started making fun of his hair. I told him he had old man hair.
Erik Estrada began to cry. He also returned to the more modern Erik Estrada, who has much nicer hair.
I felt terrible! I made Erik Estrada cry! I'm a horrible person.
So, Erik Estrada, I'm so sorry! You have very nice hair and not old manish at all.
Friday, October 14, 2005
Dad X vs the Chipmunk
In case you've ever wondered how I ended up as crazy as I am, it's genetic. Ok, partly genetic and partly environmental because hey, you know what I do all day. Rescue Cat from Baby X; remove various non-edible items from Baby X's mouth; beg Girl X to not become a teenager and thereby destroy any last shred of sanity I may be holding onto; avoid any and all calls from Ms. Ok-love-you-bye-bye; etc.
But today it's all about the genetic part. My dad. I love him. He's funny, he's fairly mellow, he decided it was better to pretend not to see that I had died my hair pink as a teenager (yes. pink.), and so on. Maybe that's why he's insane now. But, no. I think he's always been crazy, just maybe not so obvious about it. Or maybe because I was a kid and then, you know, a teen, I just didn't notice. Because when you're a teen (please Girl X don't ever become a teen!) your parents just don't exist. Right? So, anyway. The Chipmunk. I think the Chipmunk must be related to the Mutant Squirrels. It has issues. Unfortunately for this Chipmunk, so does my dad. His yard being one of them.
When I called this past weekend, I was treated to the whole story of the Chipmunk.
It started when they (my parents) moved into their new house three years ago. There was a hole in the middle of the yard. Not big. Just, well, Chipmunk sized. They filled it. It mysteriously reappeared. They filled it again and put a bird feeder on it. The end.
Until they moved the bird feeder to another spot.
The hole is back. In the same spot as three years ago. I guess Chipmunks have a long memory? That could be scary. Because if Chipmunk is related to the Mutant Squirrels, and Chipmunk has a long memory then Mutant Squirrels probably do to right? Eeep!
So, back to the hole. They watched Chipmunk dig the hole. They waited. They refilled it. An hour later, it's back. Dad X refilled the hole with compost. "Ha! Take that Chipmunk. Your hole is now full of trash that is good for the environment! Ha ha ha!"
Chipmunk dug all the compost out. "Ha! Take that puny human!"
Dad X shoved an apple down the hole and refilled the rest with dirt. "Ha! Take that freak Chipmunk! It's got to be too heavy for you!"
Next day. An apple in the middle of the yard. Attached was a note. "Ha! Foolish human! I take steroids and therefore am Superman strong!"
Ok not really but at this point my dad is seriously losing it.
He filled the hole with marbles and bird seed and then put the grass down on top of it.
His yard is now full of marbles and he swears there are more now than what he started with. I suggested that perhaps he should no longer screw with the Chipmunk.
No. Because, people, that would be what any normal sane person would do.
No. My dad decides to shove a stuffed chipmunk in the hole.
Why?
Because I told you. He's insane.
Chipmunk does not appreciate having his hole crammed full of various things. Stuffed chipmunk didn't last very long.
I can picture my dad now in the yard with a cement mixer laughing hysterically.
And Chipmunk will be right behind him with a jack hammer.
But today it's all about the genetic part. My dad. I love him. He's funny, he's fairly mellow, he decided it was better to pretend not to see that I had died my hair pink as a teenager (yes. pink.), and so on. Maybe that's why he's insane now. But, no. I think he's always been crazy, just maybe not so obvious about it. Or maybe because I was a kid and then, you know, a teen, I just didn't notice. Because when you're a teen (please Girl X don't ever become a teen!) your parents just don't exist. Right? So, anyway. The Chipmunk. I think the Chipmunk must be related to the Mutant Squirrels. It has issues. Unfortunately for this Chipmunk, so does my dad. His yard being one of them.
When I called this past weekend, I was treated to the whole story of the Chipmunk.
It started when they (my parents) moved into their new house three years ago. There was a hole in the middle of the yard. Not big. Just, well, Chipmunk sized. They filled it. It mysteriously reappeared. They filled it again and put a bird feeder on it. The end.
Until they moved the bird feeder to another spot.
The hole is back. In the same spot as three years ago. I guess Chipmunks have a long memory? That could be scary. Because if Chipmunk is related to the Mutant Squirrels, and Chipmunk has a long memory then Mutant Squirrels probably do to right? Eeep!
So, back to the hole. They watched Chipmunk dig the hole. They waited. They refilled it. An hour later, it's back. Dad X refilled the hole with compost. "Ha! Take that Chipmunk. Your hole is now full of trash that is good for the environment! Ha ha ha!"
Chipmunk dug all the compost out. "Ha! Take that puny human!"
Dad X shoved an apple down the hole and refilled the rest with dirt. "Ha! Take that freak Chipmunk! It's got to be too heavy for you!"
Next day. An apple in the middle of the yard. Attached was a note. "Ha! Foolish human! I take steroids and therefore am Superman strong!"
Ok not really but at this point my dad is seriously losing it.
He filled the hole with marbles and bird seed and then put the grass down on top of it.
His yard is now full of marbles and he swears there are more now than what he started with. I suggested that perhaps he should no longer screw with the Chipmunk.
No. Because, people, that would be what any normal sane person would do.
No. My dad decides to shove a stuffed chipmunk in the hole.
Why?
Because I told you. He's insane.
Chipmunk does not appreciate having his hole crammed full of various things. Stuffed chipmunk didn't last very long.
I can picture my dad now in the yard with a cement mixer laughing hysterically.
And Chipmunk will be right behind him with a jack hammer.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Who needs what now?
This looked potentially funny so I'm accepting the Tag.
Everybody Needs; Here's what you do...go to google.com and type "(your name or screen/blog name) needs", The pick the 5 funniest ones there. Post them in the comments section here for all to read!
Mrs. X needs someone accommodating. Damn skippy I do!
Mrs X needs $500000 to pay her gambling debts. So I don't gamble, I'll still take it!
when agitated – Mrs X needs to be calmed’, Meh.... calm for what? Agitation is fun.
Mrs X needs a neck rub after the garage door fell on her and her car
Sounds like something I would do.
Mrs X needs witnesses to make her case stronger I asked for that yesterday and it got me in trouble.
I think I was expecting something different. Most of what popped up had to do with elderly care. The one about Mrs X needs 2 people to assist her on the toilet was just creepy for me.
Consider yourself tagged. I hope yours come out funnier.
Everybody Needs; Here's what you do...go to google.com and type "(your name or screen/blog name) needs", The pick the 5 funniest ones there. Post them in the comments section here for all to read!
Mrs. X needs someone accommodating. Damn skippy I do!
Mrs X needs $500000 to pay her gambling debts. So I don't gamble, I'll still take it!
when agitated – Mrs X needs to be calmed’, Meh.... calm for what? Agitation is fun.
Mrs X needs a neck rub after the garage door fell on her and her car
Sounds like something I would do.
Mrs X needs witnesses to make her case stronger I asked for that yesterday and it got me in trouble.
I think I was expecting something different. Most of what popped up had to do with elderly care. The one about Mrs X needs 2 people to assist her on the toilet was just creepy for me.
Consider yourself tagged. I hope yours come out funnier.
