Not Allergies

After JG's doctor suggested it I made an appointment with an allergy specialist about a month ago and had been dreading it.  When I had my skin prick test at 14 (imagine lying face down on a table while they poke your back 100 times with pins and possible allergens to see how you react) it sucked.  But I made the appointment for JG after she screamed for three days after I ate some almond poppyseed muffins, which may or may not have been the offender.

My mom and sister both insisted we not go, fearing the skin prick test and how horrible it can be.  But all I could think about was my screaming baby and how wearing it is to try and deal with her when she's like that.  I had to know what was wrong and exactly what I had to avoid.

Thankfully the allergist was very nice and immediately knew what was going on with JG - it's not allergies, it's protein-induced proctitis.  Basically, her colon has a high intolerance/sensitivity to cow's milk and soy proteins.  He said that about half of nursing mothers dump their protein into their milk while the other half don't, and it's common for babies with protein-induced proctitis to suffer from malnutrition -- at this point he looks at JG with her shirt off and says, "Obviously that is a problem she doesn't have."

She's a bit chunky.

Everything I eat goes into my milk.

Then they did the skin-prick test to verify is initial diagnosis.  When the doctor and nurse said that a lot of babies don't usually mind being poked Alex and I looked at each other and almost rolled our eyes, thinking, "They haven't met our child."

Alex held her and, amazingly, she didn't cry at all.  She gave the nurse a crusty look, but was otherwise calm and held on to her dad.

And behold, she is not allergic to anything they tested for.  Not milk, not almonds, not grass, nothing.

However, the allergist suggested I avoid soy products as well.  I love soy sauce.  Booger.

The good news is that most babies outgrow this type proctitis anywhere between nine and twelve months.  She's seven-and-a-half months now, so it is possible that in the next two months she could outgrow this...  But I'm willing to bet she'll have it for the full twelve months.  Which is fine.

I just look forward to eating whatever I want next summer and putting on twenty pounds.  Seriously.  I weigh about 105 right now and I am freezing all of the time.

I have no ass.  My pants don't fit.  But still my boobs are big enough that my old shirts don't fit either.

Joy.

Failure & Success

Sewing Failure:

And sewing success:

Making a pattern for a doll is ten times easier than making the pattern for the doll's clothes.  I find it to be a very frustrating process, but I am slowly learning how it works.  Of course, it helps if I add the extra quarter inch into the pattern itself (second set of pictures) rather than trusting myself to do it myself later with the material (first set of pictures)...  

Hey, I'm learning dammit.  Also, working with knit is sort of a pain in the butt, however the dress/slip looks nice and hangs well.  And it fits her without being overly big or too too small.  

Random note: this is what my mornings look like:

Baby Farts

You know, I never stopped to think how difficult it must be to be a baby.  To have to learn to sit and roll and use your mouth to make sounds.

Or how to get your guts to get rid of that damnable gas that keeps creeping in to your belly.

The best part about this gas is that it attacks in the middle of the night, and it wakes JG up every time.  She can't fart whilst sleeping, no.  She must cry and wake me up so I can hold her, then she farts.  Like an adult.  Loud and lately stinky.

It doesn't matter if she's sleeping in her crib or in my bed, if she's gassy she's awake, which means I'm awake too.

I'm tired.

At what point in life do we start to deal with gas as if it was nothing?  I know for me, growing up in a house where the word "fart" was never uttered let alone released, that maybe I didn't deal with it until I was in college sometime.  

But I know at some point I stopped waking my mother up to share my gassy morsels with her...

Right?

Maybe it's just JG's way of letting me and Alex know that she really is OUR daughter.

Just Curious...

So...

Tiger Woods is a cheater, which I honestly have to say I am not that surprised about.

Think about it, if you were the most popular man on earth, and you could have or do anything you wanted, what would you do?

Okay, maybe your answer is not to cheat on your hot model wife, but hey, everyone to their own taste.

The only thing I am surprised about, appalled really, is his taste in women (other than his hot model wife).  I mean, if you're going to go outside of your marriage for, whatever it was he went for, wouldn't you go for the other hot models?  Or other beautiful women?

Not the trashy, bleached her own hair, has face piercings, looks like a hooker but isn't?  I mean, at least a high paid escort will keep your secrets, and is probably ten-times more attractive than the dozen or so ladies he stepped out on his wife with.

Wait, not ladies... lady is a word reserved for a woman of high-class, who is thoughtful enough not to sleep with another woman's husband.  Tiger did not cheat on his wife with ladies, he cheated on his wife with what looks to me like... well, trash.

What an idiot.  Even worse though, an idiot with bad taste.

Production

I have spent the last two weeks preparing for the Sisters & Friends Boutique (you'll find the address there) my mom is holding at her house in Ogden.  This means I've been making toys like crazy... or, you know, more quickly than I usually do.

Because it normally takes me two weeks to make one thing.

So, please awe in amazement that I made nine, COUNT THEM, nine toys for this boutique.  I know, I am amazing...

Or I just started to have fun making monsters:

These adorable little creatures are available for a $20 adoption fee, which will go toward paying off student loans.

When asked about their future homes, most monsters said, "Please, just get me away from that crazy baby.  She keeps shaking her head and grinning at me..."

I also have two dolls, but I'm trying to figure out their faces:  I think I'm going to have to unpick them and try something else.

They just don't evoke that "ahhhhh, cute" that I was hoping for.

Eh, try, try again.

Also, one last selling point.  If you're still searching for a special gift, and you would like to try and pawn off somebody else's creation as your own, feel free to do so with my toys!

I won't tell a soul.

Quandary

JG is wearing her last diaper.

There are no more diapers in the house.

She just pooped a gallon in her last diaper.

We only have about 20-30 minutes before her morning nap.

Quandary:  Do I run to Costco now to get diapers and bread and such

OR

do I let her sit in a gallon of poo over her nap?

Hmmm.



SOLUTION:

We had to run to Costco.  JG was basically wearing a cup-full of poop (in her last diaper) and I would feel so guilty if I left her in that thing for two hours to find a very red bottom at the end of it.

Diaper rash is the worst.  So, a quick trip through my lovely Costco where I received many strange glances as we raced through the isles.  It was great fun...

Messy Eater

I know, she's cute, what do I have to complain about?

Transitions

Babies.

Babies are interesting beings.

They are constantly evolving and becoming something new.  Who they were a week ago is not who they are today.

At least, this is what I'm learning from JG.  Just when I think I have her figured out, she flips like a coin and she's someone I haven't met before.  Which is REALLY frustrating.

I am a creature of status quo, and love and expect things to stay the same.  I know how to deal with sameness.  And I know having these sorts of expectations for a baby is just setting myself up for failure.

