Doctor's Visit Today Was Good...

I’ve got a love/hate relationship with Google. On one hand, I love that fact that tons of information are at my fingertips, just waiting for an obscure idea to flit past my brain and lodge long enough for a little digging.

On the other hand, some of the stuff that you find can cause some serious panic to set in.

We found out on Tuesday that our ultrasound last week was abnormal. They had found a cyst on the baby’s kidney (and by the way, “Baby” is now “Frogger.” She looked like a little frog kicking around at the ultrasound today) and wanted me to come in asap for another scan and to speak to a genetic counselor.

I’ve been worthless the past few days. I couldn’t concentrate at work, I didn’t want to do anything but bake at home. I would snatch Boogie up in a bear hug for no reason as the tears streamed down my face, so grateful that I had my little girl there, and she was safe and happy and thriving, and simultaneously terrified that I might have to make a decision to terminate my pregnancy in the next few days.

See, Google told me that kidney cysts on a fetus could be nothing, or could be fatal. The doctor agreed, and though I knew the chances of Frogger having kidney disease in-utero was slim, there was still a chance. At least our worst case was ruled out today at the appointment, but we still don’t know exactly what this means.

Good news is there is only one cyst, and it looks like both kidneys are still functioning normally. I have to go back in 6 weeks for another scan to check the size of it, and there is a real possibility that Frogger will need surgery after she’s born to remove the cyst, but as long as she’s got one functioning kidney (and right now it looks like both are okay) then we should be good. The doctor said that this would be normal in a child or adult, but it is highly abnormal in a fetus.

And since there is nothing I can do about it, we’ll wait and see. Google did let me know that there are all kinds of treatments available, if needed, after Frogger is born, and that the prognosis is excellent since it has been caught so soon. I can’t even think about the bad stuff right now, dialysis or kidney transplants are not going to be floating around my head for the next 5 months, I can’t stress myself over something that I just don’t know yet. So hopefully this will be my last foray into this topic on Google, at least until my next appointment, and my last blog on the topic until Frogger is born and we find out what we need to do.

Booty Shakin' and Fake Ta-Ta's

There is a reason I don;t let Boogie watch mainstream TV. Some people think I'm overly strict, some think I'm just weird, but I know how impressionable little kids are. I know how impressionable even adults are, and I didn't want to subject my angel to any self-criticism at such a tender age. Think she's too young? Think again....

Last night, as I was cleaning up after dinner, P put MTV on so Boogie could listen to music and dance to wear herself out before her bath. She watched a couple videos, and we watched her, laughing along as she shook her little diaper-clad bottom, hands on her hips or twirling in the air above her head.

She was having a great time, but suddenly stopped and picked up a whiffle ball and a small fist-sized basketball that were lying near her feet. She had been watching a Fergie video, which was sexual, but not overly revealing, in my mind. Boogie, my sweet, perfect, two-year-old Angel put the balls up her shirt like fake chi-chi's and started dancing again! She even stood up on the bench of her table, imitating the girls dancing on the tables in the videos.

OMG!

When they started to slip, she asked me for help, and I had to pick her up and tell her she was perfect just the way she was, then insisted we go take her bath and stop dancing. Because really? I'm a bit disturbed that my 2 year old notices all the women on TV have their boobs hanging out, and is trying to make hers bigger.

Sisters!

I had my "big ultrasound" yesterday and found out we have another baby girl on the way!

Yessssssss!

I was really thinking it was a boy, but a couple weeks ago I started wondering if I was just mentally preparing myself for a boy, since I wanted another girl so bad, or I assumed it was a boy because my symptoms were so different than with Taryn.

No matter, the tech said he was "high 90's" when asked how sure he was, so I'm seeing PINK today.

P is ... not so happy. But he'll get over it, just like he did with Taryn, and be wrappd around her little finger within minutes of being born.

I'm beyond the moon with joy right now. As soon as I found out Taryn was a girl, I started dreaming about her having a sister. And now I have leverage for #3, if I want to try again (but don't tell P I said that!)

The belt tightening is starting to infring on my pregnant belly.

Honestly, I feel lucky though, because we are not on the verge of losing our house, we have enough food, and can still afford gas for two cars. But those extras are gone, less eating out (sorry Figlet), less clothes (for those of us not growing four inches per year), and no vacation on the horizon.

This will sound stupid, because it's the opposite for many people, but our Stupid Spending of the last two years? That turned out to be out insulation from this whole economic crisis we've been thrown into.

