I knew Twinklette would make a fabulous big sister, and she is an even better one than I expected. She is absolutely in love with her new baby (let's call her Tiny Twinklette), and has never shown a bit of jealousy or resentment, nor has she even shown the slightest notion that her new baby might take attention away from her. She has met Tiny Twinklette with nothing but love, adoration, and goodwill, and I could not be prouder.
I never doubted that she would be just fine with the transition, but I didn't anticipate the way her smart mouth might be of service to me in my new role as Infant Mama 2.0. She is totally the kind of advocate and ally I need: one with a three-year-old sense of sass and absolutely no filter.
I needed to get out of the house today, so in an unprecedented gesture, I suggested to Mr. Twinkle that we drop by the inlaws' house to say hi. (This tells you how desperate I was to see the outside world). We loaded up the family wagon and drove over there...it was so nice to get out, it made them happy, and it was better than having them at our house getting all up in my bidness.
So Tiny Twinklette was wearing this personalized hat with her name on it, and it is a little too big for her head, but I put it on her anyway because it's cute and it does the job. MIL was holding her, and the hat fell off.
Me: Oh, I know that hat is a little big. You can take it off her if you want to.
MIL doesn't take it off, because meddling old matronly types are always obsessed with babies' heads being covered by hats, even in the controlled climate of the modern living room.
Twinklette (authoratatively): You need to listen to my mommy.
In that moment, I felt all the vindication of three years' worth of slights just melt away. Twinklette is the only person on earth who can totally tell off my biggest doubter and critic. Of course I pretended not to hear her, but I was smiling smugly on the inside.
MIL (defensively and with a sourness I'd not seen her use before with Twinklette): Well, I doubt Tiny Twinklette wants to have a cold head. Do you think she wants to have a cold head?
But she took the hat off anyway.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Pure Randomness: Dibbs
A: Love the new design. Who knew Blogger had gotten all fancy. Big ups, Blogger.
B: Let's hope I never try to adopt. I'll never pass the physical. I'll have to pay some young child to impersonate me at the doctor's office. Hell.
C: Is there a way to make your family stop calling you? I want to stop hearing the names of crazy people. And if that means my mother can't call, so be it. Also, she's no longer allowed to text. This, "Dad getting stint going 2 icu" is no good. It led to my infamous facebook warning to fashion a shiv, which could hurt me in the long run.
D: Remember St. Patrick's Day...and Boogie...green test-tube shots...and no parking places because of someone's grandma who shant be named? Now I'll probably just sit home and eat kale or something. #losing.
B: Let's hope I never try to adopt. I'll never pass the physical. I'll have to pay some young child to impersonate me at the doctor's office. Hell.
C: Is there a way to make your family stop calling you? I want to stop hearing the names of crazy people. And if that means my mother can't call, so be it. Also, she's no longer allowed to text. This, "Dad getting stint going 2 icu" is no good. It led to my infamous facebook warning to fashion a shiv, which could hurt me in the long run.
D: Remember St. Patrick's Day...and Boogie...green test-tube shots...and no parking places because of someone's grandma who shant be named? Now I'll probably just sit home and eat kale or something. #losing.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Lola: Core-Shifting
Hello darlings -
I am lost in a combination of Babyland and jury duty, actually. However, I will openly admit that it is my wanderings through Babyland that I have found the most compelling and disorienting as of late. I think I might be addicted to my child. And coming to this realization as someone who heretofore could take-or-leave babies, I find myself addled by it all. I spend too much time thinking about him during the day when I should be concentrating on due process or RFEs. The agitation I feel as I get ready to leave to pick him up from daycare is similar to what I imagine the addict's shakes could be. The complete joy of anticipation as I speed-walk through the halls of the daycare to pick him up are followed by the serene abject joy of his enormous grin at me grabbing him off the floor when I arrive. Pure addiction as I go through this scenario day after day. But this is pretty normal compared to my darker secret...
More disorienting, though, is that just thinking about children in general has more than once caused me to break into a sob at my desk. I never used to be like this. My only thoughts about children were generally that they were so-so, but more often, annoying. Any conversation about children caused my eyes to glaze over and my mind to wander. (You know me well enough to remember that fact, I am sure.) So anyway, imagine my surprise when the below movie trailer seriously caused me to have an emotional meltdown at my desk:
I was a wreck. The little-boy imagery was too much and I lost it. Contemplating all the little-boy things my future holds is absolutely heart-warming and gut-wrenching at the same time. So there you have it. I am in the midst of a serious core-shift the likes I have never experienced in all my life. Fortunately, I was able to find steady ground under my feet when I watched this video, so enjoy.