Monday, October 10, 2005
Times My Big Mouth Has Gotten Me In Trouble
Oh boy there are a lot of these. Um, how about 'Times my big mouth has gotten me in trouble lately'? Because otherwise we could be here all year.
1) Calling the sales clerks at Bath and Body Works 'Soap Nazis'. They didn't find it nearly as funny as I did. In my defense, I can't walk in there without at least 2 of them swarming me and throwing gobs of lotion and/or soap at me.
2) Running into an aquaintance I don't particularly care for and haven't seen in quite some time. She says "Oh, you had a baby!" To which I reply with "No, actually I just stole him from some lady at Sears. Shhhh, don't tell. Hey, would you like to be my alibi?" Some people have no sense of humor.
3) Suggesting to another customer at Gap Kids that perhaps she should invest in some type of child restraint system for her kids. "Hey I hear they make straight jackets for kids. They're not just for the crazies anymore." I like kids, I really do, I just don't like parents who let their kids run wild because to teach them any manners might harm their fragile little egos. Well, I might harm their fragile little egos if they kick me or throw that damn ball at me one more time. And thanks sales clerk, but that wasn't your fault. I walked by 30 minutes later and those little hellions were swinging from those little security detectors by the doors.
4) In response to the cop asking me if I knew why he pulled me over........
"Because you couldn't catch up with the other guy?"
At least he had a sense of humor and didn't give me a ticket.
Well, that's from this week and look! It's only Monday.
I guess I just don't think before I speak sometimes. Usually when I'm really annoyed. Sometimes it works for me (no speeding ticket!) sometimes it doesn't (I guess it's the body shop for me from now on!).
1) Calling the sales clerks at Bath and Body Works 'Soap Nazis'. They didn't find it nearly as funny as I did. In my defense, I can't walk in there without at least 2 of them swarming me and throwing gobs of lotion and/or soap at me.
2) Running into an aquaintance I don't particularly care for and haven't seen in quite some time. She says "Oh, you had a baby!" To which I reply with "No, actually I just stole him from some lady at Sears. Shhhh, don't tell. Hey, would you like to be my alibi?" Some people have no sense of humor.
3) Suggesting to another customer at Gap Kids that perhaps she should invest in some type of child restraint system for her kids. "Hey I hear they make straight jackets for kids. They're not just for the crazies anymore." I like kids, I really do, I just don't like parents who let their kids run wild because to teach them any manners might harm their fragile little egos. Well, I might harm their fragile little egos if they kick me or throw that damn ball at me one more time. And thanks sales clerk, but that wasn't your fault. I walked by 30 minutes later and those little hellions were swinging from those little security detectors by the doors.
4) In response to the cop asking me if I knew why he pulled me over........
"Because you couldn't catch up with the other guy?"
At least he had a sense of humor and didn't give me a ticket.
Well, that's from this week and look! It's only Monday.
I guess I just don't think before I speak sometimes. Usually when I'm really annoyed. Sometimes it works for me (no speeding ticket!) sometimes it doesn't (I guess it's the body shop for me from now on!).
Friday, October 07, 2005
How to feed a Mobile Baby
As promised, and for your amusement.
Step one: Make the sign for eat. Watch as Baby X takes that as permission to eat Cat. Get dirty look from Cat.
Step two: Pry Baby X from Cat and put in highchair.
Step three: Quickly, and after extensive training from the pit crew of a Nascar driver, strap Baby X into seat. Use the attached buckles and three rolls of duct tape. Pray that it holds. Important to note: Hands must be free for finger foods.
Step four: grab baby food, preferably something with fruit or sweet potatoes because anything else will be promplty thrown at you or spit back at you.
Step five: Foolishly believe that today would be a good day to allow Baby X to self feed some of the baby food. Distinctly hear Cat snicker before running away after announcing this to Baby X.
Step six: Mistake Baby X's smile and eagerness as good signs. Will now know for next time that these are signs of impending mess that will rival the http://thediaryofmrsx.blogspot.com/2005/08/great-mustard-vs-ketchup-battle-of.html (forgive the messy link. I'm a computer idiot).
Step seven: Hand Baby X a little dipper and a small bowl. Sign for eat. Baby X looks at dipper, throws it at you and grabs bowl. Reapeat 5 times.
Step eight: Pick up bowl from floor. Realize the carpet is a lost cause. Hope that pureed blueberries will not ruin new shirt. Call yourself an idiot for wearing new shirt during feeding times.
Step nine: Give up on self-feeding for the day. Go to kitchen and grab a new jar of food as the other is currently staining your carpet.
Step ten: Attempt to feed Baby X. For a few minutes it goes well. Sign in relief.
Step eleven: Realize sighing, and therefore signaling that you've relaxed in the presence of Baby X was a huge mistake as Baby X monsters. Attempt to dodge the food being blown out of Baby X's mouth.
Step twelve: Baby X decides he really is hungry so feeding may resume. I realize Baby X has the attention span of a gnat. Scratch that. A gnat's baby. Be amazed as Baby X, though strapped in with 3 rolls of duct tape and buckled, manages to contort himself enough to face the opposite direction.
Step thirteen: Walk around to the other side of the high chair in order to give Baby X a bite. As soon as you get there, Baby X turns in the opposite direction. Repeat 50 times while occasionally getting a bite in.
Step fourteen: Give Baby X some gerber fruit puffs.
Step fifteen: Yelp as Baby X bites you as you attempt to pull out 14 of the 15 fruit puffs he just shoved in his mouth.
Step sixteen: Bandage fingers and wonder if human bites are as bite as animal ones.
Step seventeen: remove duct tape and set Baby X free to chase Cat.
Step eighteen: Thank all that is good and right that dinner is still four hours away.
Step one: Make the sign for eat. Watch as Baby X takes that as permission to eat Cat. Get dirty look from Cat.
Step two: Pry Baby X from Cat and put in highchair.
Step three: Quickly, and after extensive training from the pit crew of a Nascar driver, strap Baby X into seat. Use the attached buckles and three rolls of duct tape. Pray that it holds. Important to note: Hands must be free for finger foods.
Step four: grab baby food, preferably something with fruit or sweet potatoes because anything else will be promplty thrown at you or spit back at you.
Step five: Foolishly believe that today would be a good day to allow Baby X to self feed some of the baby food. Distinctly hear Cat snicker before running away after announcing this to Baby X.
Step six: Mistake Baby X's smile and eagerness as good signs. Will now know for next time that these are signs of impending mess that will rival the http://thediaryofmrsx.blogspot.com/2005/08/great-mustard-vs-ketchup-battle-of.html (forgive the messy link. I'm a computer idiot).
Step seven: Hand Baby X a little dipper and a small bowl. Sign for eat. Baby X looks at dipper, throws it at you and grabs bowl. Reapeat 5 times.
Step eight: Pick up bowl from floor. Realize the carpet is a lost cause. Hope that pureed blueberries will not ruin new shirt. Call yourself an idiot for wearing new shirt during feeding times.
Step nine: Give up on self-feeding for the day. Go to kitchen and grab a new jar of food as the other is currently staining your carpet.
Step ten: Attempt to feed Baby X. For a few minutes it goes well. Sign in relief.