Our budget is basically this:
Gross Income - Retirement, Taxes and Insurance = Net Income
Then,
Net Income - Monthly Bills - Food, Gas and Essentials = Disposable Income
Therefore,
Dispoable Income = What Gets Paid on the Credit Cards

Get it?

We've been dropping hundreds of dollars per month on our credit card bills to try to get them paid off sometime in the next year or so, since we were contemplating upgrading to a bigger house. But lately, we've been spending more on the "Food, Gas and Essentials" which means less on the credit cards, but really, we're still paying much more than the minimums each month.

So in a stupid, roundabout, and not entirely logical way, we haven't been affected so much by all this turmoil, except that it's going to take longer than anticipated to get out of debt. But really, doesn't it always?

This is my way of saying that I am very thankful that we made mostly sound financial decisions for the past few years and I feel lucky that we aren't struggling as so many others are right now. Things are tight, but things are always tight with us. A big squeeze has been that P's grandparents aren't working anymore due to crap health issues, so we are sending them money every month so they can buy food, etc. We had been supporting Jojo for the past year and a half, and the girl can eat! So there was another drain, not including what it cost us to get her up here, and our latest trip to Paraguay. Childcare, student loans, savings for maternity leave... it all adds up very quickly, but we have a plan, and that's all I can ask for.

I'm just seeing more and more self-employed people applying for benefits because they are filing bankruptcy, more and more homeowners who are losing their homes, young parents who can't affors insurance for their kids, older folks who needs medications and treatments, but can't afford thier own insurance premiums and copays.... it goes on and on. I try to stay positive, Obama will be able to turn things around for those who really need the help right now.

And that's all for this morning's rant. Thanks for tuning in!

The Faith of a Mustard Seed

Today sucked.

I was up at 6:30, even though Boogie was still sleeping. His side of the bed was cold. He slept downstairs of his own volition, pissed off about something I had said the night before. But it was true. He's been home every night when she goes to sleep, aside from a handful of times, and I don't think he's done her book routine for the past year. He never wants to, and I gave up fighting him to do it. Like other things in her life that he knows nothing about, it's his own fault that he doesn't take the time.

He didn't like hearing that.

So Boogie and I went to the store, and couldn't find a single 10x13 frame. And we needed two for her photos. We had fun shopping though, rummaging at Target and Ross, but ended up getting back late and found Nana waiting outside for us. Second person that day my lack of awareness affected.

I was running late for the vet appointment but didn't stress too much because you usually have to wait at least 30 minutes to be seen. When I got there, I left a note that we were on time, and took them out for a nice long walk, strolling for about 30 minutes while soaking up the sun and just relaxing with my two babies.

When we got back, I put them in the car with the AC on, and went back in to check how long until their visit. Nobody was available, so I went back outside, since I had already asked for them to call me and tell me when to come inside. Then I realized that the clicker for my car doesn't work when the car is on. And the dogs were locked inside.

Third and fourth beings I screwed over today.

Called Nana, she left Boogie with a friend and came to try to help. We ended up calling that friend to come with her AAA to get the caar unlocked, and by then, it had already been about 45 minutes. So Nana put Boogie to sleep, and the friend and I chatted in the sun, a nice distraction from the f'ed up situation I was in, until she tripped over a rock, fell, and broke her arm.

FUCK. Fifth person that ended up in a worse situation...because of me.

While debating if I should call an ambulance or drive her to the ER in her car (while on hold with 911), the tow truck shows up and unlocks the door. Good for me, but then I have to drive her to Kaiser ER and I feel shitty for the whole situation, and for the fact that I can't go in and wait because I still have the dogs in the car, and we figured it would be better if Nana went to wait with her, and I went home to Boogie.

When I got home from the ER at 2, the vet's office called to say they were ready to see us. My appointment had been for 11:30. I'm looking for a new vet.

I was scared to leave the house to go grocery shopping, no idea what was in store for me next. So I took a short nap, got Boogie up, played and ate, and things were going okay until P comes home, obviously still pissed and makes a really shit comment how I should have been apologizing to the friend, since none of it would have happened if I hadn't locked the dogs in the car. And I had been, but him saying that broke me and I ended up in tears, cleaning the house in a blind rage so I didn't rip him a new one for being insensitive.

Now Boogie is still crying, not wanting to sleep. She dumped her sippy cup out in the crib. It's warm, I'm agitated but don't want to go downstairs near that man who I married. I had faith it would all be okay, and for me it was, but it seems like I made a lot of other people's lives hell today. Which, for me, is worse than if I had been locked in the car, then fell and broke my own arm.