All my best,
LoLa
I am lost in a combination of Babyland and jury duty, actually. However, I will openly admit that it is my wanderings through Babyland that I have found the most compelling and disorienting as of late. I think I might be addicted to my child. And coming to this realization as someone who heretofore could take-or-leave babies, I find myself addled by it all. I spend too much time thinking about him during the day when I should be concentrating on due process or RFEs. The agitation I feel as I get ready to leave to pick him up from daycare is similar to what I imagine the addict's shakes could be. The complete joy of anticipation as I speed-walk through the halls of the daycare to pick him up are followed by the serene abject joy of his enormous grin at me grabbing him off the floor when I arrive. Pure addiction as I go through this scenario day after day. But this is pretty normal compared to my darker secret...
More disorienting, though, is that just thinking about children in general has more than once caused me to break into a sob at my desk. I never used to be like this. My only thoughts about children were generally that they were so-so, but more often, annoying. Any conversation about children caused my eyes to glaze over and my mind to wander. (You know me well enough to remember that fact, I am sure.) So anyway, imagine my surprise when the below movie trailer seriously caused me to have an emotional meltdown at my desk:
I was a wreck. The little-boy imagery was too much and I lost it. Contemplating all the little-boy things my future holds is absolutely heart-warming and gut-wrenching at the same time. So there you have it. I am in the midst of a serious core-shift the likes I have never experienced in all my life. Fortunately, I was able to find steady ground under my feet when I watched this video, so enjoy.
All my best,
LoLa
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Julep: You girls need to post more.
I mean, sure, Twinks is about to have a baby and Dibbs had surgery and LoLa seems to be lost in Babyland ... but I need the occasional blog fix! Here are my moments of blog zen for today:
(1) Mr. J is out of town and Mr-Sis was going to stop by on her lunch hour to let the pooches out for a moment. She sent me an email around 11 to say that she was just on the phone with Mr-Mama, who was on her way home from running errands and would stop by our house "if that's OK!"
Fortunately I did not get this message until nearly noon, too late to speak up. Because I would have had to bite my tongue pretty hard not to say, "Actually, since the time we were ten hours away from home and your mother set my dog loose and left her roaming around the neighborhood so as not to be late for her riding lesson - I try not to ask her to interact with my pets."
I don't think that would have done much for family harmony.
(2) I've been feeling a little run-down this week. I've chalked it up to the trial I have coming up plus a lot more on my plate at the office, in addition to all the adoption stuff we are plowing through. No big deal.
One of the adoption forms is something signed off by our doctor that we are healthy enough to raise a child. Mr. J had a physical last week and he took the papers along for both of us. Doc had most of the info for mine already from my last physical in July, but she needed me to come in for a urine test and a chest x-ray. (A chest x-ray, really? Have they updated the regs since Waverly Hills closed?) I stopped in Friday morning and headed off to work.
I got a call today from the doctor's office that everything looks great for the paperwork. But, the nurse said, the urine sample actually tested positive for a low-grade strep infection, so Doc will call in some amoxycillin for you. I told her not to bother. It's been almost a week since I gave the sample, and it hasn't developed into anything. I'm tired, but I am pretty sure a couple good nights' sleep will be just as effective, cheaper, and less hassle at the pharmacy.
But it made me wonder. All of these years I've thought I was never getting sick, have I been fighting off bacterial infections all unawares? Do I only think I am usually quite healthy? Is that a good thing or a bad thing? And now that she's told me I'm sick, will I feel sicker?
(1) Mr. J is out of town and Mr-Sis was going to stop by on her lunch hour to let the pooches out for a moment. She sent me an email around 11 to say that she was just on the phone with Mr-Mama, who was on her way home from running errands and would stop by our house "if that's OK!"
Fortunately I did not get this message until nearly noon, too late to speak up. Because I would have had to bite my tongue pretty hard not to say, "Actually, since the time we were ten hours away from home and your mother set my dog loose and left her roaming around the neighborhood so as not to be late for her riding lesson - I try not to ask her to interact with my pets."
I don't think that would have done much for family harmony.
(2) I've been feeling a little run-down this week. I've chalked it up to the trial I have coming up plus a lot more on my plate at the office, in addition to all the adoption stuff we are plowing through. No big deal.
