I was planning to take the whole day off today to help my friend with any incidentals associated with her wedding tomorrow. And I got my wish - I have the whole day off, but my morning will be spent waiting for the AC guy. Sadly, I ours is showing signs that it's about to give. We knew it was older when we bought the house, so this wasn't unexpected. In fact, we have a little fund going to get a new one just for this event, though we were hoping that it would last a little longer. Anyway, I'll be confined to my house until somewhere around 11 or 12 probably.
That isn't always a bad thing, though. Here's my silver lining: I generally get maybe 10-15 minutes of time to myself a day, if I'm lucky. I'm sure it'll get worse with kid #2 because, well, that's their job and mine is to take care of them. But, I'm looking forward to getting some stuff done first. So...
As soon as I finish this, I'll polish off my daily cup of coffee. Then, I'll:
-Finish putting my other raised bed together
-Mow the lawn
-Dig up the sod for the bed
-Place the bed
-Hopefully have time to put together our brand new wheelbarrow
-If the dirt shipment I've ordered comes in early enough from the local nursery and wheelbarrow has been assembled, use said wheelbarrow to move dirt from the top of the driveway into the beds (I can't wait for this part)
-Shower
-After the AC guy comes, get my dress
-Head over to help out with the wedding (I can't arrive any later than 1, though, because that would just be jerkish since I have to get my kid at 5-ish)
Once you own a house, weekends are never the same again. It doesn't matter if you have a kid or not - there's always maintenance. The strange thing is that I enjoy it, especially the outside and dirty bits. So working days off aren't always as unwelcome as you might expect they would be. There's always so much dirt to play with and way too little time to wallow in it.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Explaining the ridiculous.
Ragsy has been enjoying the opportunity to set us straight recently. And there's precious little you can say to a toddler other than "Yuh-huh" once they've made up their mind that you're an idiot. Last week was a good example.
My son has decided that he is also pregnant. Which is fine - apparently that's pretty common. Regardless, I thought I'd take an opportunity to explain a few of the differences between boys and girls because he's been showing a lot of interest in whether or not I have a penis recently. So, after we briefly covered the external parts, I told him that only older girls could have babies in their tummies because they had special parts inside, too, where they could carry a baby. His response was a sharp look, a roll of the eyes and saying, "Mommy, that's just ridiculous." Touche, little man.
Then Saturday, he was playing with his train as usual, running it under the chair in our living room, which my husband was occupying. My husband leaned over the edge and said, "Am I sitting on the tunnel?" Ragsy, apparently concerned for his father's sanity, stood up and patiently explained, "No, you're sitting on a chair, daddy. Remember?" My husband nodded, then Ragsy cupped his face and said, "Do you understand my words, daddy?" Another nod. Apparently satisfied, Ragsy said, "Well, okay. Just remember. This is not a tunnel. It's a chair," then calmly went back to making choo choo noises.
You can't argue with that.
My son has decided that he is also pregnant. Which is fine - apparently that's pretty common. Regardless, I thought I'd take an opportunity to explain a few of the differences between boys and girls because he's been showing a lot of interest in whether or not I have a penis recently. So, after we briefly covered the external parts, I told him that only older girls could have babies in their tummies because they had special parts inside, too, where they could carry a baby. His response was a sharp look, a roll of the eyes and saying, "Mommy, that's just ridiculous." Touche, little man.
Then Saturday, he was playing with his train as usual, running it under the chair in our living room, which my husband was occupying. My husband leaned over the edge and said, "Am I sitting on the tunnel?" Ragsy, apparently concerned for his father's sanity, stood up and patiently explained, "No, you're sitting on a chair, daddy. Remember?" My husband nodded, then Ragsy cupped his face and said, "Do you understand my words, daddy?" Another nod. Apparently satisfied, Ragsy said, "Well, okay. Just remember. This is not a tunnel. It's a chair," then calmly went back to making choo choo noises.
You can't argue with that.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
One down, one to go.
Then the dirt. This weekend is a big weekend for several reasons. The two most important are: I'm putting my raised beds together finally and we're switching Ragsy to underwear. Switching Ragsy over has been a long time in coming. In the room he's in at daycare, even though he's stayed dry all day, they've encouraged me to keep him in pull-ups, I think because they don't want to deal with the mess if there's an accident. They say that he needs to be pooping on the potty everyday. I'm not buying it. We listened at first, then our Parents as Teacher educator told us, "You know, there's nothing in it for them to potty train." Then the lightbulb went off. Duh. There really isn't anything in it. So, as she suggested, we waited for a long weekend and here we are - long weekend, making the switch.