Month Twenty-Four

Happy Second Birthday my Love!



I've been looking at your photos for the last year, and although you look pretty much similar, your personality has blossomed into the most delightfully loving, funny, intelligent little girl I have had the pleasure of knowing. If I knew a year (and a week) ago that you would be this fun to be around, I may have wished away your infancy so that I could revel longer in this amazing period of discovery for you.



Just in the last month, you've learned to count to 10 in Spanish and English, and you know your body parts in English, Spanish, and everything from the neck-up (including eyebrows) in Guarani. You can match colors, you can name a hundred different objects that I don't remember even teaching you, and you mimic phrases, like "Oy!" that you learned from Mama, and "Tira pedo" that your lovely father taught you when you passed gas.



Sometimes I am just mesmerized watching you play, so imaginative, and I wonder what you are thinking. Your favorite lately is playing doctor with your stethescope from "Boo-boo Rescue" and you'll examine any injury anyone reports having, including a kiss to make it better. And you're willing to treat anyone, or anything, even strangers and animals. A lovely change from a year ago when you were more comfortable in Mama's arms, just observing the world around you.



One thing that people are continually amazed at is your tolerance for pain. On my birthday, you were outside playing with you cousins and fell and skinned both knees pretty badly while running. You did cry, but as soon as you were in my arms, you asked for Boo-boo- Rescue, and were tearless as I cleaned you knees, put antibacterial spray on them, and bandaged them up. And as soon as you were patched up, you were ready to play some more. Your Aunts and Uncles could not believe how the tears stopped the minute Boo-boo Rescue came out, and kept commenting how your older cousins would still cry like little babies with ouchies like yours. And yet, it didn't seem to phase you as soon as we were making it better.



Angel, I just have to keep telling you how much fun I have going out to play. In the last year, you have gone from timid and shaky on the playground to a complete monkey-nut. The minute we get there, you are either pulling me up the stairs to go down the slide with you, or running off any playing with the older girls, whom you had never met before, but all of them absolutely adore helping you climb up to play, and catching you at the bottom of the slide. Now, we can go on walks too, with you pushing the baby stroller I got you for your birthday, and stopping to pick flowers for your Tia and Jojo.



I can't wait to be able to take you to the Aquarium in Monterrey as well. I know you'll love seeing the "mish" and touching the animals there. But whenever I start to wish ahead of your life, I have to stop myself and remember to enjoy this age fully, because you will never ever be here again. And when I get sentimental about you growing older, you'll surpise me and fall asleep on the bed as I'm holding you, or run up and give me a big hug and kiss, and tell me you love me. You melt my heart.



My wish for you this month is that you are never afraid to express your emotions. I could go into the details and the whys of this wish, but suffice to say it's taken me a long time to figure out my relationship with the world, and for all my faults and issues, I think I've been able to salvage that core of my being because I was able to express to others how I was feeling. In most situations.



Okay, I know this letter is for you, about you, and only you, but I love how you've reacted thus far to me being pregnant too. I think a year ago you may not have been okay with it, but now when you see my bely you say "Hi Baby" and peer into my bellybutton, maybe hoping to catch a glimpse? You'll rub my stomach when we're sitting on the couch reading a book and say "Titi's baby," or "Good girl," and you are quick to bestow hugs and kisses to my bellybutton. I hope you love your Little this much after it is born, and I think you'll be very excited to see the ultrasound in a couple weeks. You may not be too stoked to share your room, but you've become so easygoing in the last year that I really don't anticipate too many problems. Aside from sleeping arrangements.



Boogie, I love you. I don't think you will understand until you have your own child how much your heart can swell looking at your offspring, but one day you will understand, and I'll be right there with you bawling, I'm sure. Happy Birthday my Angel.



Love,
Mama

Falling Behind

Not really though. Boogie's 24 month letter is written, but photobucket is being a butt and I can't get pictures on it at the moment.

So sorry, but you'll just have to wait.

In other news, my child was possessed by a demon last night. She refused to go to sleep, and instead screamed hysterically for hours on end. I, being SuperMama, was the only one who could calm her down. Needless to say, I'm exhausted. In to bed late, up early, not a great combo for a pregnant woman.

I think I failed the test. If last night was a test of some sort, I definitely failed miserably. I lost my patience. I snapped at P. I was thisclose to shaking Taryn, but I knew it wouldn't do much more than make her more upset. I counted to 100...twice, once in English, once in Spanish, before I calmed down. But at least I know when I'm at the end of my rope, I can count. And maybe I should learn another language so I don't get too bored with the counting.

