Speaking of vomiting...

Okay, okay - after this post, I swear I'm done with the barf talk. However, I just called daycare to tell them that my son was sick and not coming in. I told them what was wrong and they started apologizing right and left. I don't get it. If there are a lot of young children together all day and one gets sick, of course, all of them are going to get sick. That's just the way it works. I'm not mad about it - I certainly don't like being covered in sick, but I also get that that's what happens sometimes with young children.

Anyway, I guess some parents were furious because it was going around. Unless they were careless with the food and that was what cause him to get ill, I really don't mind - I don't see how they could control it any more than they are now by sanitizing the heck out of everything, which they do regularly anyway. Is it truly common to get mad at this? If so, it seems ridiculous to blame someone else for a virus spreading unless they're just letting kids play in each other's gak. Ewwww... Okay. Once more, I feel dirty.

I feel dirty.

I just had a first. My toddler woke at 5 a.m. this morning (no, that's not unusual). He seemed upset and my first thought was, "Ugh. What's it gonna take before he goes back to..." then my second thought was "Shit! What do I do? Which way is the bathroom again?" He woke whimpering, then crying, then began the ominous burping. Uh-oh. And copious amounts of barf - amounts I never before suspected possible.

By the time I managed to get him to the bathroom and turn the light on, he was on his last heave. My husband came along and helpfully mentioned, "Hey, he hardly got any on the floor." That's probably because he and I were wearing most of it. So all that was left was to sit him on the bathmat, strip him, wipe him up and change his diaper. Then I got to get clean. Even though I've showered already, I feel like I could use another one just to get that smell out of my head. Ick.

I've gotten lucky so far, given that this is the first time he's vomited. Even luckier, he hasn't done it again yet, but the day's hardly even begun.

Stupidly, I can't help but be a little proud of myself since I didn't throw up, too, even though I was covered in it and I also didn't freak out, just kept rubbing his back, murmuring, "I bet that hurts, but it's okay. Almost done. Almost done. There you go - good boy." Within a half hour, he was feeling just fine, though tired. I think he was most freaked out by the barfing and more than a little annoyed about us taking his temperature (low-grade fever). He's asleep now.

That was really disgusting. I feel dirty. Worse, I'm sure my husband and I are just ticking bombs ourselves now. Good thing we didn't have plans with friends this weekend.

Thanksgiving.

Ugh. I just realized I desperately need to add links to my blog so I can find my friends easier. But I'm lazy and just haven't done it yet.

Anyway, on to Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving was good. We had a few of my husband's friends over plus my mom, who was sane for the evening. We all ate, drank and made merry. Ragsy was adorable and sweet until I had to put him to bed, of course, when he turned into a screaming little rat. But that was ok. He tends to do that at night. He's still cute even when he's a screaming little rat. As long as I keep my cool, it doesn't really matter.

The weekend as a whole was satisfying, though I got really, really stir crazy Saturday. My mom is a homebody. Meaning, she's content to sit in the living room at my house and sew for hours and hours. She always has a TV on, which is a nasty habit, especially when we're trying to discourage our child from getting too accustomed to TV. Whenever she visits, the TV is on more or less from the time she wakes to whenever she goes to bed. Which is funny because she doesn't actually watch it - she just talks constantly over the din. I think that she's kept it on so much at her own house for company/background noise, that she hardly notices it when it's on but feels weird when it's off because of the quiet. She's admitted before that she hates the quiet - it makes her uncomfortable.

Anyway, when Saturday rolled around with me exhausted (apparently it's fun to wake at 3:30 a.m. and scream periodically just as people are falling asleep - fun for Ragsy, not for me) and mom was trying to carry on a conversation with me when I was in another area of the house, trying to watch my kid while my husband worked, I finally got annoyed and grabbed Ragsy and left. I was a bit miffed (though somewhat pleasantly surprised) when mom opted to come with me to the Magic House. I liked the adult company, but my mom is a bit of a snob. If you've met her, you probably know that she doesn't like crowds. She also doesn't like children (except for Ragsy). Why she wanted to go with us to a crowded children's playhouse, I'll never know, but we weren't there more than a half hour or 45 minutes.

Whatever. We managed to tire the kid out and my husband and I got an unexpected gift: my mom offered to sit with Ragsy while we went to dinner. Alone. It was absolutely wonderful. That, combined with our decent Thanksgiving day, more than made up for any ills the weekend may have brought.

So, is there a point to this post? Hell, no. Am I babbling? Hell, yes. Did you read this far? Ha ha!

Work.