He's stayed dry all day, but it's only 3:30 and he's napping. I expect it's very likely he'll wake up wet. Oh, well. If he learns to wake up when he needs to go, it will have been worth it. Apparently other parents of kids in this room have done the same thing we are. We haven't switched to a different room (where they train earlier) because they do so well with him in every other respect. But I'll be glad for him when he's in pre-school.
Anyway, the other big thing, putting the beds together, isn't so much a huge deal to anyone else but me, but it's extremely cathartic. I've got one done and one to go, but before I do number two, I need to dig up all the sod in that area. I just put the other one over a bed I created last year. Now I need to figure out how to get dirt into them because even I don't think I should be hauling around 40 50-pound bags of dirt and manure. I'm only 3 and a half months pregnant, but I've done that while not pregnant and it's not pleasant. I think I'll have a local nursery deliver. If they refuse to put it directly into the bed (a distinct possibility), I can get a wheelbarrow. My back can handle that.
So, that's our big weekend. What used to seem totally lame to me when I wasn't a homeowner really gets me excited now. There's something incredibly satisfying about planting a garden. And I never thought I'd be so excited about my child's bathroom habits.
He's stayed dry all day, but it's only 3:30 and he's napping. I expect it's very likely he'll wake up wet. Oh, well. If he learns to wake up when he needs to go, it will have been worth it. Apparently other parents of kids in this room have done the same thing we are. We haven't switched to a different room (where they train earlier) because they do so well with him in every other respect. But I'll be glad for him when he's in pre-school.
Anyway, the other big thing, putting the beds together, isn't so much a huge deal to anyone else but me, but it's extremely cathartic. I've got one done and one to go, but before I do number two, I need to dig up all the sod in that area. I just put the other one over a bed I created last year. Now I need to figure out how to get dirt into them because even I don't think I should be hauling around 40 50-pound bags of dirt and manure. I'm only 3 and a half months pregnant, but I've done that while not pregnant and it's not pleasant. I think I'll have a local nursery deliver. If they refuse to put it directly into the bed (a distinct possibility), I can get a wheelbarrow. My back can handle that.
So, that's our big weekend. What used to seem totally lame to me when I wasn't a homeowner really gets me excited now. There's something incredibly satisfying about planting a garden. And I never thought I'd be so excited about my child's bathroom habits.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Is there a doctor in the house?
This morning, my husband, my son and I were all lying in bed, my son in the middle. I felt like hell, my husband felt like hell and my son was alternately snorting mucous, coughing and joyfully belting out a song about Amsterdam. My husband and I stared at the ceiling, dully debating over whether either of us should go to work. (Ragsy wasn't really a question - he's been fine by the afternoon and always fever-free; also, he runs around like a chicken with its head cut off while at home.) Eventually, after taking my temperature multiple times and getting up and down a few times to make sure I wouldn't fall over, barf or both if I tried to stand, I cooked breakfast for everyone, snarfed some down and left about an hour later than usual for Wednesdays.
Work was ok - I spent most of it in a fog, trying to muster up some sort of reaction when I was told I was promoted to Senior Product Manager. A healthy diet of any sort was a bust - I indulged for the second time in two years in a kid's meal at a fast food restaurant, with a kid-sized coke and everything. I'd slap my own hand, but dredging up the energy to care is just too exhausting.
My brain doesn't seem to be working because it's still floating about a foot above my head. My arms are heavy and my face is throbbing. Again, illness is always made worse by pregnancy. I can't tell where pregnancy nausea begins and my infection nausea begins, where prenatal dizziness starts and general cold-related vagueness ends. Oh, well. All I have to do is get through dinner (being hungry makes me want to throw up more) and I can go to bed. Just another hour. I can get through another hour, right? Right?!
Work was ok - I spent most of it in a fog, trying to muster up some sort of reaction when I was told I was promoted to Senior Product Manager. A healthy diet of any sort was a bust - I indulged for the second time in two years in a kid's meal at a fast food restaurant, with a kid-sized coke and everything. I'd slap my own hand, but dredging up the energy to care is just too exhausting.