She's funny though, because when she was screaming, I told her in her ear to stop, and she did. But she had those body-wracking, haggard-breath sobs until I put her down in the crib, and even as I was walking out, I could hear her choking down breaths. I don't know if she just wore herself out, or got out whatever demon didn't want her sleeping, but right around 10:30, after 2 hours or rocking, singing, holding, laying down in bed, screaming, sobbing, and clinging toddler-hugs, for some reason she was ready to sleep.

Ay. I hope this isn't something new she's going to try every night.

No Such Thing As A Secret

I know I do it sometimes too, but I always start to giggle when someone runs into my office at work and says, "You have to promise not to tell because I was sworn to secrecy, but..."

Like today, talking with a friend she sort-of hinted at a secret in the office. Happens to be a secret that I was told a while ago by someone who wasn't supposed to tell, and I think the same person told her as well. Ha. I figure she knows most of the gossip that I do, so it's usually safe to ask her if she knows anything new about a particular topic, without divulging any actual information.

But it's funny, because when I want to keep a secret, I don't tell a soul. If you don't tell me a secret, or I start to hear rumblings of something I already know about, yeah, I'm going to discuss it. But I'm pretty damn good at not spilling the beans when I know it's really important not to.

But this new one, I'm starting to wonder who doesn't know. And really, I feel sort of bad that a bunch of us are in on her secret, I mean, it's a pretty major juicy bit, but I still don't think she expected so many people to find out in such a short time. And probably all from the same person too.

The real trick is, and it seems obvious but is rarely followed: If you don't want anyone to know, don't tell anyone. Especially around here. News spreads like a bad rash on a hot day here, because obviously we have nothing better to do!

I'll Take What I Can Get

After almost 8 years, I've given up the hope of changing him. I'm realizing that regardless of what I do, he's not going to be ready for it until he sees how he is hurting himself and the people who love him.

Maybe I am setting up a pattern by allowing him the easy way out. I don't insist that he apologize to me when he messes up, because it's fruitless. I allow him to apologize in his own way, by physically doing things, rather than verbally. As long as we are both aware that he messed up, I'm okay with that, because I know I can't make him remorseful. I could insist that he say he's sorry, and very often he does without prodding, but when those certain things happen, when he is intentionally mean or neglectful, I don't ask for an apology.

Maybe I should.

I know there are some things he will cop up to, some things he may be too ashamed to apologize for, and other things that his pride and his culture don't allow him to apologize for. But I know when he regrets his actions. And he makes an effort to make it up to me. I see the same thing in my brother, how he won't say he's sorry, but he'll bring over dinner. Am I wrong for letting them get away with that?

Wouldn't it be wrong for them to insist that I apologize in a way that is acceptable to them, as men, rather than what makes me, as a woman, truly show that I am sorry? Is there a difference between the two, other than interpretation of the actions? I'll take what I can get, and I feel satisfied for the moment that he has apologized, in his own way, which happens to be much more useful to me than a verbal plea for forgiveness. It would be nice to hear it more often, but it would also be insincere, because that's just not how he expresses himself.

I'm taking the good with the bad. All I can control are my own actions and reactions.

Delayed

I can't bring myself to write a beautiful letter to my sweet angel this month, when things are crumbling.

I thought we were doing better. He's hiding something, some fear, or hurt, or anger, and I can't do anything about it because I don't know what it is. Maybe his way of dealing is to take care of my physical needs, and neglect my soul, but it's driving us apart and right now, I don't have the energy to change the dynamic.

I'm pretty sure it will be okay. I'm not positive, but I can't sacrifice myself, my mental health, my pregnancy or my daughter's happiness to heal him. I can't do all those things a wife "should" do, hoping it will make him happy, because beneath it all, there is still something I can't reach. There is something in him that will always make him miserable, and I'm not the one to fix it. I can't.

He can't be healed until he is ready to ask for help. He is spiraling downward, and my fear of him hitting rock bottom comes out in flashes of anger and spite. I don't hate him, I hate his inaction, his self-medicating, and his insistence on being close to me in a way that I can't reciprocate when I am hurting too. I'm scared what this means for us in the long run. It was bad a few years ago, and it's getting steadily worse. We have our reprieves, many weeks and months have been great, but I can't figure out the trigger that causes it all to come rushing back.