One of the adoption forms is something signed off by our doctor that we are healthy enough to raise a child. Mr. J had a physical last week and he took the papers along for both of us. Doc had most of the info for mine already from my last physical in July, but she needed me to come in for a urine test and a chest x-ray. (A chest x-ray, really? Have they updated the regs since Waverly Hills closed?) I stopped in Friday morning and headed off to work.
I got a call today from the doctor's office that everything looks great for the paperwork. But, the nurse said, the urine sample actually tested positive for a low-grade strep infection, so Doc will call in some amoxycillin for you. I told her not to bother. It's been almost a week since I gave the sample, and it hasn't developed into anything. I'm tired, but I am pretty sure a couple good nights' sleep will be just as effective, cheaper, and less hassle at the pharmacy.
But it made me wonder. All of these years I've thought I was never getting sick, have I been fighting off bacterial infections all unawares? Do I only think I am usually quite healthy? Is that a good thing or a bad thing? And now that she's told me I'm sick, will I feel sicker?
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Julep: Ice the Cake
First, let me say how glad I was to see someone else's blog post when I arrived on site - though I'm sorry to hear the circumstances. Twinks, here's hoping you and Twinklette make it through the remaining daddy-free time without committing hara-kiri.
Y'all know the big bad sad news about the passing of the grandmama. The finality is hard but I can't miss her any more than I already did. I'm not going to get into that because I already have the dehydrated/tears headache. I'd rather talk about this.
I pop on the Facebook this morning for the love and support of condolence notes (thanks, girls), and what do I see but a status update from War Bride, whom y'all will recall dropped out of college this summer to marry my 23-year-old cousin and move to Mississippi for his Air Force pilot training. We all know what's coming, don't we?
Yes, War Bride and Pilot are expecting. This is not exactly a shock - as Little Sis said earlier today, "Think how fresh those eggs must be, she's only been through puberty for about three years." Here's what slew me: she's due October 27. Some of you may be furrowing your brows to do the math, as I was this morning, so let me save you the trouble. Forget the first trimester, I'm not sure she's even out of the first month. Evidently War Bride peed on the stick and posted on the Facebook at the same time.
She is a sweet girl, and I'm sure she's excited about being a mama - what else does she have to do in Columbus, Mississippi? And God bless her, I sincerely hope they do have a happy healthy baby on or around October 27, without any complications. But as we all realize, there is good reason to keep these things to yourself for a little while. I guess when you're 20, the only sad pregnancy stories you know are the ones about girls who got knocked up after prom.
Y'all know the big bad sad news about the passing of the grandmama. The finality is hard but I can't miss her any more than I already did. I'm not going to get into that because I already have the dehydrated/tears headache. I'd rather talk about this.
I pop on the Facebook this morning for the love and support of condolence notes (thanks, girls), and what do I see but a status update from War Bride, whom y'all will recall dropped out of college this summer to marry my 23-year-old cousin and move to Mississippi for his Air Force pilot training. We all know what's coming, don't we?
Yes, War Bride and Pilot are expecting. This is not exactly a shock - as Little Sis said earlier today, "Think how fresh those eggs must be, she's only been through puberty for about three years." Here's what slew me: she's due October 27. Some of you may be furrowing your brows to do the math, as I was this morning, so let me save you the trouble. Forget the first trimester, I'm not sure she's even out of the first month. Evidently War Bride peed on the stick and posted on the Facebook at the same time.
She is a sweet girl, and I'm sure she's excited about being a mama - what else does she have to do in Columbus, Mississippi? And God bless her, I sincerely hope they do have a happy healthy baby on or around October 27, without any complications. But as we all realize, there is good reason to keep these things to yourself for a little while. I guess when you're 20, the only sad pregnancy stories you know are the ones about girls who got knocked up after prom.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Twinkle: The Cough from Hell and the Worst Timing Ever
Most of you know that for the past few months I've been living the life similar to that of the teen moms on a certain MTV series: lonely, pregnant, with an absent babydaddy and (as in the case of some of the more wayward girls) another small child at my hip. The only difference between me and gals of Sixteen and Pregnant is home decor. I'll say it: mine's better.
Anyway, forgive me but I just have to rant. It all started when Twinklette developed a violent cough two weeks ago. Here's a concise timeline, which is really boring, but shows you just how long this has been going on and how incredibly annoyed I am with her doctor right now.