Step eleven: Realize sighing, and therefore signaling that you've relaxed in the presence of Baby X was a huge mistake as Baby X monsters. Attempt to dodge the food being blown out of Baby X's mouth.
Step twelve: Baby X decides he really is hungry so feeding may resume. I realize Baby X has the attention span of a gnat. Scratch that. A gnat's baby. Be amazed as Baby X, though strapped in with 3 rolls of duct tape and buckled, manages to contort himself enough to face the opposite direction.
Step thirteen: Walk around to the other side of the high chair in order to give Baby X a bite. As soon as you get there, Baby X turns in the opposite direction. Repeat 50 times while occasionally getting a bite in.
Step fourteen: Give Baby X some gerber fruit puffs.
Step fifteen: Yelp as Baby X bites you as you attempt to pull out 14 of the 15 fruit puffs he just shoved in his mouth.
Step sixteen: Bandage fingers and wonder if human bites are as bite as animal ones.
Step seventeen: remove duct tape and set Baby X free to chase Cat.
Step eighteen: Thank all that is good and right that dinner is still four hours away.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Shake it off
In an effort to lighten the mood here, I'm going to post something I learned this past week. Feel free to laugh at me. I did. Eventually.
How To Dress A Moving Baby
Baby X has become quite mobile. Now more commando style crawling. He is up on his knees tearing through the house at lightening speed. He's also very adept at pulling his happy little butt to stand up on, well, everything. This has made diaper changes and dressing an effort in futility. At first it wasn't so bad because I could hand him a toy and he'd be "Oh wow! A toy! What does it do? What does it taste like? If I throw it at Mom will it make noise. No, she made noise though. Throw it again. Throw it again. Throw it again. Oh what? I'm done? I can go now? Great!"
But now, throwing things at me has lost some of it's novelty. I don't make that funny squeaky noise like the cat does.
Here is our typical morning:
Step one: Pull Baby X out from underneath the bed and assure cat that fur will in fact grow back. Dodge sharp teeth. Close gate after Dog so Dog does not get same treatment. Pry fur from Baby X's hand. Enter Baby X's room.
Step two: gather diapers, lotion, wipes, clothes and socks. Stop Baby X from eating nightlight. Tell Girl X she better go eat before the bus gets here.
Step three: Smile at Baby X as he smiles back. Baby X notices clothes and diaper and lotion and socks. Chase Baby X down the hall with above stated necessities. Stop Baby X from eating a shoe left on the floor.
Step four: Return from nailing shoe to the ceiling out of Baby X's reach to find Baby X gleefully emptying the recycle bin. Ask Girl X why she didn't stop him. Glare as she laughs "He was having fun." Mutter "Someday you'll have kids just like you". Cry when you realize your dad said the same thing to you.
Step five: After putting recyclables back in bin, bring Baby X into the living room where you put the stash of necessities. Realize you forgot the wipes. Send Girl X for them because you know if you don't, you will return to find Baby X chewing on the Cat's tail.
Step six: Smile at Baby X and begin to remove pajamas. Know that you are in for it when he just smiles back.
Step 7: Lay Baby X down and hand him a toy. Prepare diaper and wipes. Announce that you are 'going in'. Snicker when Girl X says "That's gross!"
Open the diaper and quickly agree with Girl X.
Step 8: Put one hand on Baby X and beg him not to move. He smiles at you and then Monsters.
Step 9: After scrubbing your hands with hot hot water and industrial strength soap, grab the carpet cleaner and hope that it works. Toss dirty diaper and the rag used to scrub the carpet in the trash.
Step 10: Wrestle Cat's tail out of Baby X's mouth. Attempt to remove cat hair from Baby X's mouth.
Step 11: Lay Baby X down and hand him a toy. Watch as toy flies out of Baby X's hand and nails Cat in the head. Make a mental note to give extra treat to Cat. Begin to apply lotion. While applying lotion, continuously flip Baby X back over on his back and sing songs as he tries to get away.
Step 12: Lotion has been applied to one leg and the opposite foot. Give up because it's just not going to happen.
Step 13: Grab Baby X's leg and begin to fit through pant leg. Grab other leg and try to put through other pant leg. Repeat 6 times.
Step 14: Quickly stand Baby X up and bounce him into his pants as he rips out chunks of your hair. (What does this kind have against hair??)
Step 15: Lay Baby X down to snap his pants. Repeat 4 times.
Step 16: Grab shirt and chase after Baby X. Attempt to put shirt on Baby X as Baby X plays with the buttons on the TV.
Step 17: Attempt to put shirt on Baby X as he vaults after his sister.
Step 18: Shirt is half on. Call it a compromise and pick up the socks. Get them on as Baby X crawls down the hall.
Step 19: 2 minutes later, see that Baby X has pulled both socks off and is eating them. Shrug shoulders and let it go.
It amazes me that this kid isn't naked, like, always. I must be inept or something right? People, really, this kid hates clothes. Clothes, socks, shoes, hats. Just doesn't want to wear them. He figured out how to take his pants off now too. Once he can get his shirt off, forget it. I hope he grows out of it. Secretly, I have this fear that he will be going to school in his batman underroos and nothing else because I just can't get him to stay fully dressed.
Next time: How to Feed A Mobile Baby
Till then, wave if you see me. I'm easy to spot. I'm the half bald woman with the naked baby.
How To Dress A Moving Baby
Baby X has become quite mobile. Now more commando style crawling. He is up on his knees tearing through the house at lightening speed. He's also very adept at pulling his happy little butt to stand up on, well, everything. This has made diaper changes and dressing an effort in futility. At first it wasn't so bad because I could hand him a toy and he'd be "Oh wow! A toy! What does it do? What does it taste like? If I throw it at Mom will it make noise. No, she made noise though. Throw it again. Throw it again. Throw it again. Oh what? I'm done? I can go now? Great!"
But now, throwing things at me has lost some of it's novelty. I don't make that funny squeaky noise like the cat does.
Here is our typical morning:
Step one: Pull Baby X out from underneath the bed and assure cat that fur will in fact grow back. Dodge sharp teeth. Close gate after Dog so Dog does not get same treatment. Pry fur from Baby X's hand. Enter Baby X's room.
Step two: gather diapers, lotion, wipes, clothes and socks. Stop Baby X from eating nightlight. Tell Girl X she better go eat before the bus gets here.
Step three: Smile at Baby X as he smiles back. Baby X notices clothes and diaper and lotion and socks. Chase Baby X down the hall with above stated necessities. Stop Baby X from eating a shoe left on the floor.
Step four: Return from nailing shoe to the ceiling out of Baby X's reach to find Baby X gleefully emptying the recycle bin. Ask Girl X why she didn't stop him. Glare as she laughs "He was having fun." Mutter "Someday you'll have kids just like you". Cry when you realize your dad said the same thing to you.
Step five: After putting recyclables back in bin, bring Baby X into the living room where you put the stash of necessities. Realize you forgot the wipes. Send Girl X for them because you know if you don't, you will return to find Baby X chewing on the Cat's tail.
Step six: Smile at Baby X and begin to remove pajamas. Know that you are in for it when he just smiles back.
Step 7: Lay Baby X down and hand him a toy. Prepare diaper and wipes. Announce that you are 'going in'. Snicker when Girl X says "That's gross!"