BELIEVE ME, I KNOW.

For those times when I am tearing my hair out and on the verge of collapsing to my knees and submersing my head in bleach, I call my parents.

Thank Jesus they live close.

The amount of sanity I still have left in my head can be attributed to my mother and father.

Thanks you guys.  REALLY.


And to think, this is what makes my life difficult and wonderful all at the same time!

Making some dolls

I've been making some crafty progress.  I thought I would demonstrate to my IMMENSE audience that I am doing stuff... when JG is napping, at least.

I think getting this far has taken me 6 weeks.  Embroidering the faces takes the longest, mainly because I hesitate about colors and what the face should look like.  Then I do the same thing with the hair, I want it to look right, so it took me a solid week of placing felt, removing, cutting, twisting, and then going with my original idea.

I am a seriously slow creative person, especially when I don't have a due date.  However, my mom is having a mini craft fair at her house in two weeks, so I've got to sew together a whole lot of toys... I wonder how quickly I can do that?  I'll post more about that in a little while.

See how excited I am to have them finished?  Now all I have to do is take weeks to make them underpants and dressess... well, that took me a year with the first one.  So, I guess you'll just have to wait and see how quickly (or, in reality, slowly like frozen molasses) I can get these suckers completed.

New Moon Review

*Spoiler Alert -- if you haven't seen the movie and don't want to know anything about it, then don't read this*

First of all, thank you to those fine ladies who gave an afternoon of their time to a lonely and fast-talking stay-at-home-mom.  I really appreciate it and I had a blast.  Movies are made all the better when there is someone giggling beside you.

Now to the movie.

I was not as disappointed as I thought I would be.  However, I just have to say that I am utterly confused about the whole basis of the movie -- Edward and Bella's "love" for each other.  Why do they love each other?  All they do is whine about it, and what do they do other than fly through trees and make kissing look painful?  (Seriously, each time they kiss it's like they are either going to jump into bed right there, or they are going to die because of the immense electrocuting pain that must transmit through their lips.  Ouch.)

I do like Jacob though, I guess if I knew I had to take a side it would be his... until he starts to whine about his love for Bella.  Why are these guys so possessive of her anyway?  Jacob is sarcastic, cute, cut, funny, and easy going, which is a nice break from Edward's being... so pale faced and... brooding?  I mean, if I had to point at somebody and tag them as Emo, it would be Edward.

Also, when Bella and Jacob are riding motorcycles and she stupidly runs herself into a boulder, why doesn't he give her a helmet and teach her how to ride rather than saying, "No more motorcycles, it's too dangerous."

It drives me nuts how helpless she is, and how this somehow makes her more desirable to vampires and werewolves.  She's breakable!  And a total klutz!  She bleeds a lot!  I love her!  

However, New Moon compared to Twilight was enjoyable and I didn't rudely break out in laughter more than once... or twice?  I appreciate the director making Jacob be shirtless the majority of the film, but Edward needs to keep his shirt on (vampire pastiness is not a good thing).

All in all, I'm glad I went.  I enjoyed myself.  Jen and I think we should get together more often (ladies?).

Okay, I'm beat.  Going to bed now... or to watch a lot of bad tv.  Whatever.

If you thought your day was bad...

Were you pooped on?

JG set me up today.  I thought she had a loaded diaper, but it was just a dirty fart.  So I removed the diaper, cleaned her off.

Now, when she's on the table she likes to grab her feet and eat her socks, which angles her bottom up, and makes her appear to be adorable.

While reaching under her changing table for a new diaper,  that's when she let loose a fountain of feces that arced up into the air and splattered on the towel.  She rested a second and then dirty farted, spraying my shirt with poop.

My child pooped on me.

The best part is that wasn't the end of it, she was merely reloading.  The next squirt missed the towel entirely and hit the edge to the table (thank Jesus there's a lip there, or I would of had poop EVERYWHERE).

The worst part is I am still wearing the poop covered shirt.  I looked down and realized the shirt was already stained... and just kept wearing it.  I know, I am disgusting.

But she's the one who let loose.

Stinky baby.





















**Okay, so I emailed people about New Moon, but only got one response (hey Starlynn!), so if you're still interested in joining me (stay-at-home diarrhea-mouthed mom) reply to the email (if you got it) or send a new email... or whatever.  We're looking at Saturday, matinee time sometime.

Let them eat cake!

Ladies and Gentleman, the joy of joys has occurred in my home today.

Wait for it.

I baked a friggin' cake.

Milk free.

Full of delicious.  Little tasty blueberries floating gaily through the fluffy sponge of vanilla goodness.  Covered in frosting.  So much happiness generated on my tongue in one sitting.

Seriously, folks, I am a cake person and it has been killing me to go without.  Chocolate is one thing, it gives me heartburn anyway, so I can forgo that without much of a problem.  But cake?  No.

No.  No. No.

The best part is that I found the mix at Albertson's.  I kept thinking I was going to have to go on some long journey full of adventure and intrigue to find a milk-free cake mix, since that is what the internet kept implying.  Stupid, sly internet, full of the $7 cake mixes that are "guaranteed allergen free" (meaning no eggs, milk, sometimes wheat or gluten).  Implying it's impossible to find elsewhere.

Lucky for me I was on the phone with Mindy (hey Min!) and decided to take the time to check every box of cake mix.  (Seriously, every box.)  And, lo and behold!  Duncan Heines is milk free.  The only allergen in it is "wheat."  I swear they know there are people like me, dying for cake and too damned lazy to make one myself.

(Side note:  I love baking.  Cookies.  Cakes.  Stuff.  But the thought of blaspheming... attempting to make a milk free cake on my own sounded fruitless and aggravating.  I'm an angry person anyway, but to go through the trouble of pouring ingredients in a bowl, mixing them together, and baking it only to have it come out tasting like vomit could send me over the edge... to giving up on cake.)

Cake!  Much deserved after a day when JG only wanted to nap an hour total.  I can't hold it against her though, she's teething or something.

Cake!  (currently digesting in my belly)

Socially Incompetent

Ugh.

Who would have thought interacting with others is a skill? One, if not practiced on a regular basis, that will grow stale and rot. Seriously.

This last Saturday Alex and I were social people -- which is a feat for us. We've spent many recent weekends sitting in our basement watching TV. Mainly old shows from the 70's, sci-fi, and fantasy stuff. Oh, man, the time we have spent in our basement. Poor JG, she hates being in the basement, and we're lazy enough to put up with her hating it.

Good thing she naps for two hour chunks on the weekends. How else could we so thoroughly waste our time?

Anyway.