He agrees with my brother that I am weak for believing in God and studying psychology. They all think they are the masters of their own universes, but they are all fucked up in the head and can't see past their own BS. At least I am working on my issues, and I feel like I'm improving, but it's hard to maintain those changes under the stress of dealing with someone steeped in denial. I've found myself reacting to him lately, and I hate it. I hate letting him get to me, letting him hurt me, then punishing him for it. I'm not in a great state of mind now, and I don't want to subject my unborn child to these rushes of hormones and anger and hurt.

I don't want to take a step back and watch him drown himself. But I can't be so close and feeling so helpless and manipulated. Both sides of the fence have shriveled up crab grass, so I'm trying to balance on it, making my way South, or maybe North, somewhere else, anywhere else, until things get better. I'm not depressed, just stuck and scared, and waiting for the last stone to crumble so we can pick up the pieces and rebuild a life together.

And then this one time....

I still remember my brother lamenting years ago, "Why can't he just be real with me? Who the hell does he think I am, some sidekick friend?"

We had been discussing a friend of his who wasn't doing well. This guy is someone we had both grown up with, and whom he used to be very close to, but due to a stint in jail and some broken bones, he hadn't seen him in a while. My brother was always pissed that people would be fake with him, when he asked "How are you," they would just reply "Fine, you?"

As I walk around the office and overhear, nay eavesdrop, on my coworkers conversations, I am shocked at how often I hear the same stories being repeated verbatim. The same exclamations, the same quotes, everything the same. And it's even worse when I've had a conversation with a person, and then I overhear them working what I had said into their conversation, as if it were their own words.

I'm not so narcisstic to think that the people that I converse with are only taking to me, it's an unrealistic thought, and frankly I don't want to be someone's sole source of venting. But honestly, I'm starting to feel like my brother and wondering how real are the conversations that I share with people, when they say the exact same thing to someone else 5 minutes later. Do people want eveeryone to know so much about them, or am I getting the same canned conversation that everyone else gets?

It's not everyone, but it's often enough to make me wonder why I make the effort to have genuine talks with people. When people ask how the baby is, I'll tell them the latest news, or how her night was yesterday, or something cute she did this morning. But I make an effort to be real, to tell people what's really going on, and to tailor it to their personality, as I relate to them. I try very hard not to have canned responses to people, and maybe that's why I'm not a social butterfly. Maybe if I faked it more, instead of trying to really be present when I am with someone (and of course, on the flip side of that, I am not-so-chatty when I am not feeling well), I would be more agreeable to them?

I guess if there was one "right" way to interact, we'd all be doing it. I am constantly amazed at how people change depending on the sitiation, especially to see how they act in different groups of people. I think it normal and quite functional to alter your personality slightly to accommodate your surroundings, and I don't know where this musing on conversation fits in there, but it's definitely fascinating to me. Like, do they realize what they are doing? Do I do the same thing? How has this action come about? What is it's evolutionary purpose? Is telling the same thing to multiple people some sort of processing mechanism, or is it simply a way to bond? What about when you tell the same thing over and over to someone, what is the purpose of that?

I don't know, but my head hurts, and my back hurts and I'm bored. Maybe I should go tell someone?

My 25th Year

I’m a shy person. Extremely socially-phobic. May seem like BS for people who know me, but I get serious anxiety attacks when I am around a lot of people that I don’t know. I’m fine in groups I’m comfortable with, but strangers? No thank you. Mostly.

For most of my life, I feel like I’ve been chosen. Not as in The Golden Child special, but I’ve taken the path of least resistance and allowed my friends, schools, and style to be handed to me, because it was more comfortable than standing up for what I really wanted.

The one college that I really wanted to go to, UCLA, I didn’t get accepted. I got into other schools, Berkeley, Davis, Sonoma State and Spelman, so rather than make UCLA work in the future, I took the next best route and went to the one which offered the highest scholarship. Because really, how could I make UCLA work? I didn’t know anyone in LA. I didn’t have any friends going to UCLA. It’s not like I could move down to LA by myself and go to a community college, and try to transfer in two years, no way. Who did I think I was?

But really, Spelman wasn’t much more comfortable, but it was easier. I had a friend in Atlanta, and I wouldn’t’ have to pay much to go. And I didn’t want to stay in Northern California. High school wasn’t the best years of my life, and there were a lot of people and events that I was happy to leave far behind. So, the path of least resistance.

The group I fell in with there started with me and one other girl. We met smoking behind the dorms after lunch one day, and as the only smokers we saw in campus, it made sense that we would be friends. I had made other friends too, and slowly we formed this group, and it’s weird because I was the one who brought the group together, and the one who was ultimately pushed out. But maybe I isolated myself, by not dating boys on campus, by getting married toward the end of the year, and by loudly announcing that I hated Spelman and was leaving as soon as I could.