* Two weeks ago: Twinklette coughs so violently she barfs on herself and on the floor. We immediately visit the doctor but are happily dismissed and sent on our merry way without any medication or real diagnosis.
* All that week and last week: the cough persists.
* Last Friday: just as Mr. Twinkle is about to leave town, Twinklette becomes incredibly hard to deal with and complains that her ears are hurting. The cough has become an ear infection.
* Last Friday night: Twinklette spends the night with my in-laws, where they blithely watch the verboten Sesame Street and are under strict orders to call me if she gets sick or needs me. I know they will not do this, but she has to spend the night because Mr. Twinkle has an early flight to Florida and it's just better for everyone this way. I am already p*ssed at her doctor at this point.
* Last Saturday: Twinklette comes home with broken blood vessels around her eyes from violent coughing (which, shockingly, went unreported by my inlaws*). The pediatrician's answering service and I both mistake this for an allergic reaction to the antibiotic, so we spend hours that afternoon in the Pediatric Acute Care center on Poplar Level Road, which is filled with the dregs of society and is pretty much the free clinic of pediatric services. (I told you I was like one of those teen moms). The ear infection has become a double ear infection.
* Monday: Twinklette's school calls to report nasty stomach issues that have ruined an outfit. (I was on the phone with Lola when all this went down). They give her a t-shirt and someone else's socks (yes, apparently this episode affected even her socks) but when I arrive to pick her up, they say she seems fine and is having fun, so I let her stay.
* Tuesday (today): I try to have a fun day with Twinklette but it's filled with drama, tears, whining (and also more stomach problems), and I start to wonder if she's just going through a really unpleasant phase or what. I Google the side effects of her drug. As suspected, they include stomach issues and diaper rash, but also the complete inability to listen and cooperate, as well as whining, crying, ignoring one's mother, and having an overall b*tchy attitude from dawn 'til dusk. (This was officially listed as "hyperactivity and irritability," but we know that's just code for "royal b*tch").
So. Here we are. And I'm glad I Googled the side effects so now I can be a little more understanding of where all the drama is coming from. But DEAR LORD could it be worse timing? Mr. Twinkle skipped town the day after the medication started, and she has to be on it for 10 days--6 of which he will be gone. I do realize that he's working hard and that we will all eventually benefit from his tireless dedication, so I can't really be mad at him.
You know who I'm mad at? The d*mn doctor. If she had given us some d*mn cough syrup two weeks ago, we would not be in the downward spiral of unpleasantness we're in now.
Anyway...that's my rant, and I feel better. Thanks for listening!
* Oh, and it'll be a long, long time before Twinklette spends the night over there again.
Anyway, forgive me but I just have to rant. It all started when Twinklette developed a violent cough two weeks ago. Here's a concise timeline, which is really boring, but shows you just how long this has been going on and how incredibly annoyed I am with her doctor right now.
* Two weeks ago: Twinklette coughs so violently she barfs on herself and on the floor. We immediately visit the doctor but are happily dismissed and sent on our merry way without any medication or real diagnosis.
* All that week and last week: the cough persists.
* Last Friday: just as Mr. Twinkle is about to leave town, Twinklette becomes incredibly hard to deal with and complains that her ears are hurting. The cough has become an ear infection.
* Last Friday night: Twinklette spends the night with my in-laws, where they blithely watch the verboten Sesame Street and are under strict orders to call me if she gets sick or needs me. I know they will not do this, but she has to spend the night because Mr. Twinkle has an early flight to Florida and it's just better for everyone this way. I am already p*ssed at her doctor at this point.
* Last Saturday: Twinklette comes home with broken blood vessels around her eyes from violent coughing (which, shockingly, went unreported by my inlaws*). The pediatrician's answering service and I both mistake this for an allergic reaction to the antibiotic, so we spend hours that afternoon in the Pediatric Acute Care center on Poplar Level Road, which is filled with the dregs of society and is pretty much the free clinic of pediatric services. (I told you I was like one of those teen moms). The ear infection has become a double ear infection.
* Monday: Twinklette's school calls to report nasty stomach issues that have ruined an outfit. (I was on the phone with Lola when all this went down). They give her a t-shirt and someone else's socks (yes, apparently this episode affected even her socks) but when I arrive to pick her up, they say she seems fine and is having fun, so I let her stay.