My brain doesn't seem to be working because it's still floating about a foot above my head. My arms are heavy and my face is throbbing. Again, illness is always made worse by pregnancy. I can't tell where pregnancy nausea begins and my infection nausea begins, where prenatal dizziness starts and general cold-related vagueness ends. Oh, well. All I have to do is get through dinner (being hungry makes me want to throw up more) and I can go to bed. Just another hour. I can get through another hour, right? Right?!
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Tested.
My brain has been incredibly scattered the past three weeks, probably thanks to our crazy schedule lately. I'm hoping for a slowdown next week. Today we went to one of Ragsy's friend's birthday parties (okay, so friend is probably a stretch at 3, but he seems to like her). It was lots of fun for all of us, but I can't believe how that kid can run. I think I need to get him a soccer ball or put him in pee wee soccer next year.
Seriously, he puts me to shame. Granted, I'm pregnant and all, but still - I haven't run that long without stopping for...well, I can't remember the last time. it's probably been several months at least.
Anyway, pregnancy is going well. I'm less tired. Still annoyed with all the appointments and tests - I had four appointments or tests this week alone: one with my regular OB (urine sample) and another with the perinatologist (another urine sample) on Monday, a blood test Thursday, an ultrasound Friday. I have to do a 24-hour creatine test this weekend with another blood test to follow Monday. I could really do without the creatine test.
In case you've never done one, it involves a pitcher that attaches to your toilet, a cooler a jug. In case you're trying to block it out, it's the mother of all urine samples. And yes, you have to keep it on ice. Disgusted yet? Once you deliver it to the lab, then they take a bunch of blood for testing. I'm not happy about it, but it could be lots worse.
The bright spot in all these appointments is the additional ultrasounds - they're kind of fun and the equipment in the perinatal center is higher tech than what they use in the doctor's office. I actually got to see the pulse of the corn blood through my baby's umbilical cord. His or her mouth was opening and closing, too - it looked like a raptor.
One interesting thing the doc told me was that she felt my eclampsia was intertwined with my seizure disorder, which is something I've been asking my neurologist and OB about. Both said no, but I'd prefer to listen to the perinatologist. Of course, a lot of that has to do with her agreeing with me, but, there you go. Still, it seems likely that, while eclampsia is technically a hypertensive issue, if it has a neurological consequence, someone with faulty neurological wiring to begin with would maybe be more prone to it.
I like her a lot. Well, minus the ridiculously large pee sample. Okay, all done rambling. I'm sleepy and my husband has turned on the Corpse Bride by Tim Burton. I've never seen it, but if it's anything like Nightmare Before Christmas, I'm probably not going to appreciate it. I don't generally get movies for anything other than entertainment's sake - appreciating their artistic qualities is almost always beyond me.
Seriously, he puts me to shame. Granted, I'm pregnant and all, but still - I haven't run that long without stopping for...well, I can't remember the last time. it's probably been several months at least.
Anyway, pregnancy is going well. I'm less tired. Still annoyed with all the appointments and tests - I had four appointments or tests this week alone: one with my regular OB (urine sample) and another with the perinatologist (another urine sample) on Monday, a blood test Thursday, an ultrasound Friday. I have to do a 24-hour creatine test this weekend with another blood test to follow Monday. I could really do without the creatine test.
In case you've never done one, it involves a pitcher that attaches to your toilet, a cooler a jug. In case you're trying to block it out, it's the mother of all urine samples. And yes, you have to keep it on ice. Disgusted yet? Once you deliver it to the lab, then they take a bunch of blood for testing. I'm not happy about it, but it could be lots worse.
The bright spot in all these appointments is the additional ultrasounds - they're kind of fun and the equipment in the perinatal center is higher tech than what they use in the doctor's office. I actually got to see the pulse of the corn blood through my baby's umbilical cord. His or her mouth was opening and closing, too - it looked like a raptor.
One interesting thing the doc told me was that she felt my eclampsia was intertwined with my seizure disorder, which is something I've been asking my neurologist and OB about. Both said no, but I'd prefer to listen to the perinatologist. Of course, a lot of that has to do with her agreeing with me, but, there you go. Still, it seems likely that, while eclampsia is technically a hypertensive issue, if it has a neurological consequence, someone with faulty neurological wiring to begin with would maybe be more prone to it.