It wasn’t my scene. It was fun at first, the clubs and frat parties six nights per week, but I was always uncomfortable. Too many new people, and as my friends found boyfriends, and I was constantly rejecting advances because I had a fiance at home, I got pushed into a new group, the single people, the ones who couldn’t find a date, and the few guys who refused to date anyone but me.

But that’s just an example. For some reason this week, I’ve been thinking a lot more about my choices in life. Some things I felt forced into. Some I regret with every ounce of my being, though I’ve forgiven the people who pressured me, and myself for not fighting for what I knew was right. Some other things, I’m grateful for, because they ended up being positively life-altering. Maybe turning 25 means a new leaf, and I want to start making my own choices, not just doing what is easiest or most comfortable. I don’t want to take the path of least resistance anymore, and waste my life doing what other people want me to do.

But damn, it’s hard to change. It’s hard to make different choices when people expect you to act a certain way. It’s frustrating to have people constantly question you, inquiring what changed. It’s hard to step out of the comfortable little life you’ve made, and see if there is something new to discover. And it’s even harder when you’re obligated to your life. I love my husband, my kid(s), my house, but they are all obstacles to what I’m trying to do. I can’t go out to a bar and meet new people. I can’t go back to the old friends, the ones from before who still expect to see the old Aletta when I walk through the door. I can’t make any radical change and see where it leads me, because I love what I have, I’m just looking for the ‘more’ that I know is out there. And old habits are hard to break, even when you are dying to get out from under them.

But, we’ll see. I think this will be a good year. No more coasting, it’s time for me to get my ass back in the saddle, and see what I can do with myself.

Pill-Popping Monkey

P came downstairs panicked the other day, Boogie in one arm and an empty pill bottle in the other hand.

Evidently my child, my Angel, had climbed up her changing table, sat on the pad at the top and dug around in the drawer right beneath her. She then proceeded to eat an entire bottle of Hyland's Teething Tablets.

He was freaking out, not sure if we should call Poison Control, or give her milk, or wait and see. I figured since the pills were homeopathic, maybe it would just help her sleep. Um, no. No such luck. We watched her to see if she had any reactions to it, and they didn't even slow her down. She was bouncing off the walls, throwing toys, being a scrawny terror after a packed weekend.

Last night, she was calling to me after I put her in bed, and I figured she needed water so I went in to check on her. She had one leg up on the rail of her crib, so I'm thinking it's time to get her a toddler bed soon, and secure all the furniture to the walls. Today.

Out of the Mouth of an Ass

P: Babe, we're definitely having a boy this time.

Me: Why do you say that, all of a sudden?

P: You remember what Vic said about Ally being ugly in the face when she was pregnant with Jackson? That's you, all the way.

Me: WHA...?

P: No, Baby, I'm happy though! We need to have a boy this time!

Me: You suck.

Girly Bar-B-Que

It's not that I wouldn't BBQ, but I don't know how. I've never got the charcoals going, or seasoned the meat for it so I'm not sure how it would work. Plus, I'd have to watch Boogie while I was cooking, and the thought of stoking the moldering coals with a child on my hip scared the heebee-jeebees out of me.

So last night, I was at a loss for what to make for dinner. I had been picking up meat and corn and potatoes and stock-piling the perfect BBQ meal, but I was missing the man to make it. So I got bold, damnit.

I decided to do a girly BBQ!

That may be really sexist, but I can say this, my oven BBQ tasted damn good, even P was surprised and said that I gave him a good idea next time he makes ribs or carnitas.

My little trick? I bolied the meat in seasoned water for like 20 minutes before I popped it in the oven. And I was literally working for maybe 20 minutes. Cut the ribs apart, put in the water, and boil. While I was boiling, I peeled the potatoes for the salad, cut them up and stuck them in water too. Then I shucked the corn, cut it up, wrapped them in foil with salt, pepper and a pat of butter. When the ribs finished boiling, I plopped them in a backing dish with a couple different BBQ sauces, and some extra spices, covered it, and stuck it in at 400.

After I put the meat in the oven, I took Boogie for a quick Safeway run for milk, eggs, and lettuce. When we got home I put the potatoes on to boil, turned the meat and left it in the the oven some more. When the potaotes were almost done, threw in some frozen veggies, the kind I like, and cooked a bit more, drained, then stirred in some mayo and salt. When the meat was almost done, I took the foil off for about 20 minutes to brown it. And when the meat was finally finger-licking finished, I threw the foiled corn in the oven.