Open the diaper and quickly agree with Girl X.
Step 8: Put one hand on Baby X and beg him not to move. He smiles at you and then Monsters.
Step 9: After scrubbing your hands with hot hot water and industrial strength soap, grab the carpet cleaner and hope that it works. Toss dirty diaper and the rag used to scrub the carpet in the trash.
Step 10: Wrestle Cat's tail out of Baby X's mouth. Attempt to remove cat hair from Baby X's mouth.
Step 11: Lay Baby X down and hand him a toy. Watch as toy flies out of Baby X's hand and nails Cat in the head. Make a mental note to give extra treat to Cat. Begin to apply lotion. While applying lotion, continuously flip Baby X back over on his back and sing songs as he tries to get away.
Step 12: Lotion has been applied to one leg and the opposite foot. Give up because it's just not going to happen.
Step 13: Grab Baby X's leg and begin to fit through pant leg. Grab other leg and try to put through other pant leg. Repeat 6 times.
Step 14: Quickly stand Baby X up and bounce him into his pants as he rips out chunks of your hair. (What does this kind have against hair??)
Step 15: Lay Baby X down to snap his pants. Repeat 4 times.
Step 16: Grab shirt and chase after Baby X. Attempt to put shirt on Baby X as Baby X plays with the buttons on the TV.
Step 17: Attempt to put shirt on Baby X as he vaults after his sister.
Step 18: Shirt is half on. Call it a compromise and pick up the socks. Get them on as Baby X crawls down the hall.
Step 19: 2 minutes later, see that Baby X has pulled both socks off and is eating them. Shrug shoulders and let it go.
It amazes me that this kid isn't naked, like, always. I must be inept or something right? People, really, this kid hates clothes. Clothes, socks, shoes, hats. Just doesn't want to wear them. He figured out how to take his pants off now too. Once he can get his shirt off, forget it. I hope he grows out of it. Secretly, I have this fear that he will be going to school in his batman underroos and nothing else because I just can't get him to stay fully dressed.
Next time: How to Feed A Mobile Baby
Till then, wave if you see me. I'm easy to spot. I'm the half bald woman with the naked baby.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Still on a Rampage
Maybe just a funk. I should amend yesterdays post to read that two people I care about are now wearing shoes that shouldn't fit. I hate that.
Normally, I talk to Mr X at night. Even nights he's been working on the downstairs rooms, he still takes time to listen. But I couldn't. I couldn't open my mouth.
It's not him. I know he'll listen and understand. I just couldn't do it.
I felt drained and tired. Then guilty because I don't know why. I do and I don't really.
I hate feeling helpless. I feel that way so often lately. Like I want so badly to do something positive but just can't.
I know what I really want to do and I will. I just have to find the courage to bring it up to her. I also need to find the right words. It can't be too long if she says it's ok.
I know, this is scattered and I'm not making much sense.
I'll get back to my normal self, whatever that is, eventually.
Normally, I talk to Mr X at night. Even nights he's been working on the downstairs rooms, he still takes time to listen. But I couldn't. I couldn't open my mouth.
It's not him. I know he'll listen and understand. I just couldn't do it.
I felt drained and tired. Then guilty because I don't know why. I do and I don't really.
I hate feeling helpless. I feel that way so often lately. Like I want so badly to do something positive but just can't.
I know what I really want to do and I will. I just have to find the courage to bring it up to her. I also need to find the right words. It can't be too long if she says it's ok.
I know, this is scattered and I'm not making much sense.
I'll get back to my normal self, whatever that is, eventually.
Monday, October 03, 2005
A Scarlet Letter
Today is not a happy day. I'll warn you now that this may not be a good day to read. There will be some things that are hard to 'hear' but I'm in a pissy mood.
Someone who also went through what I did asked what my mc's took from me.
I hadn't really thought of it before then. I had only really thought of what I had gained from it.
A stronger marriage- if we could survive that, we could get through anything.
A feeling of being stronger- because after it was all over, even though I had my moments, I still got up everyday. I still took care of what needed to be taken care of. I didn't give up.
I became more determined- not just to have a baby but in everything. Now when I hear can't, I have to. I've had too much 'can't'. I need some 'can'. (Gee, that sounds kind of bad!)
For what I lost.........
I guess my naivete. Some of my faith in things that true and just.
In a perfect and just world, babies don't die. Babies are born on time and in perfect health. They grow into children in perfect health. They become adults and have children of their own. They bury their parents, not the other way around. In a world where things are as they should be, a parent would never know what it feels like to touch tiny fingers only one time and then have to carry that memory and that memory alone with them, in their unwhole heart for the rest of their lives. A parent would count those fingers and toes and kiss them and have them wiggle back from being tickled. In the world that I wish was true, a parent would never go to the Dr and find that their baby was no longer there, no matter how far along they were.But it isn't that way. Tragedy strikes at the very moment when you should be able to breathe. The moment you should be at your very happiest.There is no way to know why. Different people will offer different opinons as to what they believe but really, we just don't know why. I think that makes it even more horrible. We like the rhyme and reason to life and sometimes it just isn't there. There is no justification, no understanding. It's hard to say that 'it is what it is', but ... well, it is what it is.Losing a child turns your world upside down. Suddenly everything you believed, everything you knew, it's gone. And when suddenly your world stops spinning and tossing you around, you have to try to find your feet again. It's like being spun around so fast and for so long and you're so dizzy then someone says "Ok, walk straight." Because no matter how much we'd like it to be different, people don't want to hear about it. You are working through the most horrific time in your life, but you aren't allowed to talk about it. You're walking around with this big scarlet letter on your forehead and everyone around you pretends they don't see it. They know it's there so they avoid looking you in the eye and all you want to do is scream. "Look at me! I'm still here!"
I know some people think that infertility is the 'thing that dare not speak it's name'. But I think a lot of the stigma has been taken away. By people talking about it, writing books and most recently, a new show. NBC started airing Inconceivable this season. I'm reserving judgement since it's only aired twice. I know that things will be exaggerated for a dramatic effect. Point is, it's no longer a secret.
But not so for those walking in my shoes.
My experience took away my ability to be completely secure in myself. I walk around and see the people I love look at me differently. Like I'm somehow less because my body failed me at the time I needed it most.
I know I'm going off on a tangent, but I warned you I was in a pissy mood. A friend of mine had to put on my shoes today and I feel terribly for her. I'd very much like to throw those shoes in molten lava.
I wish that I could make things better for her.
Today just sucks.
Someone who also went through what I did asked what my mc's took from me.
I hadn't really thought of it before then. I had only really thought of what I had gained from it.
A stronger marriage- if we could survive that, we could get through anything.
A feeling of being stronger- because after it was all over, even though I had my moments, I still got up everyday. I still took care of what needed to be taken care of. I didn't give up.
I became more determined- not just to have a baby but in everything. Now when I hear can't, I have to. I've had too much 'can't'. I need some 'can'. (Gee, that sounds kind of bad!)
For what I lost.........
I guess my naivete. Some of my faith in things that true and just.