Work today is, as I expected, a complete wasteland. There are four of us from our combined team here, which is both good and bad. I'm not sure if I feel more or less motivated to work than I normally do. Although, I'm finding it almost as difficult to work as I did Wednesday, given that my husband keeps calling me with questions like, "Andi, I can't find Ragsy's hat and gloves. Where are they." I tell him where they are, he thanks me, hangs up. Then calls back two minutes later. "I can't find them. Are you sure they're there?" Gah! I can't really do anything from here but make additional suggestions. "Have you checked his clothing drawer? How thoroughly did you go through the hat drawer?" and so on.

Very irritating. And now my concentration is a little bit blown, especially since I know I'll be getting out of here in a mere two hours. I think I'll go shopping. I know, I know. Brave. I'll have to fight with the hordes of people who've been shopping since 4 a.m., who are hungry and spoiling for a fight over something silly like a stuffed Tickle me Elmo. Fortunately, Ragsy's only getting one gift from us this year, and I'm not getting it for him today.

All I need to get are demitasse spoons for my mom, a cup of coffee for me and then I'm outta there. Unless I want to dally to enjoy a few minutes of freedom and relative quiet. Well, it won't be quiet, but at least no one will be talking to me!

Blessing or Curse?

I have yet to figure out whether my son's insane waking times are a blessing or curse. On the one hand, waking up at four a.m. is hard as hell. Especially when it takes an hour and a half to convince a babbling toddler to shut it and go to sleep. On the other hand, once said toddler goes to sleep, I get a very few precious moments of me time. If I could be guaranteed that kind of time every morning, I'd happily get up at 4 a.m. almost every morning. Almost.

However, it's the uncertainty that gets me. For example, I began writing this around 6:15 a.m. this morning. My little one had been asleep for almost an hour, I had had an opportunity to have a pretty decent breakfast and was looking forward to some time spent venting and babbling on my blog while glugging some coffee. But it was not to be. As luck would have it, as soon as I put my fingers to the keys, I heard a loud and incredulous "DAH! Dah dah dah dah....Door?? Go DOOR? For BAH?" over the baby monitor. Then crying when he realized he was alone. Blast. Scrap that plan.

Still, those moments I do get in the morning are like a weird guilty pleasure. Perhaps it's because they're so hard-won. After spending more than an hour putting the kid back to sleep, I feel like I need a few moments to do a victory dance at least. You know, before passing out again.

Ah, well. Tonight is my husband's night, which means he gets up with the little one. Unfortunately, since my mom is in town after today, Ragsy is back in our bed since we're short a mattress and he doesn't agree that he can sleep in his crib. He'll agree for about two hours, then stringently disagree. For about three hours. It's just not worth it. I value my hearing too much. Regardless, it's not much of a night off when you have a 28-pound kid slung across your neck (why, oh why doesn't he do that to my husband? Why must I routinely have my airway cut off while my husband sleeps peacefully, unencumbered, on the other side of the bed? Or alternatively, with Ragsy tucked sweetly against his shoulder?).

There is truly a reason kids are this cute. So you don't really sell them to the gypsies.

Blargh.

I'm all bleary eyed and sleepy. What a dreary day. I used to love days like today, because it wasn't necessary to actually demonstrate any energy - I could just lay on the couch all afternoon like a lump, drifting in and out of naps. But this is better. Even if it's harder, it's better.

I know I was just whining about my family, but my son is awake and I can hear him making lion sounds in the kitchen with his dad. Both are incredibly cute.

Ragsy has been learning new words like crazy and refining his use of existing ones. He's adjusted his earlier negative, which sounded like "nenenenenenenene" to actually sound like a no. A very loud no, repeated over and over and over. Especially in public places when I'm trying to hold his hand to prevent him from racing into the street.

I was joking with my husband that this must have happened around 3:48 a.m. this morning. He wasn't doing this yesterday. The reason I say it must have happened at 3:48 was that our son usually wakes for about a half hour to an hour around 4 a.m. even after we've climbed into bed with him. This morning was a trifle earlier than usual (3:47) and, since I've completely stopped interacting with him at that time other than to rub his back, he went back to sleep within about five minutes. But not after he popped his head up, yelled something incoherent that might have been an "Aha!" and promptly passed out again. Only to wake up and yell "No. No. No nononononono!" when I suggested it was time to change his diaper.

Good grief. This is worse than when he pointed at my chest and yelled "boobs!" the other day. I really hope that was a fluke and not deliberate.

Gripe.

I wondered how long it would take before I'd start griping on my blog about this and that. It only took, what, four posts? So, my gripe is as usual about my home life. Funny how the people you love most are the ones that make you the nuttiest.

So, my husband has been talking a lot about providing me more time to write more on the weekends. In other words, the idea is that he'll take over more of the childcare (which I do the bulk of) and allow me to write some more. Which is great. As a published writer, I don't want to get completely out of practice, and I thrive when I have time to write. But so far, my husband's promises have been mostly talk. And when I do get time to write, it's not nearly as much as I give him to tackle his own pursuits, you know, like sleeping 'til noon at least one day on the weekend.