Seriously, that was one of the easiest meals I've ever made in my life. And the meat was so tender you didn't even need a knife. I wish I had made more, so I could make a sandwich later, yummy! BBQ pulled pork with cheese. And I loved seeing P's face when I told him I BBQed or him, but when he took a bite, he was amazed.

Yay me!

Breakfast Dilemma

So, the figlet has completely destroyed my ideal pregnancy: healthy food, excercise and rest.

My biggest problems with food are sort of stupid sounding, but really quite an obstacle to work around. I can't eat and drink at the same time, and I can't stomach sweet foods. Much.

Think on my pain for a second, will you?

No milk and cookies. No cereal. No soup. That's preactically what I loved on when I was pregnant with Boogie. No caffeine-free Coke with my pizza. No super-spicy food.

Okay, so I can deal. Takes a bit of maneuvering, but the kicker is the sweet food part. No Chinese food. No yogurt. No breakfast pastries. No oatmeal. Pretty much no breakfast unless I have time to cook (But because of the whole not-sleeping-at-night thing, I can't drag myself out of bed early enough to make real food). I'm living off sandwiches (but oh! Just heard I'm not supposed to be eating deli meat) so let's make that grilled cheese with tomato sandwiches, and real dinner food. Which sucks for breakfast.

I did figure out I can do sweet with salty, as in English muffin with butter, and half a yogurt. Or waffles with syrup and fried eggs. The "sickness" comes back if I don't follow these rules. How twisted is that?

And I think since I'm not eating enough, I don't have energy to exercise. And because I'm not exercising, I'm not sleeping well. Vicious, vicious circle.

Kick, Baby.... KICK!

So, my figlet is now a tennis ball, or some equally odd size-comparison. Maybe a jumbo shrimp, or a longanista, or.... half eaten Snickers bar? Whatever (she) resembles, 3 inches is about the length now, and I would compare her to an unecxited male organ, but that just seems wrong on too many levels.

I was sitting in a booooring meeting today, not the Union one, because they at least serve pizza there (yay!) but a nit-pick one, where the old-timers show just how much they don't know about the programs they are working on. And I'm talking basic, basic info here.

So anyway, I'm bored, sipping my hippy water while the Help Desk guy explains things I'm flabbergasted that people will actually admit to not knowing. Stuff I learned my first week in training. Stuff you see everyday, deal with every day, and should be able to explain in your sleep.

Maybe because I was so uninterested, I started to notice a little gurgle-bubble rumbling in my tummy. Not up high like indigestion, and not down low like I'm going to have to take a walk down the hall where nobody is sitting, but right in the bladder-ish area where bubbles don't form. (Okay, where normal bladders are, mine is shoved deep down where no bladder has dared to go before....)

And I realized, My figlet was dancing! 3 inches of uncontrollable reflexes doing the jig at 13 weeks, this is what I've been waiting for. Real live proof that I'm knocked up, and God, I miss the feeling so much! The sickness is mostly at bay (for the last few days, anyway) and my pouch is growing, and best of all, the kid is kicking!

That's all. No touching unitl at least 24 weeks, okay?

;)

Bad News, and Something Good Too

Well, the Mazda crapped out.

I knew it was bound to happen eventually, I've been incredibly lucky with mt repair record for the last 9 years, pretty much oil changes and tune-ups, tires, but nothing out of the ordinary so far. Late last week, the "check engine" light came on, and I was planning to drop it off soon at the repair shop to check it out, but, it didn't make it that long. I think she was angry that I was eyeballing other cars.

Wednesday morning P called me to say it kept stalling out and he got a ride to work from the neighbor. This morning we tried to drop it off, him driving and me following in the Camry, but it only made it about 1/4 mile, and we had to call a tow truck.

So, we'll see. I don't even know when they will have a chance to look at it, or how much more this little clunker is going to cost me.

P had to drop me off at work this morning, 2 hours before he has to be at work. He woke up early, got ready in 15 minutes, met the tow-truck guy, then came back to my job so I could drop him off at work and take the car to see Boogie at lunch.

Then, he validated my parking and bought me breakfast. What a doll.