In a perfect and just world, babies don't die. Babies are born on time and in perfect health. They grow into children in perfect health. They become adults and have children of their own. They bury their parents, not the other way around. In a world where things are as they should be, a parent would never know what it feels like to touch tiny fingers only one time and then have to carry that memory and that memory alone with them, in their unwhole heart for the rest of their lives. A parent would count those fingers and toes and kiss them and have them wiggle back from being tickled. In the world that I wish was true, a parent would never go to the Dr and find that their baby was no longer there, no matter how far along they were.But it isn't that way. Tragedy strikes at the very moment when you should be able to breathe. The moment you should be at your very happiest.There is no way to know why. Different people will offer different opinons as to what they believe but really, we just don't know why. I think that makes it even more horrible. We like the rhyme and reason to life and sometimes it just isn't there. There is no justification, no understanding. It's hard to say that 'it is what it is', but ... well, it is what it is.Losing a child turns your world upside down. Suddenly everything you believed, everything you knew, it's gone. And when suddenly your world stops spinning and tossing you around, you have to try to find your feet again. It's like being spun around so fast and for so long and you're so dizzy then someone says "Ok, walk straight." Because no matter how much we'd like it to be different, people don't want to hear about it. You are working through the most horrific time in your life, but you aren't allowed to talk about it. You're walking around with this big scarlet letter on your forehead and everyone around you pretends they don't see it. They know it's there so they avoid looking you in the eye and all you want to do is scream. "Look at me! I'm still here!"
I know some people think that infertility is the 'thing that dare not speak it's name'. But I think a lot of the stigma has been taken away. By people talking about it, writing books and most recently, a new show. NBC started airing Inconceivable this season. I'm reserving judgement since it's only aired twice. I know that things will be exaggerated for a dramatic effect. Point is, it's no longer a secret.
But not so for those walking in my shoes.
My experience took away my ability to be completely secure in myself. I walk around and see the people I love look at me differently. Like I'm somehow less because my body failed me at the time I needed it most.
I know I'm going off on a tangent, but I warned you I was in a pissy mood. A friend of mine had to put on my shoes today and I feel terribly for her. I'd very much like to throw those shoes in molten lava.
I wish that I could make things better for her.
Today just sucks.
Tagged
Nk got me and I've been putting it off because, well, I don't know. I like to procastinate sometimes.
1. Go into your archives.
2. Find your 23rd post.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence along with these instructions.
5. Tag five people to do the same.
I can't believe I have 23 posts!
Huh. My 23rd post didn't have 5 sentences. It was my "I'm an idiot. How do you link other blogs?" post. And I'm still an idiot because I still can't figure it out. I suck.
As for tagging 5 people. If you're reading this, consider yourself tagged. Or just pretend that you didn't read it. I won't tell.
1. Go into your archives.
2. Find your 23rd post.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence along with these instructions.
5. Tag five people to do the same.
I can't believe I have 23 posts!
Huh. My 23rd post didn't have 5 sentences. It was my "I'm an idiot. How do you link other blogs?" post. And I'm still an idiot because I still can't figure it out. I suck.
As for tagging 5 people. If you're reading this, consider yourself tagged. Or just pretend that you didn't read it. I won't tell.
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Monsterfied
That's what I'm calling it.
Baby X makes this face fairly often now. He scrunches up his little face and puckers his lips. He likes to throw in some rapid breathing because, well, I think it's supposed to be scary that way. It's funny really. We all do it now. We were at the movies on Sunday and standing in line Baby X started Monsterfying the people behind us. Out of habit, we all started Monstering. We looked like a bunch of idiots but Baby X was amused.
I had physical therapy today and as I sat talking to K and doing my hand exercises, she paused and asked what was wrong with Baby X.
"Oh, nothing. He's just Monstering you because we're not letting him be the Ladies Man he is."
No really.
He did it when we were at Target too. He's recently started waving 'hi' and 'bye' to people. Sometimes before they walk away. We were at checkout when the couple next to us started talking to Baby X. I began to encourage him to wave 'hi'. He ignored me. He smiled a little at them. I tried to get him to wave again.
Apparently this was all too much for him and he Monstered them.
They thought this was just hysterical. They began to Monster back at him. He laughed and started Monstering to everyone who dared to look at him. I think now he does it just to see who will do it back.
Somewhere out there is a young couple happily Monstering their friends.
They, in turn, will Monster their families and friends, and so on.
Baby X: Trendsetter Extraordinaire.
Baby X makes this face fairly often now. He scrunches up his little face and puckers his lips. He likes to throw in some rapid breathing because, well, I think it's supposed to be scary that way. It's funny really. We all do it now. We were at the movies on Sunday and standing in line Baby X started Monsterfying the people behind us. Out of habit, we all started Monstering. We looked like a bunch of idiots but Baby X was amused.
I had physical therapy today and as I sat talking to K and doing my hand exercises, she paused and asked what was wrong with Baby X.
"Oh, nothing. He's just Monstering you because we're not letting him be the Ladies Man he is."
No really.
He did it when we were at Target too. He's recently started waving 'hi' and 'bye' to people. Sometimes before they walk away. We were at checkout when the couple next to us started talking to Baby X. I began to encourage him to wave 'hi'. He ignored me. He smiled a little at them. I tried to get him to wave again.
Apparently this was all too much for him and he Monstered them.
They thought this was just hysterical. They began to Monster back at him. He laughed and started Monstering to everyone who dared to look at him. I think now he does it just to see who will do it back.
Somewhere out there is a young couple happily Monstering their friends.
They, in turn, will Monster their families and friends, and so on.
Baby X: Trendsetter Extraordinaire.
Monday, September 26, 2005
We are cruel parents
Ok, really it's just me. Mr X just shakes his head, sighs and goes along with it. Someday our kids are going to look through their scrapbooks and wonder what we, er, I was smoking.
I found Baby X's halloween costume. I knew it was the one the moment I saw it. I couldn't stop laughing. Even Mr X laughed before shaking his head. I'm waiting anxiously for UPS to deliver it. Every now and then I sneak a peek back at the website and giggle maniacally. Girl X tells her friends "Don't worry, she's not dangerous crazy. Just weird crazy." Little does she know that she once wore a lady bug costume I made myself, I still have the shell and sparkly antenna in my hope chest.
I know this borders on child abuse, but I'm the same person that merrily dressed Baby X in a little blue bunny suit for Easter. It had ears and a fuzzy little tail. I giggled all day.
So, here it is..........
And when that day comes that Baby X is no longer a baby and can demand an answer for my cruelty I will smile and tell him "It was Humpty Dumpty or this:"
I can't tell which is the lesser of two evils. He's just lucky I saw Humpty Dumpty first.
I found Baby X's halloween costume. I knew it was the one the moment I saw it. I couldn't stop laughing. Even Mr X laughed before shaking his head. I'm waiting anxiously for UPS to deliver it. Every now and then I sneak a peek back at the website and giggle maniacally. Girl X tells her friends "Don't worry, she's not dangerous crazy. Just weird crazy." Little does she know that she once wore a lady bug costume I made myself, I still have the shell and sparkly antenna in my hope chest.
I know this borders on child abuse, but I'm the same person that merrily dressed Baby X in a little blue bunny suit for Easter. It had ears and a fuzzy little tail. I giggled all day.
So, here it is..........
