A Horrible Warning

Dizzy Land

Turns out spinning makes me feel a little woosy. But almost throwing up has never been so fun.

My 12 chins totally agree.

Having a Baby is HARD

OK, I know HAVING a baby is hard, and painful. But I am referring to the effect having a baby around has on everyday activities.

Yes, I already knew they are a big responsibility and require a lot of care and la la la.

Tonight I took Ruffle Butt with me to dinner with my best friend from high school and one of her closest college friends. The college friend and I were both bridesmaids in her wedding, so we are acquainted. Anyway, we met up at a local Spoons (which BTW is not nearly as good as I remember it) early in the evening.

OK, straight out of the gate, I knew the baby carrier that attaches to the car seat base was heavy, especially with a baby in it. But to actually lug one more than 5 feet...how to all those moms do it? To those moms: I bow the Wayne's World "We're not worthy" bow to you. You also get bonus points for finding ways to situate the damn thing in a tight restaurant booth.

Things actually started off well; she was in a good mood and gave lots of smiles all around. She was cute and charming, and mostly just sat in her seat and stared at everyone with her big blue eyes.

Sometime before the food came, she surprised me by wanting a bottle, in spite of having just chowed down like 30 minutes before. But I had thought ahead (there should be some foreshadowing here, but I am just too tired...again Mommmy Bloggers, I bow to thee...how do you maintain blogs when there are bottles to be made?) and brought the fixins for one, just in case. So I handed her over to my best friend and took care of it. She sucked it down and was happy. The end.

Or not. She got fussy what seemed like 10 minutes later. She groused for awhile, but I was thinking that I just fed her and had changed her diaper not 15 minutes earlier, so she was fighting sleep.

Or maybe she had a giant green load in her drawers. I let her bitch me out for several minutes before being brilliant enough to check and see if maybe she had a full diaper because just having changed it does not mean it is still clean, genius.

So I went to the booth across from us, put a changing pad down on one of the seats, and changed her right there. Shut up! I'm not one of those people...there wasn't anyone else in our section and I didn't want to miss any conversation. Geez.

Yes, it was gross. But that place isn't well lit anyway.

So she was happy for another little while. Then she wasn't. I picked her up and she started trying to eat my shoulder. I have no idea how she was hungry again, but she was making it apparent that if I didn't feed her, she would turn canibal, starting with that shoulder.

So I called my little sister to bring a bottle and the binky I'd forgotten (I'm obviously not fit to be a mother, *sob*), since we were going to meet to go get her ears pierced anyway.

Yes, you read that right.

Since we were going to piss her off anyway, we waited to feed her until after there were holes poked successfully in each ear (this was at her mother's request, just to clarify...I'm not mean AND presumptuous). Of course, to do that, I had to lie and say I was her mother. In front of several witnesses, no less.

Dude, there were people outside the window of the accessory shop in the mall watching me torture my 4 month old niece. And making crying hand gestures.

She shrieked, of course. I came this close to losing it myself. I seem to remember a very similar reaction to having The Chipmunk's, yet here I was, signing on for it again. Brilliance, I tell you.

When she was done, I picked her up out of my sister's arms (she held her, leaving me to see her face shrink up and tears fill her eyes as she flinched from the popping of the piercing gun), and she was wailing. But I held her to my chest and cooed to her about being sorry and that everything was all right. And she stopped crying. A few minutes later, she was smiling at me.

Yes, babies are mostly hard. But God it's worth it.

Lucky

I've alluded to how nuts my family is on many, many occasions. We (I have to begrudgingly include myself here) make the family on Roseanne look like the fucking Waltons sometimes.

Come to think of it, there are many similarities there. They have 3 kids. My 2 sisters and I make 3 (I CAN do elementary math!!). They are somewhat lacking in the financial department, but not technically poor. That is an incredibly accurate way to describe my upbringing (things are considerably better for all now...I'm sure no longer having the expense of 3 kids at home really helps there). They are a couple who has weathered all of the ups and downs and managed to stay together. My parents have been married 37 years.