I like her a lot. Well, minus the ridiculously large pee sample. Okay, all done rambling. I'm sleepy and my husband has turned on the Corpse Bride by Tim Burton. I've never seen it, but if it's anything like Nightmare Before Christmas, I'm probably not going to appreciate it. I don't generally get movies for anything other than entertainment's sake - appreciating their artistic qualities is almost always beyond me.
Monday, May 11, 2009
No place like home.
I was in Raleigh this weekend for my sister's graduation. She just got her MBA! I was so proud of her - after several long years of supporting her husband through his MBA and job losses (he's in the financial sector, which has clearly been prone to layoffs), she got her MBA from a prestigious school after working her ass off for 22 months.
We had a great time - flew in on Friday, went to a reception almost immediately, then back to the hotel, then out to dinner. The next day started with a walk in the woods in 90-degree heat (not surprisingly, my sister and I were the only ones who went), we picked up her cap and gown, went back to the hotel to meet everyone for lunch, then off to graduation, another reception, then dinner, which lasted into the wee hours of Sunday morning.
My only complaint over the weekend was getting whatever Ragsy got 20 minutes before I was to meet my family for breakfast on Sunday and just hours before getting on a plane. There's nothing worse than being on your hands and knees in front of a toilet in a strange place when all you want to do is curl up and die. Anyway, I made it through the day, got on the plane and came home to...nothing. Which was kind of disappointing, but my husband doesn't think in those terms, sadly. When I got upset, I was taken out for Chinese food (I'm not certain why these things are only deemed important after I get upset - my husband apparently hasn't gotten the whole idea where I don't like to have to ask for at least a Happy Mother's Day, which is a whole other story) and brought home to a house that looked like a train wreck. But it's my house. Mine.
Being here made me feel better, even though I was somewhat saddened by the stuff everywhere. Oh, well - can't have everything, right? Today is my "day off." I hate quotes, but I used them anyway, because the day will be spent going to and from doctor's appointments and attempting to put the house back in order while ensuring healthy food in the fridge instead of various pizza remnants, stromboli scraps and last night's leftovers. Yuck. Oh, well. There's no place like home.
We had a great time - flew in on Friday, went to a reception almost immediately, then back to the hotel, then out to dinner. The next day started with a walk in the woods in 90-degree heat (not surprisingly, my sister and I were the only ones who went), we picked up her cap and gown, went back to the hotel to meet everyone for lunch, then off to graduation, another reception, then dinner, which lasted into the wee hours of Sunday morning.
My only complaint over the weekend was getting whatever Ragsy got 20 minutes before I was to meet my family for breakfast on Sunday and just hours before getting on a plane. There's nothing worse than being on your hands and knees in front of a toilet in a strange place when all you want to do is curl up and die. Anyway, I made it through the day, got on the plane and came home to...nothing. Which was kind of disappointing, but my husband doesn't think in those terms, sadly. When I got upset, I was taken out for Chinese food (I'm not certain why these things are only deemed important after I get upset - my husband apparently hasn't gotten the whole idea where I don't like to have to ask for at least a Happy Mother's Day, which is a whole other story) and brought home to a house that looked like a train wreck. But it's my house. Mine.
Being here made me feel better, even though I was somewhat saddened by the stuff everywhere. Oh, well - can't have everything, right? Today is my "day off." I hate quotes, but I used them anyway, because the day will be spent going to and from doctor's appointments and attempting to put the house back in order while ensuring healthy food in the fridge instead of various pizza remnants, stromboli scraps and last night's leftovers. Yuck. Oh, well. There's no place like home.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
I will not barf.
This is my mantra today. I'm the last one standing in this house and I refuse to cave. After watching me get showered with regurgitated water (thank you, Ragsy), my mom promptly ran for the bathroom and barfed, too. As the resident pregnant woman, I should be the most susceptible to gastronomic distress. But apparently not.
It's funny, though. Now that my mom has vomited, she's back to speaking about rich foods that, strangely, make me feel like barfing, too. Now, what time are you coming over?
It's funny, though. Now that my mom has vomited, she's back to speaking about rich foods that, strangely, make me feel like barfing, too. Now, what time are you coming over?
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