So I'm frustrated. I feel like I not only take care of all the cooking and most of the cleaning, but sometimes I feel like I have two kids instead of one. They both complain when I ask them to help me out; only I'm able to convince one of them (my son) to do give me a hand a lot more easily than I am the other.

Anyway, it's just irritating. But it's something that's been a constant battle since our little boy was born. I suspect that, until our son is able to take on some household chores, it will continue to be a battle. Then we'll find something else because that's what happens when you live with someone. There's always something to argue about and, chances are that unless that thing goes away, it's the same thing over and over.

But at least it's predictable.

Focus.

I am having the hardest time focusing today. Maybe I should go for a short walk soon. Hopefully that'll redirect me back to what I'm supposed to be doing. But I can hear so many people (okay, one very, very loud person in particular) yammering - practically yelling - nearby on the phone, people keep stopping by to ask me questions and when they're not stopping to ask me questions, I'm getting phone calls. It's frustrating to set my mind to start working on something, then get constantly distracted.

Anyway, if I go away for a while, I might be able to reset myself a little. Or find someplace to hide so no one can bug me. But who am I kidding? It's a sunny Friday. Even though it sounds like we have an auditorium full of people over my right shoulder and my desk seems to be a revolving door, it's pretty low-key in here.

On a more positive note, I got a compliment today. It doesn't take a whole lot to make me happy. But I've been trying to lose weight, with moderate success and apparently it's showing. It's always incredibly satisfying when someone notices something good you've done. Now if I could just get that extra 20 pounds to fall off my ass, we'd all be good.

Birthday.

Today is my birthday. I am 32. I remember thinking that was absolutely ancient and now it blows my mind that some day my son will think the same thing.

I'm happy today. I was thinking about what I wanted to accomplish in my life when I was a little girl and realized that I accomplished everything I wanted to and then some so now it's time to set some new goals. Or to start doing what I've done already and re-commit myself to doing it better than I have before.

Birthdays are much better days than January 1 to set personal goals. For me they're much more meaningful - a more accurate yardstick for what I've done. But that's just me.

Quiet!

Quiet is extremely underrated. And there's rarely enough of it. I love the benign chaos that reigns whenever my family is near, but I also long sometimes for the long times of complete silence that I used to enjoy before our son was born. I would never undo what I've done so far, my son, husband and all my friends included.

But, as the holidays approach and more and more family come in to visit and I'm expected to go into some alternate warp holiday drive because my son must, must enjoy Christmas, I wish more and more for the quiet. My mother, in particular, makes me wish for that. She doesn't like silence, probably because she lives by herself in a fairly large house. Whenever I visit her, there are usually at least two TVs blaring - each in different rooms - to break up the quiet. Then when she comes to visit me, our TV gets a workout and our son gets his fill since we don't let him watch TV otherwise.

Perhaps it's a failing of mine, but I find the TV to be the biggest hindrance to thinking, speaking and sex. When you're mesmerized and sitting on the couch, it's hard to engage in meaningful talk.

Anyway, that's my soapbox speech for today - everyone shut up and get off my lawn!

Virgin Blog

Ahhh, a virgin blog. So pure. So innocent. Not for long.

Okay. That's a lie. I don't actually have much to say. But whatever. I'll make it up as I go.

Let's see. I suppose I should at least introduce myself to my blog before I completely deflower it. I'm a thirty-something woman with an 18-month-old son and a husband about the same age (as me, not my son because that would be creepy).

This is actually my second blog. I have another one that I write frequently that friends read to keep up with me, but since this came along with my gmail account and it's nice to have a work-safe outlet (theoretically safe anyway), I decided to start typing away.

I work in healthcare product management, something I never in my wildest dreams expected to do. When I was little, I expected to be an archaeologist. Hah! When I realized I'd be eating velveeta for the rest of my life and living in a tent in South America while my husband was here in the States, I decided I'd stay here instead of getting my PhD. Funny, I feel like I got the better end of the deal.

I still stay in touch with my archaeologist friends, though, and once in a while get reprints on documents I created as a field archaeologist.

Regardless, I got to stick around and practice my other childhood dream, which was becoming a writer. So I freelanced for a couple of years, started to get some money and also became a modestly well-known erotica author (what? sex sells better than anything else). So that worked out well. Anyway, one of my corporate clients hired me and here I am - still writing, but working, too, plus raising a family and doing whatever else it is that I do. And that's more or less it for now.

I'm working on a couple of pretty large government projects at work, so I should probably get back to that, delightful as it sounds.