I think the thing that makes me the luckiest of all, though, is that even when we are pissed at each other, we stick together. We take care of each other. Any one of us will lovingly let another know when they have a bat in the cave or terrible breath. We will band together to make sure my nieces are always well cared for. And occasionally we will team up to force medicine down the throat of The Chipmunk when she has a fever (actually, that was my mom and my sister's MIL, a special guest star).

So even though my youngest sister has flaked on staying with the girls and me on 3 nights now, it's no skin off my nose. There are 3 other people volunteering to take her place.

Although I will lovingly tell her that she's a fuck up.

Progress Report

I've learned a few things about myself on this little experiment adventure I've undertaken. I'm at the close of Day 4, so we are over the halfway mark. This makes me feel somewhat qualified to do some light analysis.

So far, here is what I've come up with:

1. I have a ton of patience. When that ton of patience is exhausted, get into one of those bomb/earthquake drill positions under some desk and pray I don't come for you.

2. I am turning into my father/mother. You read it in blogs all the time, but you never think you will be the one who hears herself start counting to illicit appropriate behavior from a toddler.

3. I am strict. I don't want to be one of those people with children in tow who are bouncing off the walls and tripping complete strangers, whether they are my children or not.

4. I have a decent ability to pick my battles. I want to live to discipline another day.

5. I am an even bigger sucker for my nieces than I previously believed. I came home much earlier than normal from hanging out with my best friend from high school tonight because I missed them. And because I was very tired from being awoken for a 4 a.m. feeding. Oh, and I was also anticipating the next 4 a.m. feeding.

6. Sometimes the fit a 3 year old throws can be absolutely hysterical. Wait, that's not about me...except the thinking it's funny part. Anyway, sometimes the fits are funny. Most of the time they are so not.

7. I like to believe that I have an idea what this parenting thing might feel like, but when I am really honest with myself, I still have no clue.

8. For now, being close to my nieces is enough for me. But it won't always be. I'm really looking forward to being a mom.

*There are still 3+ days to go. This list is so subject to change...

Settling In

I've always been comfortable in my sister's home, partially because she is my sister and we once shared a bathtub, and partially because she makes it a place where it is easy to hang.

Apparently my whole family thinks so. So far I have had a grand total of 40 minutes on my own. Even then I only had Ruffle Butt as The Chipmunk was on a pony riding adventure with her Nan.

Most of that time was spent doing dishes. Ahh, quality time.

Actually, I'm really starting to feel my sister. I imagine this is what her life is probably like ALL THE TIME. Everyone wants to be here, where I am sitting at her house, than anywhere, even there, being their own homes. I used to think it had to do with the cute factor, but now I'm starting to see that it has to do with the comfort factor. And the clean. And the internet access.

I have to tell you guys: my family invading is like a herd of fucking buffalo sometimes. Noisy, messy, and more often than not, very smelly.

We're generally pretty pungent on an individual level. The whole herd can truly reek.

Right at this moment, I am looking at half a sink of dirty dishes. The faint memory of this afternoon's emptiness brings longing to my soul. My parents do not own a dishwasher, which seems to have rendered them incapable of loading this one. Funny, I have the slobby gene, too. But mine generally appears intermittently, and almost never in SOMEONE ELSE'S HOME.

My sister is a saint. The patron saint of cleanliness and lost marbles, I'm starting to believe.

Quick Update

So it took me over 8 hours to get from Sac to my parents' house yesterday. I sent EB a text mentioning this particular fact, and lamenting that he was not here to do all the driving for me, and his response?

U poor bitch.

Indeed. The trip was fine until I was on the 405, the only freeway not being flagged as completely fucked on the traffic reports, and it stopped. And I inched my way the 30ish miles left of the trip.

Still, I made it. When I got there, both girls were asleep. Ruffle Butt woke up right after I walked in and immediately gave me a huge grin. The Chipmunk slept quite awhile longer, choosing not to stir until after my mom had left us alone for a quick trip to the store. She begged for Grammy then Mommy. But when I pulled her into my lap and snuggled her, she grabbed my arm, hugged it like a teddy bear, and fell back asleep.

So far it's everything I had hoped it would be. Except for the migraine and pie abstinence. Meh. Details...