And when that day comes that Baby X is no longer a baby and can demand an answer for my cruelty I will smile and tell him "It was Humpty Dumpty or this:"
I can't tell which is the lesser of two evils. He's just lucky I saw Humpty Dumpty first.
Friday, September 23, 2005
My hero, the Drama Queen
Mr X and I took the kidlets to do some mindless shopping. I scored on summer clothes for Baby x for next year. I love clearance. I live for sales. I rarely pay full price for anything because I know eventually it will go on sale. I buy clothes for the kids ahead of season. Yes, I'm one of those people.
We packed up the van with all the goodies and I tossed Mr X the keys. I hate driving when he's in the van. He's a back seat driver. It's hard to resist the urge to smack him with something heavy and handy when he's in the passenger seat.
As he was getting in, I heard a girly gasp. I looked at Girl X but she just shrugged. Baby X was happily munching on his seat belt strap.
Mr X looked sick.
"There's a scratch!"
I got in the van feeling mildly ill. This van is only 6 months old. My first really nice brand new vehicle.
We started to head home. Mr X continued to describe it.
"It's huge, long. There's a big dent too. I wonder how they did that!"
I told him I wasn't going to be able to look at it. I felt really sick now. I wanted to cry picturing the gash in my van he was describing.
We pulled into the driveway and I knew I had to see it.
It took me a few minutes to see what he was talking about. There is a scratch, it's long but thin and not deep. I had to look for it. There are no dents.
Mr X will forever be known now as the Supreme Drama Queen.
We packed up the van with all the goodies and I tossed Mr X the keys. I hate driving when he's in the van. He's a back seat driver. It's hard to resist the urge to smack him with something heavy and handy when he's in the passenger seat.
As he was getting in, I heard a girly gasp. I looked at Girl X but she just shrugged. Baby X was happily munching on his seat belt strap.
Mr X looked sick.
"There's a scratch!"
I got in the van feeling mildly ill. This van is only 6 months old. My first really nice brand new vehicle.
We started to head home. Mr X continued to describe it.
"It's huge, long. There's a big dent too. I wonder how they did that!"
I told him I wasn't going to be able to look at it. I felt really sick now. I wanted to cry picturing the gash in my van he was describing.
We pulled into the driveway and I knew I had to see it.
It took me a few minutes to see what he was talking about. There is a scratch, it's long but thin and not deep. I had to look for it. There are no dents.
Mr X will forever be known now as the Supreme Drama Queen.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Denial, denial, denial
Mr X and I have a little game we play. Some would call it passing the buck, although in this case I think it's more like passing the poo. We're generally clean people, but both of us hate cleaning up after Cat X or Dog X leave a biscuit on the carpet, or puke up the sour twizzlers Mr X keeps sneaking the dog. Yes dear, I know that Dog X is not just eating his kibble. Kibble isn't bright blue. Kibble doesn't make him fart the Star Spangled Banner at 3 am.
Mr X has to clean the litter box. I claim reproductive health. Once we're done reproducing, I'll claim it's always been his job and there's no sense changing it. I am a heartless wench.
Cat X is the main culprit. He usually pukes from eating too much dog food or he gets pissed because well..... He's a cat. Does he really need a reason to get pissy? He just is.
The rule here is that whoever spots it first cleans it.
But, you have to basically catch the person finding it to get them to clean it. We've both become very adept at pretending we didn't see it.
"There was a pile of poo the size of Baby X at the bottom of the stairs? Wow! Cat X must have just done it. Tough break."
It becomes a matter of who can't stand it more first.
I know. We're childish. It's disgusting to leave it laying around. It would be a simple matter to clean it up and get over it. But we still play this game. Every. Time.
When I get stuck cleaning it up, I require an entire roll of paper towels, elbow length rubber gloves, tongs, a handkerchief to tie around my nose and mouth, plastic bag, carpet cleaner, rag to scrub the cleaner in and one to dry. As soon as I have that mess knotted up a plastic bag it gets carried to the outdoor trash followed by the gloves, tongs and rags,
Mr X, grabs whatever scrap paper he can find and throws it in whatever trash can is nearby.
I must immediately scrub my hands in hot water with antibacterial soap because that shit is nasty.
Mr X goes back to eating his tacos.
As strange as my little animal poo disposal routine is, I have no issue with Baby X's diapers. We're talking about poo that could double as military grade adhesive. Toxic. The unholiest of all things great and small. Even worse because you know that this smiling little toothy monster created that Weapon of Mass Destruction. Yet, it doesn't bother me. Mr X looks at Baby X's diapers as Olympic achievement. I can hear him in Baby X's room changing said stinky diaper.
"That's my son!" with such pride I think Baby x must have just cured cancer.
No.
He just grunted out what looks like dog food (which is entirely possible since I caught Baby X in the dog's food bowl today).
Mr X has to clean the litter box. I claim reproductive health. Once we're done reproducing, I'll claim it's always been his job and there's no sense changing it. I am a heartless wench.
Cat X is the main culprit. He usually pukes from eating too much dog food or he gets pissed because well..... He's a cat. Does he really need a reason to get pissy? He just is.
The rule here is that whoever spots it first cleans it.
But, you have to basically catch the person finding it to get them to clean it. We've both become very adept at pretending we didn't see it.
"There was a pile of poo the size of Baby X at the bottom of the stairs? Wow! Cat X must have just done it. Tough break."
It becomes a matter of who can't stand it more first.
I know. We're childish. It's disgusting to leave it laying around. It would be a simple matter to clean it up and get over it. But we still play this game. Every. Time.
When I get stuck cleaning it up, I require an entire roll of paper towels, elbow length rubber gloves, tongs, a handkerchief to tie around my nose and mouth, plastic bag, carpet cleaner, rag to scrub the cleaner in and one to dry. As soon as I have that mess knotted up a plastic bag it gets carried to the outdoor trash followed by the gloves, tongs and rags,
Mr X, grabs whatever scrap paper he can find and throws it in whatever trash can is nearby.
I must immediately scrub my hands in hot water with antibacterial soap because that shit is nasty.
Mr X goes back to eating his tacos.
As strange as my little animal poo disposal routine is, I have no issue with Baby X's diapers. We're talking about poo that could double as military grade adhesive. Toxic. The unholiest of all things great and small. Even worse because you know that this smiling little toothy monster created that Weapon of Mass Destruction. Yet, it doesn't bother me. Mr X looks at Baby X's diapers as Olympic achievement. I can hear him in Baby X's room changing said stinky diaper.
"That's my son!" with such pride I think Baby x must have just cured cancer.
No.
He just grunted out what looks like dog food (which is entirely possible since I caught Baby X in the dog's food bowl today).
Monday, September 19, 2005
That wascally wabbit.................
Remember when I mentioned that we weren't the nicest kids in the neighborhood? Well, we weren't always the smartest either.
We preferred to confine our moments of stupidity to the times we were left alone with our grandmother. She was a sweet woman but she would freak out over the slightest cough with such superb skill that it became a contest to see who could make her screech first, loudest, or longest. We knew who won by who ended up in the emergency room.
My favorite was the day she gave us mini bean bags. Brother X told Sister X that he saw a guy on tv stick something in his ear and it came out the other side. Sister X said that was impossible. Brother X called her a wuss and bet her that he could shove a bean in his ear and make it come out the other side. Sister X told him to go ahead and just to prove how stupid he was, she'd do it too.