Instead of being hermits this last weekend, we actually ventured out from our dark, comfortable cave, and broke bread with other people.

This is when I should mention, if you have forgotten, that I am a stay-at-home mother. I spend all of my time with a baby, who luckily for me is growing into a happy, smiling booger. (A 300% improvement over the screaming, crying thing she was for months.)

Now, spending all of this time with a tiny human who doesn't talk, who giggles when I gnaw on her belly, and expects me to carry her everywhere, has changed me.  It has made me socially incompetent.

This does not translate well to adult interactions.

I can't go up to friends and gnaw on their belly's... but, it's almost like I have to remind myself of this. In my head I have to think "okay, adults 'talk' about things, think of some sort of conversation starter."

And when I finally do talk, it's like the flood gates have opened and there is nothing I can do about what comes out and the speed at which it travels.

Friends, I am sorry if I talked your ears off, if I made little to no sense, and if it seemed like I was not finishing any of my thoughts. I didn't realize I was doing any of these things until I reflected on it later.

Oh, man, I am so socially incompetent. I can't even relax when I'm in the company of other people (husband doesn't count). Like any other talent, being social is something that needs to be flexed regularity.

I am so out of practice.

Good thing New Moon is coming out soon.  I have plans!  With people!  (We should probably figure out what time and place and stuff...)

Also, I'm thinking a crafting/sewing night or something would be cool.  Anybody up for that?  At my house?

However, I am warning you now.  I will talk your ear off.  You may leave thinking, "Who is that strange woman who couldn't edit anything before she spoke?  Who thinks poo is funny?"

Oh, yeah, that's me...

Fat Head

See?  JG sort of has a fat head.  It's an adorable fat head, especially with that hat her grandma made, but a fat head non-the-less.

I have been working on creative things... I'm just not very good at taking any pictures of my progress.  I'm in the process of making two new dolls and have a few "monsters" lying around.  This is my doodle of what I wanted it to look like:

And this is how it turned out:

He has a furry brown back and a fleece body and arms with felt "detailing."  His legs stick out kind of funny, but that's what you get the first time you make something.

I think it's kind of cute.  I'm working on the revision.

I don't think Maelly cares.

Cats in Ceilings

This last week I seriously started to question why I am the parent of two cats. Two injured, somewhat retarded cats.

As you know, Mael is diseased. And I was starting to feel pretty confident about his foot healing, up until he figured out how to move the cone so he could reach said food and lick it. With his sandpaper tongue. Which means it's taking forever for it to heal because he won't leave it alone.

Nevertheless, I was okay dealing with his foot.

Then, a chunk of fur fell off his rear right leg and revealed a new inflamed spot.

Effing cat.

To make kitty matters that much more interesting, Opal (who was loving and cuddly before the baby came, and is now hesitant and distant mixed with "You must hold me NOW") was in a fight (read attacked) with some tomcat and has two bites above her tail on her rear. They ooze. And the battle must have been quite the thing, because all the hair surrounding the bites is gone, like she was shaved.

So not just one injured cat, two. I keep looking at Stella and waiting for her to come up with something new (please dog, just don't).

And when Opal is sick or feels gross she prefers to hide. She spent a couple days in the cabinet with my baking pans. Another day with the towels (admittedly, she was accidentally closed in with them, so she couldn't have gone anywhere else if she wanted to). She also hid in JG's wardrobe, but that seems to be a kitty favorite.

Then, she found what to her must have been the celestial door to our basement ceiling (it's this weird opening at the back of our lazy-susan in the kitchen that gives her direct access). I wonder if she hears angels sing when that happens? The best part about her finding her way into the ceiling is that she really doesn't know how to get out. So I can be sitting there checking email or sewing, and hear her scratching, or meowing, from the heavens (read ceiling).

Whenever this happens (yes, this was not the first time) Alex starts to lament how she'll probably die up there and then we'll have to deal with the smell, and how will we find her corpse (by stink, I'm assuming) and blah, blah, blah.

She was in the ceiling for 48 hours.

Then Alex got the carpet knife (razor blade with a handle) out. Thank Jesus we have our awesome 70's acoustic tile ceiling, because it made it that much easier for him to cut out tiles (3), find her, and drag her out by the scruff.

Let me tell you, ceilings are dirty places, and she was one dusty kitty.

And my loving husband was very close to killing her. As was I. Doesn't she know I only have enough emotional real estate for ONE sick animal?

The best part? She got into another part of the ceiling the next morning.

Even better? Alex didn't have to cut anything to get to her.

Oh, man, I'm not sure I'm ever owning another cat.

I stink

Have you ever had one of those moments where you realize you forgot something?  Something that allows you to safely interact with the rest of the human population?

Like, say, deodorant?

Because, oh man, I woke up to get JG last night and when I laid down with her I was like, "What is that stink?" And the embarrassing thing is that it was ME (of course, this is four in the morning, so it's not like anybody else was smelling me... well, except for my infant, but she didn't complain).

I am one of those people who has to apply a smell shield every day, otherwise it's just dangerous to be around me.  Even with cutting out the dairy in my diet, I still stink.

At four a.m. it took me a moment to realize what was going on, and I had a flash back to me getting out of the shower and hearing the shrill screams of an upset baby up from her nap.  I always pause when I hear her cry when she's napping, because sometimes she'll calm herself down and go back to sleep.  However, this time she was angry, and once this child is angry she demands to be comforted, or she'll will throw herself into such a fit that her whole body shakes and she gets angry rashes on her face.

And the cry that accompanies this fit is something no living person should have to be in the same house with.

So in lieu of following my usual routine, I had to go calm JG down, and she was not happy when I had to put her down for two minutes to put clothes on.

Which means that at four in the morning I woke to my own stench.

And I'm really hoping she'll be in for a nap soon, because, oh man, I really need a shower.

New Moon invitation?

This may sound strange, seeing as how I never got through the Twilight book (mainly because I can't stand listening to a teenage girl whine, and it is NOT romantic for a boy to sneak in your room and watch you sleep -- that's called stalking and is EXTREMELY creepy) but I want to go see New Moon.

Mainly because I had a good time at Twilight.  And, yes, I did burst out in laughter multiple times, but luckily the girls (women, really) I was with weren't bothered by it.  If anything, they shared the moment when the vampire "dad" (can't remember his name...) walked out and looked like a talcum powder covered corpse who wasn't old enough to buy alcohol let alone practice medicine.

So, this is an open invite to those interested in going to see New Moon with me this **weekend (or whatever works).  I can't promise not to giggle or make fun of the movie afterwards.  But if you can find it in your heart to help a mother out, one in desperate need of spending time with adults, then I will be truly grateful.

Thank you.