Slightly Overwhelmed

I should be in bed by now. I'm leaving for LA as early as I can drag my sorry ass out of bed tomorrow. In my defense, I took a significant nap (as if any nap could be considered insignificant) earlier, and I'm mostly ready to go. Still, I haven't vaccuumed my carpet (my vaccuum is working so poorly at this point, I don't know that it's even worth it to bother) or emptied the cat box, and I would like to come home to a house that marginally clean.

I can dream, anyway.

I'm also struggling with a recent realization. After testing my blood several times since I bought the glucometer on Friday, it has become clear that there is a problem. I've had some alarmingly high readings, and there is a large point spread between the low and the high.

It turns out that I probably have the opposite problem than I thought I had. I have always been under the impression that I have a problem with low blood sugar. It turns out that my lowest readings, when I am feeling faint and hungry, are somewhere in the middle of normal. And after I eat? They skyrocket.

I have an appointment with Dr. Jackass on the 3rd to determine if I am insulin intolerant (also known as pre-diabetic). Or if the glucometer is off.

Or if I'm diabetic.

One way or the other, things will have to change.

A Tender New Love is Born

I haven't watched MTV regularly since sometime in the early 90's. Pretty much when the Real World hit its second season (I watched the first, religiously...but the bloom was off that rose pretty quickly for me) the MTV I grew up with was dead. I didn't even see the famed Learn to Fly video until like a couple of weeks ago.

When I heard that my favorite song off the new Foo Fighters album (I think it's my favorite...ask me after a few thousand more listens) has a new video, I hauled my ass on over to YouTube and looked it up.

Holy hell Dave Grohl is a funny motherfucker.

Check it out.

Seriously. Who could miss out on Davy Grolton as Hansom Davidoff, soap opera doctor by day, Rick Springfield wannabe by, um, also day? 

Oh, and is it weird that I really want to lick Ty Hawkstone as Les Groper? I also find myself wanting to wallow in that hair. Yummy Andy Gibb-esque yumminess.

*God I miss EB.*

When Cutesy Maybe, Um, Isn't

After reading this post over at Sweetney, I just had to share my story with you guys.

In case you don't feel like linking on over there, or for some freaking context anyway, her post was on whether it is appropriate to teach children the proper terminology for their, um, junk.

I think the first time I ever really knew I had a vagina was when they separated the boys and the girls for the "it is perfectly normal for girls to bleed from the most disturbing of places once a month" talk in 5th grade. Oh, that talk could also be titled "deodorant and what it can do for your social life" or "people might not think you're gross if you brush your hair once in awhile." Suburban LA elementary schools are nothing if not multi-taskers.

Prior to that time, my mother had taught my sister and me (there were only two of us at that moment because our youngest sister didn't make her grand entrance until I was almost 13 and defintely knew it was a vagina and was on to the quest for the meaning of masturbation) that it was a po po.

Let me repeat that: we called it a po po.

Surprisingly, we weren't the only ones, as the very last entry in Urban Dictionary supports the association with the lady bits. Still, I can't help but dissolve into giggles every time I hear someone refer to the PO-lice as the po po. The giggle factor goes up exponentially if my sister is in the room.

I also laugh every time her best friend refers to it as a twat. Because twat is a funny sounding word. Say it a few times. Twat, twat, twat. Kinda fun to type, too.

Yeah, anatomically correct is overrated.

Experimentation

So I'm still reading a book on controlling my blood sugar. Most of what it is telling me is that my status as the Carb Queen (yes, that is my official title, please kiss my ring) is about to come to an abrupt, heart-breaking end. My reign o'er the French breads, pastas, and iced nonfat (nonfat =  OK, right?) mochas is dying a premature, dramatic death.

And lo there are tears. From me.

Or at least there will be soon.

Today I bought a glucometer so I can see how my body is processing sugar. I was feeling like my blood sugar was pretty damned low when I brought it home, so once I figured the doohickey out, I took a reading. Normal blood sugar should be between 70 and 150. Mine was a 99.

I was actually disappointed it wasn't lower.

Apparently I am sick. In my melon.

I was expecting some seriously low number to justify the shaky, sweaty, clammy, weak attacks I occasionally get, and that reading did not give me that satisfaction, that confirmation.

So for the next few days, I'm going to take readings here and there to see what various foods do to my levels.

It's like a treasure hunt. With my health and well-being as the prize. Good times.