Sunday, December 27, 2009
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Friday, July 31, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
Chubbs has a thing for sticking his hands in my armpits. I’m not really sure what this is about. No matter how many times I remove his hands, or how hard I squeeze my arms to my torso, he always manages to worm his chubby little fingers into my armpit. And proceeds to scratch or pinch me. I’m not really sure which is worse: to have sharp, little baby nails digging into my skin, or to have a small portion of my skin rolled between his surprisingly strong thumb and forefinger. At least he has a good pincer grasp.
It seems to mostly be restricted to times when he wants to be comforted, like when we are nursing, when he is trying to fall asleep, or when he is nursing while asleep in the middle of the night. This last one is particularly annoying, as you might imagine. It’s fairly hard to sleep while you have a little fist opening and closing in your armpit.
Which begs the question, what is it about his hands in my armpits that is comforting? My deodorant is “energizing citrus and lemongrass,” which doesn’t seem exceptionally comforting. And I’m pretty sure he’s never heard of Mary Katherine Gallagher.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Monday, June 15, 2009
Friday, June 5, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
On Sunday afternoon at approximately 3:30 pm, I was the victim of a baby attack. Cormac was sitting on my lap, happy as can be, when all of a sudden, Bam! His finger went straight into my eye. There was no warning. I couldn't see, and tears were pouring from my eye just as fast as expletives were pouring from my mouth.
Ok, so maybe I'm being a little dramatic, but this seriously hurt. I mean, I can stand a whole lot of pain; when one of my lumbar discs herniated two years ago, I dealt with the pain for four days before I went into see a doctor (not necessarily a great decision). Heck, I had a baby! But this eye pain was bad enough that I called Chris to come home from work so that I could go to the urgent care clinic.
And then I sat in the urgent care exam room for four hours. Not that they weren't doing their job, it's just that as far as injury triage goes, I was at the low end of the totem poll. So I sat in the exam room with my eyes closed and tried not to think about how long I had been there. After a couple hours I turned off the lights and curled up on the padded bench. Sleep was not an option, however. Imagine a piece of sand paper being held on the center of your eye - it hurts even when your eye isn't moving, but with even slight movement, like your pupil dilating or constricting with changes in the light, there is intense pain.
Finally, after I had been there about three hours, I just started crying. I was hungry, tired, thirsty, and in pain. And then the doctor came in. So that was embarassing. But he put in these numbing drops and within seconds I had no pain. Hallelujah! That lasted for about an hour - enough time for them to do an eye exam, diagnose me with a corneal abrasion, write me a few prescriptions for vicodin and eye drops, and send me out the door. Then the pain came back, but this time I was armed with vicodin. And while that only took some of the pain away, it also made me not care so much. I love narcotics.
I am still on the road to recovery today (Wednesday). My eye is still pretty sensitive to light and my vision is definitely blurred. On the other hand, my eye is not swollen shut, I can actually keep it open for an extended period of time, and the pain is pretty well controlled with periodic doses of ibuprofen.
So the next time you're around a baby, be a bit more weary. Injuries usually occur quickly and without warning. You never know what the outcome will be when babies attack!
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Another example: my good friend Kate's wedding (maybe people shouldn't be inviting us to weddings). The event took place up at Peaceful Valley Ranch in the mountains, and the ceremony was up above the complex in a pretty, little outdoor area, to which you had to take a shuttle. We got there so late that we actually had to ride up to the ceremony with the bride. (Sorry, Kate.) She also looked very beautiful.
I remember a conversation Chris and I had one night (before Chubbs was born) as we were driving to meet friends at a bar, and we were late as usual:
Me: I think we're just doomed to be that family that always shows up late to everything.
Chris: Don't be so pessimistic; maybe we can change. We should work on that.
Me: Yeah, maybe, but I'm really not seeing it.
Chris: We could make sure we schedule things really well and start leaving early for things.
Me: uncontrollable laughter. Umm, sure.
Nope, we're doomed.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Once I stopped finding the mice cute (because they are hanta-virus-carrying little bastards that poop on my kitchen counter), we moved on to more serious methods of extermination. We tried the snap traps, but the results were just gross. Then Slim suggested the use of sticky traps, as he had had some success with them in his childhood. The problem is, the mice just stick to them; they don't die. So that means you have to pick up a trap with a still-wriggling mouse attached to it. And sometimes the mouse has managed to drag itself several feet while still attached to the trap, which makes the whole situation even more grim.
Even though I find the sticky traps unbearable to dispose of, I will admit that they work. So I put a couple in the basement to catch the mice that are too chicken to venture out on the kitchen counter. When I went to check on them the next day, I found one trap full. One. The other one had disappeared. Seriously. I looked everywhere - under piles of clothes, behind boxes, underneath the furnace. Nothing. I have no idea where the thing could have gone.
So we probably have a dead mouse rotting away in our basement. Awesome. Could explain the smell...
Saturday, February 21, 2009
The problem is, there is nothing sweeter than rocking a baby to sleep. I love the short interlude after he totally relaxes, but before he has fallen asleep. He just lays there in my arms, looking at me through half-closed eyes with unwavering trust. I am always flooded with an overwhelming sense of responsibility and a desire to protect this child from anything and everything bad in this world. And even though I know I can't, and shouldn't, promise that, I can't help but want to.
When you become a mother, I think you shift a portion of your own sense of self-preservation to your child. As long as your baby is safe, everything is OK. You know that if it ever came down to it, you would give up everything in order to protect him.
All these thoughts swirl around in my head every time I rock Chubbs to sleep, and I know that he is the most wonderful thing I have ever created.
So to all the sleep experts: keep your theories to yourself. And even if you are right, that I should be putting Chubbs in his crib before he falls asleep, I am willing to deal with the consequences. Because nothing is sweeter than rocking a baby to sleep.