Sincerely yours,
PoetsHead

**EDIT: As Jessica so correctly pointed out, this movie doesn't actually come out until Nov. 20.  My offer still stands, even if it is a month away.
(If you are interested leave a comment or email me if you have the address.  And if it helps to persuade you, I'll sneak some candy into the movie.)

A squid at my child and all I got was this picture

Five months ago I had this thing, this baby, and went from being clueless about babies to absolutely confused.

Whoever tells you that babies don't cry loudly... just tell them that you know better.  My child cries so well that her doctor says that she's "very opinionated."

She really doesn't hesitate to let you know if you're doing something she doesn't like.  And then, for no apparent reason, she laughs at the dog for ten minutes.

A dog who is doing nothing but sitting there.  Seriously.

She also finds the cone-cat very funny.

So, to mark her five-month birthday I am attempting to boot her out of her cradle in our room -- because she is much too large for it -- and finally putting her into her crib in her own room.  I predict that I will not be getting much sleep tonight, but the transition has to happen sometime.  Especially since she seems to try to move in her cradle, but she can't because she's so large in it, so she wakes up, which wakes me up, and now she's spending the majority of the night with me.

I need some sleep on my own man.

Like, now.

Blue Ribbon MOTHER-LOVERS!

Put that in your pipe and smoke it! Yeah! (If you squint past my grinning mug to the chicken with the blue ribbon dangling from his hand, that's what I'm all up in your grill about.)

This week has been interesting.

My cat (the one who is still available if you'd like to purchase him) is in his third week of wearing a cone on his head. Said cone was necessary because he would NOT stop licking his damned maimed foot. So not only have I been caring for JGR, I've also been nursing a sick cat back to health... which is not fun. I have stories... but, I won't share them out of fear of seriously grossing out my small pool of readers.

By the by, my cat has eosinophilic granulomas (warning, the pictures are gross, and he has had this in his mouth, paws, and neck), which requires steroid injections and guarantee's that he will eventually have diabetes. Awesome.

JGR has been refusing naps and bedtime, and screams/cries like crazy when I try to get her to sleep. Joy. It's times like these when I think of how naive high school girls are when they pursue pregnancy in hopes of bearing a bubbly happy baby. (Hey, this happened at my high school.)

Let me tell you, high school girl, do not do it. Babies are freakin' hard, and I've had to push all thoughts of dropping said baby, or throwing said baby, or doing anything un-motherly to said baby out of my head.

I don't want to go to prison.

So it's times like these when I thank the G-O-D that I live near both sets of grandparents and I can pawn her off on them. Er, I mean, have them care for her when I am unable.

She's going through a transition where certain things I'm used to working with her are no longer working. (I have to admit that when I say "things" I mean "boobs," and while they can be one of the last things I turn to, when my boobs don't work, I'm clueless as to how to help sooth her.) So, in hopes of figuring out what the (hell) is going on, we gave her some rice cereal tonight. She'll be five-months-old next week, and she seems to be hungry after I feed her, so why not?

And you know what? Fell asleep like a charm tonight. Cried a bit, but nothing compared to the last few nights.

Now I leave you with some kitty abuse. I don't know how he lives with himself.

These two make me exhausted. I'm going to bed.

Mommy Blogger

Let me start by saying I never intended to be a "mommy blogger." However, looking back, it was bound to happen. I had a freakin' baby, after all.

I'm just hoping that I don't come across as the "look at my perfect life, my perfect baby, don't you just wish you were me?" kind of mommy blogger. Reading those kinds of blogs turn my stomach, especially because I don't believe in perfect.

Which makes what I'm about to say sound a bit hypocritical.

A while back we were given a gift certificate for the services of a professional photographer. Not only am I excited, I am nervous as hell. I've only had professional photos once, for my high school senior pictures, but I didn't end up with any of them (it's a dull story). Even my wedding photo's were taken by my brother-in-law (who did an excellent job and I love all of them, and I am convinced he took way better photo's than a professional would have).

I am hoping to end up with photographs that make me look good - because, honestly, I never like the way I look in pictures. I'm too pasty, my nose is too long, my smile looks like a midget just bit me in the ass.

Never in my life have I fretted so much about "outfits" and color and how I will appear. Looking through the pictures this professional takes... so many of the families exude the "look at how perfect we are" aura that I hate so much. And in the last week I found myself straining to be like that, trying to find the colors and outfits that would make us look different -- other.

Then it hit me tonight when Alex said, "We don't have to look more than we are, we just need to look like us."

And you know what? That smashing navy blue top I bought, that is beautiful and feminine and makes me look pretty curvy? That's not me. It's almost professional me (teacher me), but not me. And it doesn't look good with any of my jeans, which I plan on wearing for the pictures.

Plus we'll be outside (in Millcreek Canyon, because studios look and feel false and stodgy to me), and there's no way that top will keep me warm enough to make it worth it.

So I'm going to wear a green sweater my husband compared to something you'd find at the Army/Navy surplus. I like it, I'm comfortable in it, and it will show me for who I am. I will also probably wear my orange bowling shoes. Just for a flash of color.

And I'll take the fancy navy blue shirt back, Alex told me to keep it, but really, when am I going to have a reason to wear it? I've gotten into the habit of wiping JGR's spit-up away with my shirt, and as soon as I have on anything dark it's covered in cat hair. It's an animal owner's (read adoptive parent's) rule, "Thou shalt be covered in the fine hairs your animals produce."

Also, I think I'd rather not feel guilty about buying the lotion I want. So the shirt will be returned.

So the last thing I need to wrap up is what to have JGR wear. We're leaning toward farmer baby (overalls) with a sweater or something warm. Something that says, "I snuggle with a tarantula and a squid." (Hey, this kid has great taste in toys.)

Hopefully we'll get photographs that represent us, not some through-the-looking-glass representation of us.

Because perfect may be nice, but in no way is it fun.

Obligatory JGR Photo

I was told recently that I had to post more pictures of my fat baby.

This is for you.

My mom knit her that awesome hat.

And just think, her face is actually fatter than that now. Poor fat thing...

My child and my cat. My very patient cat.

I especially appreciate that instead of running away when she "pets" him (like any smart cat would do), he simply pushes her hands away.

Like, "Woah, there. WOAH."

And yes, she totally cuddles her spit rags.

She's four months old. Whatever fits in her mouth is a go for her.

Cat for sale!

Cat for sale! One diseased and pallid, neurotic and scaredy cat for sale!

Are you looking for an animal to hide when guests come over, to the point where they doubt his existence?