My brother managed to get his in pretty far. My sister was less enthusiastic but still required the skill of our favorite ER Dr.
As my grandmother dragged us out of the ER, muttering about palpatations, my sister asked my brother who he saw on tv pull such a stunt.
"Bugs Bunny"
My sister probably would have beat him to death had my grandmother not threatened to have the Dr stitch her hands to her head.
We preferred to confine our moments of stupidity to the times we were left alone with our grandmother. She was a sweet woman but she would freak out over the slightest cough with such superb skill that it became a contest to see who could make her screech first, loudest, or longest. We knew who won by who ended up in the emergency room.
My favorite was the day she gave us mini bean bags. Brother X told Sister X that he saw a guy on tv stick something in his ear and it came out the other side. Sister X said that was impossible. Brother X called her a wuss and bet her that he could shove a bean in his ear and make it come out the other side. Sister X told him to go ahead and just to prove how stupid he was, she'd do it too.
My brother managed to get his in pretty far. My sister was less enthusiastic but still required the skill of our favorite ER Dr.
As my grandmother dragged us out of the ER, muttering about palpatations, my sister asked my brother who he saw on tv pull such a stunt.
"Bugs Bunny"
My sister probably would have beat him to death had my grandmother not threatened to have the Dr stitch her hands to her head.
Friday, September 16, 2005
Did you hear that?
That was the sound of Mr X dropping a pile of joint compound on the radio and sharing a few new curse words.
Mr X is a pretty handy guy. Right now he's trying to finish off our downstairs. He did the living room and guest room almost 2 years ago. All that's left is the bathroom and the laundry room.
I love a guy that can build and fix and create like that. I love it even more because with Mr X I know something will happen that will cause him to yell and then scramble to try to recover.
Example- Mr X decided we needed another storage closet. There was all this unused space under the stairs but it was blocked off by pesky walls. Mr X decides it would be very simple to just cut into it, build a small door and voila..... A closet.
5 minutes into the project Girl X, being 4 and a tattle tale at the time, came running upstairs panting, eyes wild and flailing her little arms excitedly.
"Mom! Daddy, broke the wall!"
Mr X hadn't been paying attention and cut into the wrong spot. He did fix it and we do have a nice little storage closet, but it's moments like that that get me giggly for his next home improvement project.
This one involves water. Pipes. So much potential for fun.
Too bad I wasn't home when it happened.
The first night he started working I had to take Girl X to cheerleading practice. When we came home there were towels all over my front porch. I asked Girl X to carry some of them into the laundry room while I got Baby X out. She came running back out to tell me that the house smelled 'funny'.
I had her wait with Baby X while I went in to check it out.
Mr X wasn't home but the kid was fooling. It smelled like someone had dumped rubbing alcohol, rubber cement and paint thinner all over my house. I started walking upstairs and noticed more wet towels.
The only note in the house was very simple:
"I TURNED THE WATER OFF"
Oh, how I wish I had been there with my camera for this one.
Mr X had decided that to continue working without further disruption to our ability to bathe, he would extend the water pipes and create his own shut off. Too bad he didn't turn the water off before he cut into the pipe.
Is it so wrong that I still giggle when I think of it?
Since he can only work on this during nights and weekends when we aren't dragging him all over the place, progress is slow. He has been hanging some drywall but can't do much more until he has someone to help him carry in the jacuzzi tub.
I should have months of fun with this.
Mr X is a pretty handy guy. Right now he's trying to finish off our downstairs. He did the living room and guest room almost 2 years ago. All that's left is the bathroom and the laundry room.
I love a guy that can build and fix and create like that. I love it even more because with Mr X I know something will happen that will cause him to yell and then scramble to try to recover.
Example- Mr X decided we needed another storage closet. There was all this unused space under the stairs but it was blocked off by pesky walls. Mr X decides it would be very simple to just cut into it, build a small door and voila..... A closet.
5 minutes into the project Girl X, being 4 and a tattle tale at the time, came running upstairs panting, eyes wild and flailing her little arms excitedly.
"Mom! Daddy, broke the wall!"
Mr X hadn't been paying attention and cut into the wrong spot. He did fix it and we do have a nice little storage closet, but it's moments like that that get me giggly for his next home improvement project.
This one involves water. Pipes. So much potential for fun.
Too bad I wasn't home when it happened.
The first night he started working I had to take Girl X to cheerleading practice. When we came home there were towels all over my front porch. I asked Girl X to carry some of them into the laundry room while I got Baby X out. She came running back out to tell me that the house smelled 'funny'.
I had her wait with Baby X while I went in to check it out.
Mr X wasn't home but the kid was fooling. It smelled like someone had dumped rubbing alcohol, rubber cement and paint thinner all over my house. I started walking upstairs and noticed more wet towels.
The only note in the house was very simple:
"I TURNED THE WATER OFF"
Oh, how I wish I had been there with my camera for this one.
Mr X had decided that to continue working without further disruption to our ability to bathe, he would extend the water pipes and create his own shut off. Too bad he didn't turn the water off before he cut into the pipe.
Is it so wrong that I still giggle when I think of it?
Since he can only work on this during nights and weekends when we aren't dragging him all over the place, progress is slow. He has been hanging some drywall but can't do much more until he has someone to help him carry in the jacuzzi tub.
I should have months of fun with this.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
By the way..........
If anyone could tell me how to add links to other sites, I'd really appreciate it! I tried to follow Blogger's instructions, but it didn't work!
Moments I wish I could clone myself
Any day this week (and last week for that matter) would have been a good day to have more than one of me. Far too much to do! Between physical therapy (me), Girl X's urology appt, her cheerleading pictures and practice, Dr's (Baby x), Dr's (me this time), Girl X's football game, and day to day errands, I haven't been able to get anything done at home. I know there is a post somewhere in my head, but I can't think clearly enough to get it out.
Baby X is cutting molars. I miss sleep. I guess sleep is the price we pay for his cheerfulness during the day.
Baby X is cutting molars. I miss sleep. I guess sleep is the price we pay for his cheerfulness during the day.
Monday, September 05, 2005
Rehashing a Black Year
We had a barbecue this weekend for friends and family. Towards the end of the night I was sitting with my neighbor, SIL, and a friend just talking about random things when the conversation got turned to what I now refer to as my Black Year. I'm not big on sharing something so personal when I'm face to face with people but I've been trying to get better about it. I've come to realize that I need to speak up when these things happen or I end up where I was during my Black Year. Plus, I think that the more I talk about it, the easier it gets for me to deal with it and to handle the guilt I now feel. So now you, and by you I mean those random people reading this blog, are going to be a sounding board for me.
It started when Mr X and I decided to expand our happy little family. I was excited at the thought of 2 more little feet running through the house. As luck would have it, I got pregnant on the first try. We were so excited we couldn't contain ourselves and called everyone we ever met. I was due in early January. We happily began planning and even went so far as to buy the crib and dresser/ changing table. Then the unthinkable happened. I was 7 weeks along when I lost our baby. I was crushed, but I am (90%) of the time an optimist. I cried but I decided to brush it off.