Month Twenty-Three

I was awoken this morning at 5am by the sound of a fussing toddler, not crying, but sort of moaning and sounding very uncomfortable. I tried to go in to get you back to sleep, but after 10 minutes of you peeking up at me through eyes barely closed, and knowing that I would have to be up soon after (and still feeling exhausted and nauseous from the night before) I brought you into bed with Papa and I, and your fuzzy blanket and we slept. I missed so much sleeping with you in the big bed, your soft snores and baby smell, the lavender from your lotion mingling with an over-ripe diaper. Your little hand curled up into a fist beneath my chin and your tiny knobby knees planted firmly in my stomach. The back of your neck was resting on my arm, and even when you started to sweat a bit, you snuggled deeper into the crook of my elbow when I tried to move away.

When you were little, we used to snuggle up for our afternoon naps. By then I was tired too, because your morning and evening naps I would cook, and clean the house while I was home with you, but when I went back to work you stopped sleeping with me except on the weekends, and soon that ended too because you fell madly (and exclusively) in love with sleeping in your crib. But now I know you can sleep with me, and I will take full advantage until your little brother or sister arrives.

Speaking of the little figlet, you have fallen into the most adorable habit this month of kissing each ultrasound picture on the fridge when we go downstairs to get your oatmeal in the morning, then spreading all your fingers wide apart and saying “Two babies!” Or when I’m laying down on the couch reading you a book you’ll pull my shirt up and say “Hi Baby!” You even sing songs to by belly, and rub the forming bulge, stopping every once in a while to give it a kiss. I have no doubt in my mind you will be a fantastic Big Sister. You’ve adopted a stuffed baby doll my aunt sent you who had a double chin and look snot quite right, but you refuse to sleep without her, your “Osie” and your blanket…. For every nap and at night too.

The blanket is getting a bit out of hand though. We had a heat wave this past weekend, it was 80 degrees at 6 am on Friday morning and we went to the Oakland Zoo. Maybe not one of my best ideas, the animals were all so hot they just slept in the shade and we didn’t get to see any lions or bears, and when we got home, dripping with sweat and exhausted at 1pm, you insisted on curling up with your blankie even though an hour later you woke up moaning, your hair drenched in sweat and a huge puddle surrounding your head like a liquid halo. And even then, you asked for your blankie again and went back to sleep. My wish for you is that you find a comfort object that can transition through the seasons, maybe a nice necklace or something that won’t interfere with your sleep, and that you can take out of the house with you when you need it.

I feel like I’m neglecting you lately, I am just so tired and sick it’s hard to get down on the floor to play with you. But then there are those times when you’re sitting with me and we’re just laughing and playing and I look at you and can’t believe that I ever had a part in making such a special little girl. I’ve been told that you love all your children equally, in different ways, but no more or less between them. But sometimes when I look at your smiling face I can’t imagine loving anything in the world more that you. I guess we’ll see, huh?

Happy (day late) 23rd month birthday, my Angel.

I love you,
Mama.

We're All Parents, Right?

Teresa and I took Taryn to the Sausalito Faire on Saturday to get some fresh air and let her run around a bit. There was a stage set up on one side where this odd-ball was playing music and having all the kids act out the song and sing and dance and such.

The stage was shaped sort of like a U, it was a big square with two smalled rectangles sticking out on each side where the speakers were set up. And most of the parents had parted themselves in the lawn in front of the stage with a hot dog and a beer.

There were a few parents in the little space between the two rectangles, and I was standing on the outside edge of one of the rectangles with the speakes between me and Boogie shaking her thing up on the stage. At one point, a little boy maybe 4 years old fell over backwards off the stage and hit his head on the ground. There were two parents within arms reach of the kids who was lying on the ground sobbing for his mom, and they both just sat there looking at each other asking, "Is he yours?"

I stood there for maybe 5 seconds, scanning the crowd to see if his parents would go to get him, or if one of the parents right next to him would comfort him. But when I realized that nobody was making a move, I went all the way around the stage and picked him up, asking him where his mom was sitting.

The two parents were asking me, "Is he yours?" and all I could do was snap, "No, but he's still a child." I was so furious that they would just sit there a let a hurt little kid cry, not lifting a finger to help or comfort him, or even to find his parents. When he saw his mom and ran to her, I snatched Boogie off the stage and stormed away.

Now, I don't want to make a racial generalization here, but I really feel that had we been in a group of minorities, someone closer to the kid would have picked him up and helped him find his mom. It's sad to me that parents have become so disconnected from others that they can sit and watch a child cry, and have no reaction to it. Or that people have become so scared of lawsuits that they won't interfere to help someone who is hurt.

So that was my pissy moment for the weekend. I still can't fathom sitting and doing nothing, or being a parent so involved in my own life that I don't see my own kid get hurt. And now I totally don't trust leaving my kid anywhere without my supervision, because who knows if someone will find me if she gets hurt?