Would you like a cat who needs to visit the vet at least twice (if not more!) times a year for steroid shots? Why, Jesus even blessed him with some crazy kitty disease that allows some wart-like virus to attack his entire body! It's true folks, his foot swelled to FOUR TIMES the normal size and the hair fell out, making him look like he was dragging around some strange slimy red club with him! How delightful, who wouldn't want a cat with the ability to affect clubness/mutantness? And he won't stop licking it even though it won't heal if he continues?

Ladies and Gentlemen, I ask you how can you not see the value in befriending such an animal?

What's more, my friends open mouthed in the audience, who among you would shun this beautiful beast? He also has the ability to PUKE, that's right, puke, non-stop all over the house!

Couches? Covered! Carpets? Covered! Tabletops? Covered! Bedspread? Covered!

Blankets your child sleeps on? Covered!

Now, folks, it's not that bad, he has a simple allergy to cat food. Meaning, you may have to buy the $50 9 lb bag of rabbit and pea food (meaning it's made from rabbits, and peas), which this gorgeous grey and white animal still pukes up because he won't chew it.

And, one last thing, even though he's sick and wan, the expensive food is helping him feel better! Meaning he wants to be pet ALL THE TIME!

How can you deny such an animal!

Behold, the beast we have available for you to purchase today!

He'll even stay still long enough for your four-month-old to "pet" him. (Meaning she grabs clumps of his hair and pulls a little.) And even turns around so she can even pet the other side.

Wait... maybe I'll keep him.

Progress and Completion

As promised here are some photo's of what I've been doing crafty-wise. They're not great photo's, but I am pretty pleased with myself regarding the toys themselves.

Here's one Testy-Chicken, the other is on display at the Utah State Fair with a blue ribbon on him. That's right, I said BLUE-FREAKIN'-RIBBON. That means I just won myself three dollars. If you're going to the fair and want to see some of my hand-craftiness, he's in the Zion building sitting on top of Thomas the tank engine. He's blue and buggy. With a blue ribbon...

Anyway, I made these chickens thinking I could get the pattern figured out and make more to sell since I'm at home and penniless now... but they took me forever to make. Not just because I took my sweet time, but also because of all the embroidery. See?

That's called the "chain stitch." So, the price I came up with in my head to charge for one of these buggers is more than any sane person would want to pay, I'm sure. Therefore, I'm thinking I might make the pattern available for purchase. Does that sound interesting to anyone? Anyone interested in making a Testy Chicken?

Okay, and here is the doll I started making...oh, a year ago? I finally figured out a dress pattern (bigger than I thought it would be, but still in the shape of a dress) and feel like I'm making progress on making her look complete. What do you think?

(I really need better photo's, she looks really washed out here and... well, not as neat as I think she is. Maybe having a colorful dress on her will help.)

Oh, yeah, did I mention I'm a blue ribbon winner?

The Poop

It sneaks up and attacks you... or, er, JGR.

Having not spent too much of my life around babies up until four months ago the "blow out" diaper is something new for me. I had heard stories, about the nastiness, the copious amounts, the stains.

However, it is not until you have experienced such things yourself that the gravity of the "blow out" presents itself.

Case in point:

You would think that poo would be uni-directional, but you would be wrong.

Observe her onesie, you see that strange orange spot near her little hand?

Poop.

It went up BOTH directions, FRONT and BACK.

Doesn't she look so sweet whilst staining herself?

I let Alex clean up this one, which took three wipees to clean up. There was so much poo that the diaper was barely able to contain its nastiness, or, as you see, failed to contain it.

And that stuff stains like crazy... and I'm just lazy enough to not put the time into scrubbing the poo stains away. Alex has a technique that works, but I don't know what it is.

I keep telling her to not create so much poop, but she's not a very good listener.

Great pooper, good crier and eater, but not a good listener.

Babies.

A Summerfull of Events

It's so weird September is here. In May I kept thinking it would be a miracle if I made it through the summer, with all the newness I was encountering then.

Now it's freaking September.

I'm going to be boastful for a moment and say Holy Shit I accomplished a lot in the last (almost) four months:

1. Got my masters degree. Now, I want to note here that the only reason I have a masters degree is because I didn't know I wanted to be a teacher until a couple years ago, and had I known this way back when I was getting my undergrad degree in Communication, I would have gone into education.

However, I will admit that I benefit from having worked in an office. After working with teachers who didn't see the point of having technology in the classroom (what!?) I feel like my perspective is more rounded for my future students...

Whenever I get a teaching job. I guess only 30% of my grad class got jobs. Eh.

2. Gave birth. Mostly natural. I had two doses of Phentynol, a sweet-sweet opiate that helped me relax (which was huge, since I practically had a panic attack with every contraction - mainly hyperventilating) but did hardly anything for the pain. Also, once the pushing began, all drugs had worn off.

The entire process was exhausting, and I was only in labor for 12 hours. I have friends who were in labor for 24 hours.

3. Had anemia. Which SUCKED. I lost so much blood in labor (it happened afterward, with freakishly large blood clots... you don't want to know more than that) that I was given a choice - have blood transfusion or suck it up for six weeks. The idea of a transfusion made my skin crawl, so I spent six weeks shuffling around my house.

Seriously.

I would plan trips for going upstairs, carried iced water around with me like it was a warm blanket, had would have to rest mid-shower. Luckily, when babies are tiny they sleep a lot, so JGR wasn't too demanding during this time.

I hope to never have anemia again. It felt like being a 90-year-old epileptic lady who had to strap herself to a walker to get anywhere, and then had to ask for help CONSTANTLY. And was grumpy about it. And had to wear diapers.

4. Became a stay-at-home mom... for now. I used to think this would be the worst possible thing that could happen. Babies are so boring. I don't understand babies.

Luckily, I was blessed (my favorite baby book always says "blessed" when referring to a fussy baby) with a baby who is demanding, confusing, and un-freaking-predictable.

I realized a while ago that had we been given an "easy/good" baby I would be bored out of my mind.

5. Finished the Testy Chickens! I'll post pictures soon, but it will only be of one, since I entered the other into the Utah State Fair. If you happen by there you might be able to see it in the Zion building, with the other sewing stuff.

I was quite proud of myself.

Now I'm tired. Must to bed.

I've never laughed so hard

Just the product I've been waiting for...

Radio Lab is

Awesome. Listen to ALL them here.

I especially like the one on sperm. Don't think nasty, think opportunity and increased genetic spread. Something like that.

Also, the one on After Life is really very good, along with all the shorter story's after it. I am a tad obsessed with death (and zombies) and appreciated the look into what may or may not be there after we die. This one seemed less to do with science and more to do with hypothetical possibilities, but it still made me think.

Which is why I like listening to them so much.