I did feel a bit more desperate to get pregnant again. I could just feel that little baby, just out of my reach and I had no patience to wait.
This time it took 2 tries. We told our parents and I told a few friends, but no one else. I did not want to have to go back and tell everyone if something went wrong like last time. At the same time I was confident that it would be ok because lightening doesn't strike twice. Right?
Wrong.
I was 12 weeks when we went to hear the baby's heartbeat. There was nothing there. I'll never forget the sound of that Doppler echoing so emptily in the exam room. The baby had died 3 weeks before. I miscarried at 13 weeks.
I was destroyed.
I put on a happy face during the day for Mr X, Girl X, and everyone else. But at night, I let go. Everyone else would be asleep and I'd be in the nursery crying my heart out on the floor. Or if it was too much during the day, in the bathroom.
During the time that I was miscarrying, my bil and sil came over. They didn't know what we were going through as they didn't know that I had been pregnant again. I like to think if they had they wouldn't have chosen that weekend to tell us that she was pregnant again. I remember getting out a weak 'congratulations'. In my head all I could think was that she had my baby. God was punishing me by taking my baby and giving it to someone I could barely tolerate. I avoided her a lot for the next 8 months. I avoided a lot of things during that time.
This time getting pregnant was taking longer and I was falling apart every month. Looking back, I know I should have been seeing a therapist. At the time, I just functioned as well as I could.
Mr X went to get a physical. We were preparing to have fertility testing as we knew that would be the next step. Instead we got bitch-slapped.
We found out that Mr X had Hepatitis B. He got it as a child and never knew. If I was on shaky ground before, now I was working in a constant earthquake. Mr X had to get a biopsy and medication. We had a lot to work out.
I got pregnant again a few months later. The day after I took the test, lightening struck a 3rd time.
When Girl X would go to the school in the morning, I would have a good cry and scream, then go on about my day. I started to feel numb.
I think Mr X started to get an idea that all was not well in my world. We went on vacation. I was not entirely myself, but as the trip wore on, I let myself forget.
We had always said that we wouldn't want a Christmas baby. By this time though, I couldn't have gone a month without trying. Now, that baby just out of my reach was my tormenter. I could smell that sweet baby scent in my sleep.
When I took a pregnancy test the next month, I thought it would be negative. When it came back positive I started crying. I was terrified. I took a deep breath and went on.
I was in a constant state of panic during that first trimester. I ran to the bathroom every time I felt the slightest pain. My Dr let me have an ultrasound early and seeing the heartbeat helped immensely. 2 days later, I was back to panicking. At 12 weeks, we went to hear the heartbeat.
Silence. I sucked in my breath.
And then there it was. Steady and sweet.
I can't say that the rest of my pregnancy was easy. It was text book perfect, but my anxiety made it difficult to enjoy. I had spotting off and on during the early part of my 2nd trimester and that sent me into a bit of a tailspin. I worried between every Dr's visit. I worried when I couldn't feel the baby move. I worried during labor. I worried when he was finally here, but he wasn't crying. In fact, he never really cried. Turns out, he's just not much of a crier. He's the happiest baby I've ever seen.
Those 'what if's' followed me every day. Every minute. I blamed myself and my body for what had happened. I had convinced myself that I had done something horrible to deserve it. I wondered if I could continue trying without going insane. Sometimes they are still there.
Remember when I said we hadn't wanted a Christmas baby?
My due date was 12/25/05.
How's that for fate?
It started when Mr X and I decided to expand our happy little family. I was excited at the thought of 2 more little feet running through the house. As luck would have it, I got pregnant on the first try. We were so excited we couldn't contain ourselves and called everyone we ever met. I was due in early January. We happily began planning and even went so far as to buy the crib and dresser/ changing table. Then the unthinkable happened. I was 7 weeks along when I lost our baby. I was crushed, but I am (90%) of the time an optimist. I cried but I decided to brush it off.
I did feel a bit more desperate to get pregnant again. I could just feel that little baby, just out of my reach and I had no patience to wait.
This time it took 2 tries. We told our parents and I told a few friends, but no one else. I did not want to have to go back and tell everyone if something went wrong like last time. At the same time I was confident that it would be ok because lightening doesn't strike twice. Right?
Wrong.
I was 12 weeks when we went to hear the baby's heartbeat. There was nothing there. I'll never forget the sound of that Doppler echoing so emptily in the exam room. The baby had died 3 weeks before. I miscarried at 13 weeks.
I was destroyed.
I put on a happy face during the day for Mr X, Girl X, and everyone else. But at night, I let go. Everyone else would be asleep and I'd be in the nursery crying my heart out on the floor. Or if it was too much during the day, in the bathroom.
During the time that I was miscarrying, my bil and sil came over. They didn't know what we were going through as they didn't know that I had been pregnant again. I like to think if they had they wouldn't have chosen that weekend to tell us that she was pregnant again. I remember getting out a weak 'congratulations'. In my head all I could think was that she had my baby. God was punishing me by taking my baby and giving it to someone I could barely tolerate. I avoided her a lot for the next 8 months. I avoided a lot of things during that time.
This time getting pregnant was taking longer and I was falling apart every month. Looking back, I know I should have been seeing a therapist. At the time, I just functioned as well as I could.
Mr X went to get a physical. We were preparing to have fertility testing as we knew that would be the next step. Instead we got bitch-slapped.
We found out that Mr X had Hepatitis B. He got it as a child and never knew. If I was on shaky ground before, now I was working in a constant earthquake. Mr X had to get a biopsy and medication. We had a lot to work out.
I got pregnant again a few months later. The day after I took the test, lightening struck a 3rd time.
When Girl X would go to the school in the morning, I would have a good cry and scream, then go on about my day. I started to feel numb.
I think Mr X started to get an idea that all was not well in my world. We went on vacation. I was not entirely myself, but as the trip wore on, I let myself forget.
We had always said that we wouldn't want a Christmas baby. By this time though, I couldn't have gone a month without trying. Now, that baby just out of my reach was my tormenter. I could smell that sweet baby scent in my sleep.
When I took a pregnancy test the next month, I thought it would be negative. When it came back positive I started crying. I was terrified. I took a deep breath and went on.
I was in a constant state of panic during that first trimester. I ran to the bathroom every time I felt the slightest pain. My Dr let me have an ultrasound early and seeing the heartbeat helped immensely. 2 days later, I was back to panicking. At 12 weeks, we went to hear the heartbeat.
Silence. I sucked in my breath.
And then there it was. Steady and sweet.
I can't say that the rest of my pregnancy was easy. It was text book perfect, but my anxiety made it difficult to enjoy. I had spotting off and on during the early part of my 2nd trimester and that sent me into a bit of a tailspin. I worried between every Dr's visit. I worried when I couldn't feel the baby move. I worried during labor. I worried when he was finally here, but he wasn't crying. In fact, he never really cried. Turns out, he's just not much of a crier. He's the happiest baby I've ever seen.
Those 'what if's' followed me every day. Every minute. I blamed myself and my body for what had happened. I had convinced myself that I had done something horrible to deserve it. I wondered if I could continue trying without going insane. Sometimes they are still there.
Remember when I said we hadn't wanted a Christmas baby?
My due date was 12/25/05.
How's that for fate?
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