* Tuesday (today): I try to have a fun day with Twinklette but it's filled with drama, tears, whining (and also more stomach problems), and I start to wonder if she's just going through a really unpleasant phase or what. I Google the side effects of her drug. As suspected, they include stomach issues and diaper rash, but also the complete inability to listen and cooperate, as well as whining, crying, ignoring one's mother, and having an overall b*tchy attitude from dawn 'til dusk. (This was officially listed as "hyperactivity and irritability," but we know that's just code for "royal b*tch").
So. Here we are. And I'm glad I Googled the side effects so now I can be a little more understanding of where all the drama is coming from. But DEAR LORD could it be worse timing? Mr. Twinkle skipped town the day after the medication started, and she has to be on it for 10 days--6 of which he will be gone. I do realize that he's working hard and that we will all eventually benefit from his tireless dedication, so I can't really be mad at him.
You know who I'm mad at? The d*mn doctor. If she had given us some d*mn cough syrup two weeks ago, we would not be in the downward spiral of unpleasantness we're in now.
Anyway...that's my rant, and I feel better. Thanks for listening!
* Oh, and it'll be a long, long time before Twinklette spends the night over there again.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Julep: Surely You Jest.
I just got home from a SuperBowl party at Mr-Sister's house. Mr. J is out of town but she invited me to come without him, which was awfully nice of her. I've gotten to know several of her friends well over the years, and I enjoy them. So off I went, and who ended up sitting beside me but her good friend S.
S is a sweet girl; I like her very much; she is also pregnant. This is not too big a deal - y'all know I am not one to begrudge, and although she is seven years younger than I am in fact S has been married longer. So although I didn't start asking her any happy baby questions, I was fine. Until ...
J, another gal pal of Mr-Sister's, is getting married in July, and it seems that they have already scheduled the weekend for J's bachelorette festivities. The girls discovered this evening that there is some fabulous music festival in Gulf Shores, Alabama on J's bachelorette weekend. Excitement ensued with great discussion of whether they can go to Gulf Shores for the bachelorette. S's husband called from across the room, "I don't think the doctor will OK that for you!" She said, "Well, maybe I can go ... when is it?" May 22. "I could maybe go. I'll see, anyway." Much joking from the room. She seemed annoyed.
So I asked her, quietly, "When are you due?" June 11, she said. I laughed and said, "I think you will have to sit this one out, no doctor will let you take a road trip to Gulf Shores at that point." And she said, "Well, you know, I'm planning to do a natural birth and all, so the doctor really isn't the final say."
Honey. I don't care if you are planning to spawn this child from your cranium like Athena from the head of Zeus. When you are TWENTY DAYS from your due date, you cannot be driving across three states to spend a weekend in the hot sun wandering around a music festival. I am sorry to be the one to break the news to you, but this will be the first of many fun times that your single, childless girlfriends will be having without you. Deal with it.
Oh, and at halftime, her husband stepped out to the backyard to smoke some weed.
Is it possible to call Child Protective Services before the baby is actually born? I would like to exercise eminent domain on that fetus.
S is a sweet girl; I like her very much; she is also pregnant. This is not too big a deal - y'all know I am not one to begrudge, and although she is seven years younger than I am in fact S has been married longer. So although I didn't start asking her any happy baby questions, I was fine. Until ...
J, another gal pal of Mr-Sister's, is getting married in July, and it seems that they have already scheduled the weekend for J's bachelorette festivities. The girls discovered this evening that there is some fabulous music festival in Gulf Shores, Alabama on J's bachelorette weekend. Excitement ensued with great discussion of whether they can go to Gulf Shores for the bachelorette. S's husband called from across the room, "I don't think the doctor will OK that for you!" She said, "Well, maybe I can go ... when is it?" May 22. "I could maybe go. I'll see, anyway." Much joking from the room. She seemed annoyed.
So I asked her, quietly, "When are you due?" June 11, she said. I laughed and said, "I think you will have to sit this one out, no doctor will let you take a road trip to Gulf Shores at that point." And she said, "Well, you know, I'm planning to do a natural birth and all, so the doctor really isn't the final say."
Honey. I don't care if you are planning to spawn this child from your cranium like Athena from the head of Zeus. When you are TWENTY DAYS from your due date, you cannot be driving across three states to spend a weekend in the hot sun wandering around a music festival. I am sorry to be the one to break the news to you, but this will be the first of many fun times that your single, childless girlfriends will be having without you. Deal with it.
Oh, and at halftime, her husband stepped out to the backyard to smoke some weed.
Is it possible to call Child Protective Services before the baby is actually born? I would like to exercise eminent domain on that fetus.
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