Huh

There is nothing like putting a fresh diaper on JGR just to have her poop in it two minutes later.

This has been happening all day.

Swear to Jesus this kid never stops pooping sometimes.

I am an Addict

Of FOOD.

We went to Carl's Jr. the other day and I got the new Teryaki Six Dollar Burger. Now, in years and months past I would eat about 3/4 of this behemoth and feel sick for an hour or so.

Not so anymore. I ate the whole thing, along with some of Alex's french fries, then I was hungry for more. Yes, I ate the Six Dollar Burger, and then thought of what else might fit into my gullet.

I think I drank grape juice when we got home...

Never in my life has eating to painful bloating felt so good. This is how I know it's an addiction. Also, I get really cranky if I haven't eaten in a while.

And I am fiercely protective of my food. I used to be a sharer, but now if someone looks at my plate sideways I practically growl and tell them to find their own food.

It's true, you can totally ask Alex.

I'm assuming I am like this because I am supposed to eat an extra 500 calories a day to nurse JGR. Now, since I've had to cut milk products entirely from my diet, I've had to be creative about extra calories... okay, creative for ME. Usually I am a cheese fiend, but having to cut that out has taken away one of the easiest ways to add extra calories, so I find myself adding fried eggs to things.

Like the roast beef sandwich I ate yesterday. It was delicious.

I've been drinking a lot of juice too, the 100% version though, not any of that "added suger" B.S. Seriously, why add sugar to an already sugary substance?

Back on point, we had barbeque pulled-pork sandwich's tonight and I ate two. With a glass of grape juice. I'm pretty full, but it feels like I could stuff something else in there.

I'm thinking I'll have a popsicle, or an apple. I would have ice-cream, but thanks to the offspring that's off menu.

Why I love blogging

It allows me to be lazy. I love that I can write an entry and people I talk to on a regular basis will read it, making it so that I will not have to relate the same story over and over again (which I hate doing, especially because the story seems less and less genuine every time I tell it).

This allows conversations to either be efficient, or help them along so we can discuss other details. I love that.

And just for the hell of it, here is a picture of me putting JGR in the ocular cavity of an elephants skull.

Firsts

Now, I know some of you won't find this as amazing as I do (Stephanie), but JGR ROLLED OVER today. It was during our daily tummy time session (I know, doesn't it sound so exciting) and she just rolled over.

Now, for those of you who don't have babies, let me put this into some sort of perspective. Imagine that you've been carrying around a lump of fat for the past three months, and it really doesn't do much except demand that you carry it around. This lump of fat at first glance appears to be cute, but then it continuously fills diapers with feces and pee, spits up (read vomits) cheesy looking stuff on your favorite shirt, and to top it all off cries when you're on your last nerve. (It is a loving last nerve, however...)

So, when this "adorable" lump of fat starts learning how to manage its appendages by grabbing things, pulling said things to her mouth (she did that yesterday) and then ROLLING OVER, maybe you can understand my amazement.

However, when I tried to get her to roll over again, she got angry and demanded to be picked up.

Hey, rolling over the first time is a great feat! Especially for a lump of fat.

Bad Movie

Have you seen Babylon A.D.? If you haven't, don't, and if you have you may understand a bit of my following rant.

Have you ever spent time watching a movie, and when it ends you realize how much of your valuable time you just wasted? And you can't figure out where the time went? Say, you may feel like you were somehow knocked out by a wet toilet plunger and woke up two hours later smelling and unaware of your location... Thus was my emotion last night after watching Babylon A.D. with Vin Diesel.

Now, when I first saw the promotion for this movie I thought I would like it, it looked sci-fi and action packed. (You can read the synopsis here, however it may not help.) Now, when I watch a movie I expect to understand the plot and be involved... however, in this movie they keep the plot and story line a SECRET. The first half was action packed, focusing on Vinny protecting some girl who is supposedly special, and how they are being chased and shot at by some religious group.

No, it gets better.

Said religious group wants girl because of her SECRET specialness, even though it is revealed that she is miraculously pregnant with twins (she's a virgin) and now the movie jumps twice, once to before she has said babies and tells Vinny she's going to die, and next with Vinny being a father to two babies, who are, for some reason, from two different races.

THEN THE MOVIE ENDS.

NOTHING IS EXPLAINED! It ends without resolving any plot or story issues, and made me want to hit myself over the head with a toilet plunger.

So, if you ever come across this movie on Netflix or in the video store, WALK AWAY.

Or spit on it.

Whichever.

New Plan

Giving that I spent a year of my life getting a masters degree, and spending enough to purchase a black-market organ in China on said degree, I thought I would be teaching this fall.

However, since the economy sucks and many school districts haven't been able to hire what they need, it looks like I will not be teaching. Bugger. So, for all those loving people who keep asking me about when I'll be getting a job... stop asking, it sort of depresses me. This is mainly because I was really excited to teach, to have a place to go everyday and to feel like I was succeeding at what I wanted to do.

Yet, at the same time I kept trying to think about what I would do with JGR, having to find daycare, how I would pump at work and when, and then how in hell I would deal with going from school stress to home stress (read grading homework and then taking care of baby and house).

So, in reality I'm sort of relieved. I'm still stressed about my mountain of debt, but my loving husband says that we should be good for the next year. Therefore, I will continue being a full-time mom... which, honestly, scares the shit out of me. I don't know what I'm doing, but I figure I'm getting better every day. JGR is getting to be a better baby too, now that I've started to figure out what she's allergic to and cutting it out of my diet.

Oh, man, I miss cookies, but I guess I can miss teaching for a year. At least I get to stay home for a good reason.

Formula + Baby =

Screaming, and lots of it.

This is what happens when you lapse in giving your baby a bottle and before you know it she's refusing to eat from it. Alex spent half of Saturday spraying formula into her mouth to get her to eat, but thankfully we figured out a trick and by the end of the day she was eating from the bottle.

She wasn't happy about it. Every time I held her she eyed my boobs and tried to nestle in them... but I told her that her guts needed time to heal and as horrible as it was she would have to endure.

Yes, this is the way I speak to my 11-week-old.

Three days of hypoallergenic formula, three days of tired clingy baby, and three days of the most stinky boiled-spinach looking poo you may have ever seen. (I don't know what kind of poo you've seen, I can't make that assumption.) If there was any blood in it there was no way to tell, it was so dark and thick. Nasty. However, it was also three days of a calm JGR because allergens weren't going through and tearing up her guts.

So, now it's Tuesday and I've started an elimination diet to find out what she's allergic to. This means I will only be eating foods on the safe list (foods nobody is allergic to, like rice) and slowly mixing in possible allergens to see how she reacts. I'm pretty sure dairy is on her allergic list, but wheat may be on there too. I will know soon enough.

Now, why go through the trouble? Why not just keep feeding her formula?

Mainly because of the power a boob holds over a baby, and because I missed it like crazy. JGR didn't understand the bottle, and I'm too lazy when it comes to having to make her wait while I mix it up so she can eat. Seriously, bottle/formula feeding is a lot of work and I commend any woman who does it. Sure, my boobs ache and my nipples are raw, but that makes one happy JGR.

(One who refused to get off my boob this morning when I could finally give it to her again. Could you imagine if adults were like this? Oh, wait, they're called men.)

ugh

I'm sitting here watching "So You Think You Can Dance" thinking, hey, put feathers on anyone's ass and they look pretty hot... or like a chicken. Jeanine looks HOT.

Anyway, this week is turning out to be stressful. My adorable JGR is going through a growth spurt (read SCREAMING ALL THE TIME) and pooping blood. Now, don't picture a horrifying diaper dripping with blood, no. Imagine that you had a bloody nose a couple hours ago and just sneezed into a tissue -- now, mixed in all that snot there happens to be some blood.

All freaking week long. Blood in your two-month-old's diaper is not a good thing. It usually indicates an allergy to something, so I went off everything milk last Saturday. Eliminating food after that pretty much takes care of everything in my diet. So I haven't been eating very well. Which isn't helping.

We went to the doctor today and he pretty much said it could be anything, and if she doesn't stop pooping blood in the next couple of days I have to feed her this super stinky hypoallergenic formula (hey, at the affordable price of $140 a 4 pack!) for three days to see if the blood stops. JGR has never had formula and has recently refused the bottle. Joy.

While we were at the doctors they also took three small vials of blood to see if other things are causing the bloody poo. I had Alex take her in for that, because I can't handle watching people make my child bleed.

I was fine until her unconsolable cries made me cry, and I finally had to get back there to see what was going on. (Okay, so I stood at the desk crying until one of the ladies asked me, "Is that your baby back there?") I witnessed a lady bending over my baby SQUEEZING BLOOD OUT of her heel. THREE VIALS WORTH.

Hell, I would have screamed like crazy too. Damn.

So I'm sitting in my basement watching trashy Fox television trying to calm my nerves about possibly having to feed my child formula -- and having to give up breast feeding. I never thought I would love it so much, but there is something so awesome about having the power to calm my baby with my boob. My boob. If I have to give it up I think I will cry for days.

Hey, look, Brandon actually had chemistry with someone (Kayla). It's so weird because he usually lacks it so badly with the ladies, even though he is such a great dancer.

Ugh.

Family Bed

Have you ever heard about the "family bed?" It's basically where you have your baby sleep with you. I have a book that tells you not to waste money on a crib and instead buy a king bed to fit all of you... but they don't talk about how the crib I bought at Ikea was less than $200, and a new king bed would run around $800.

Just a note.

Anyway, the family bed. It's true that JGR sleeps better when she's in our bed... but so does the dog, Stella, and our two cats, Maelstrom and Opal. This means there is any combination of things to get stuck between. Alex says that he usually wakes up with me squished up on one side, Maelly at his head, and Stella at his feet.

What? He's a furnace, and if it's a cool night none of us minds the risk of suffocating him if that means we can warm ourselves. Haven't you ever been part of a family before?

So adding JGR to the mix wasn't that hard, and so far the animals have been pretty good about giving her space. The only thing I have to worry about is if she suffocates on my boob, but there isn't much I can do about that. She prefers to bury her face there for "comfort" or something.

Lately she's been waking up screaming because of gas, but sometimes she sleeps in and I'm able to go and make tea and actually eat breakfast before she wakes up (half the time I forget to eat altogether). And when these times happen, this is what she looks like in the mix of all the covers:

Baby Hat

Alex likes to wear things as hats. He recently added our child to the list.

**by the way, for some strange reason it took me four days to post this- blogger refused to let me post this picture. Blargh.

Hoots*

Just a note to say that Jen was here for our 4th of July party and confirmed that my boobs are HUGE.

HUGE.

She made a face and literally mouthed the word "Wow."

I know, I've told you all over and over again, but even I was amazed to evoke such a reaction from a woman I have known since I was 13.

Also, my sweet husband, Alex, has taken to calling my nursing bra's "Feeding Harnesses."

Nothing says sexy like a feeding harness.

I know, it's so hot.

(*This is one of my favorite words to describe boobs. I learned it from my sister-in-law Sallee, who is a genius at describing things in funny ways.)

Testy-Chickens

Okay, so you know how I was complaining about not getting anything done for myself, like crafting? Well, I took a stand this week and made sure to make some progress on the chickens while JGR was napping.

BEHOLD:

Two, Two TESTY CHICKENS!

I decided to make toys for babies, and put a mishmash of fabrics together. I also forced myself to use fabrics that I love and have been too nervous to cut into. It may sound odd to those of you who are not obsessed with material, but when you like to make things one tends to... hoard it.

I had to make a rule for myself regarding fabric: I am not allowed to buy more of it until I freaking use what I have.

Anyway, chickens. I love chickens. It's a sick obsession of mine.

Behold what it may look like when finished (without, you know, all the pins):

And it would have two legs. And possibly wings and a tail, but I'm still deciding how much time to put into these.

In the next post I'll post photos of the doll I was working on forever ago. I finished her months ago... but coming up with clothes has been a frustrating process. Basically, I'm not very good at it and I have little patience to get there.

My mom is helping to teach me how to make clothes, but until then she will be in some state of nakedness.

Frustration

Have you ever felt like a bottle rocket? All the pressure is building up inside of your head and chest, but there is absolutely nowhere for it to go? And if you could EXPLODE terrible consequences would ensue?

Argh.

After spending another night with my crying/gassy/colicky baby I am beside myself with frustration. Earlier she finally fell asleep on me, and with high hopes of making dinner I put her in her crib. However, three minutes later she was up and crying again... and continued crying until about thirty minutes ago, when I fed her (she screamed the whole time), gave her gas stuff (miracle fluid) and she belched loudly several times -- then she felt better enough to keep eating and fall asleep on my boob.

Transfer to cradle was successful. Thank God.

Anyway, during this fun marathon, Alex and I argued about why she was crying and he left to go for a walk.

Frustrated. You know, I don't make anything anymore. I should have finished those damn chickens for my sister before JGR came because I have no idea when I will be able to sit down again in my sewing room (which is really the office/craft/guest room) and work on my hilarious testi-chickens. Because, I swear to Jesus, they still look like a guys junk, even with beaks.

So. I'm sitting in the dark trying to calm myself down enough to keep reading the new book, "The City and The City," by China Mieville (whom I love freakishly, this being the fifth book of his I've read... and three of those books bordered or surpassed 1,000 pages). It's like an addiction. But I'm currently... shall we say, unable to focus.

Hope all is going well for you (three) readers. I'm going to go curl up in my den and try to read.

Squishy Face

As babies do not have teeth they happen to have very squishy faces. Now, JGR has a very squishy face -- at all times a squishy face, but we mainly call her angry face the "Squishy Face."

For example, in this picture she was not happy about being in her car seat, therefore she displayed her Squishy Face.

I don't know if it's cruel or not, but I will typically laugh at her when she makes this face. The main reason is that while she is upset/frustrated/bored/gassy her face still maintains an element of "Oh, man, that is one cute toothless face."

It's even better now that she's starting to put on the weight. Her cheeks are getting fatter, so now when she pouts it looks like she REALLY means it. Ah, my little turd bucket.

Ah, Heck

This mother thing is hard.  Just when I think I've got the little bugger figured out she goes and changes everything.

For example, last week she would nap for two to three hours solid.  This gave me the opportunity to shower and do laundry, or whatever.  However, this week she only wants to nap if she is on me.  As long as I'm holding her she's willing to sleep, which means I don't relax.  By the time my poor husband gets home I'm so... shall we say "exhausted" that all I want to do is hand her over and eat something.  

Because it's very difficult to eat when you're holding a baby.

Also, that last couple of days, after I've managed to grab time to shower, she cries as soon as I'm out.  So I rush to get her, feed her, and then she spits up between my gargantuan boobs.  Seriously, I cannot emphasize enough how large this things are.  And, now, apparently, they are always covered in milk or spit up.  

All I can say, for all of those who are contemplating having a baby -- think about how dirty that little thing will make you.  It will barf on you, aim its poop at you (I've been hit multiple times), pee on you (she peed on me the other day before we got into the bath tub), and I'm sure there are other substances she's saving for later.  

Sure, she looks all innocent, but in reality she's just waiting for the right moment when my guard is down.  Take right now -- I put her in her crib because she was NAPPING.  Now, I can hear her, she's hanging out.

At least she's doing it quietly.

Ode to a Breastpump

I love my breastpump.  Yes, essentially it is a vacuum that sucks the milk from my boobs, making it a very unromantic thing.  However, it provides me with profound relief when it empties the hefty milkbags that dangle from my chest. 

Holy crap.

It's also helping me stock up on a milk supply so that I can leave my beautiful daughter with a relative while I go watch a movie (or do anything else) with my husband.  That way I can feel un-guilty about enjoying myself when she can still eat.

Lately, when I leave the house, it's like I've started a marathon and I have to race out and race back so that if she starts to fuss because she's hungry she doesn't have to fuss long.  It's strange being the food source for another living being... I'm still getting used to it.  

This whole mom thing is hard and completely unpredictable.  I totally applaud my sister who is doing this with twins and a 5-year-old right now.  She doesn't sleep.  I'm mean enough that when JG starts to fuss a bit in the middle of the night I check to see if she's serious, then say in my head, "Give me another ten minutes of sleep, then I'll change your poopy diaper/feed you."

It's wrong.  I still do it.  I love sleep.  I also love my breastpump.  You try carrying around an extra two pounds or more in your boobs, then maybe you would understand what I'm talking about.

What does?

A lady look like the day after giving birth?

Please note the array of food and drink surrounding me -- I was starving after JGR was born, but of course they wouldn't let me eat for

 quite some time because they didn't want me to be too nauseous.  I think they gave me a poor excuse for a sandwich at first, so the next day I pretty much put whatever was around me in my mouth.  

Very much like a toddler does.

What does a week-old look like in the sweet outfit her dad chose for her?

Sweet giraffe and sweet dinosaur shorts... and yes, these are the "gender neutral" clothes I bought for Brian before JGR came.  To me, gender neutral leans more boy than girl.

And finally, what does JGR look like after pelting her new mother with poo?

If you observe carefully you can see the dark streak in the mesh material and then some on my shorts.  Yes, I removed the diaper and she quite literally blasted me with her poo.  It got all over and I laughed for about ten minutes, unable to re-diaper her because I was shaking so badly with the giggles.  

Babies are sort of gross.

Other than the above events I have been doing practically nothing.  The anemia has limited my activity... it's depressing to think that climbing the stairs is a chore, but the doctor reassured me that in six weeks I should have my strength back, and all of my blood should be back to it's usual reserves after six months.  Awesome.

Okay, I'm going to go nap or eat food now.

Introducing...

JGR!  I would share her name... but something about that creeps me out to share on the big ol' internets.  So, JGR it is for you.  On May 14, 2009, a little baby girl (formerly known as Brian "the fetus"), burst through into the world.  

My water broke around 4:30 AM and we ambled to the hospital around 6 AM.  We had the best nurse at the IMC labor and delivery, Corene, and she helped us get through to the end without an epidural.  I did have some narcotics though, and seriously, the mood lifting ability of

 narcotics is simply amazing.  It made it so I could rest in between contractions and laugh a bit. 

 

Mindy was there to enjoy the fun, along with Alex.  Good times were had.  More later.

Unhappy Pregnant Lady

You know all of those women who swoon over being pregnant?  The kind who enjoy every moment and never want it to end?

I am not one of those pregnant ladies.  Thursday marks my forty weeks and quite frankly I'm done.  I'm ready for the labor portion of this experience.  I'm ready to have my baby and start figuring out how not to kill him -- in other words, learning how to care for the white pasty grub that will be my child.

I'm tired of strangers, friends, and family telling me what I can and can't do.  "Oh!  You're pregnant so you really shouldn't lift that heavy thing" or "Gardening is probably not a good idea."  Um, dudes, I may be immobile, but I am sure as hell not happy about it.  

I am definitely not happy that grass has come up all through my rose garden and garden garden and my body is too awkward to effectively pull any of it.  Normally by this time my fingernails would be caked with dirt and my face would be sunburned from all the time spent focusing on my plants.  I love my plants.  I miss my plants.

So, instead of being in the dirt, I've been making chickens.  I will try to post a picture later.  The do look less like mens genitals... even though Alex still sees the resemblance.  It's one of those things where once you point it out you can never get rid of the picture in your head.  Whoops.

Hopefully my "practice contractions" will soon turn into real ones and I can see what sex Brian is.  Alex is dying to know.  He's also dying for the two weeks off work.

Alright, I'm going to go watch an hour of True Blood on HBO then clean my craft room for Mindy who will be visiting for ten days and sleeping in the midst of all of my material.  Awesome.