My husband has been asleep since 2:30 this afternoon. It's now 10 p.m. The hours he's been putting in at work are insane. He crept in at 4 or 4:30 a.m. this morning, so I guess he worked around 18-20 hours yesterday. All told, he must have been up for almost 24 hours. When I called him around 2 a.m. - I don't sleep well when everyone's not where they're supposed to be and also had trouble believing that this company would force its contractors to work so late (sure he'd gotten in an accident) - I could hear the guys at work in the background, clacking away on their keyboards and having a freaking meeting. At 2 a.m.
What kind of organization actually thinks you're going to get something valuable out of someone who's been working around the clock? I really don't get it. He's been working until 10:30 or 11 a few nights a week and they even tried to call him in at 10 p.m. Sunday. What the heck? He even got sick this morning, probably in part because of a bug but I can't imagine not sleeping helped. Then for some bizarre reason (ok - same reason he worked until 4, thank you very much, you asshat VP), he dragged his sorry butt into work at 10 a.m., then decided to get home before he could no longer drive.
Don't the people who demand this have families? I guess they're not the guys who have to do the work, so it doesn't matter. It ticks me off that they treat their contractors as sub-human. And I hate the way this disrupts our family life and, selfishly, me. Our son hasn't seen his father much in about three or four days and I haven't, either. I've been losing hours at work, getting there later than I should and leaving early to pick Ragsy up at daycare. I also haven't been able to work out this week, thanks to an increase in-and-out-of-bed trips (Ragsy's excited about pre-school), so I'm starting to gross myself out.
As the icing on the cake, I'm getting to that transitional point in pregnancy where I'm developing new fat pockets and getting stressed about stuff I need to do before this baby comes. Extra cellulite on my thighs and butt, absolutely ginormous breasts and my arm muscles are softening (probably in large part because I'm not carrying a 30-pound kid around as much anymore) - even my freaking calves feel extra jiggly. And having an absent partner who would normally share some of the burden of childcare while I get things clean is not helpful.
Okay, with all that whining, what sayings can I think of to make fun of myself? Please feel free to add other sayings you come up with.
Hmmm...
As noted in the title, I would like some cheese with my whine.
Please call a whaaaambulance.
Boo-freaking-hoo.
Poor me.
There. I'm sluggish and tired (mostly thanks to crappy diet and zero exercise) or I might even be creative and make some up on my own. No such luck, though.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Mother of the year.
I was joking around with some co-workers about our children, and apparently have been labeled Mother of the Year. Of Satan. Fabulous. Fortunately they were joking. Still, I hope this means I haven't yet lost my edge. Considering that my boss once referred to me as the Dowager of Evil, I doubt it.
Speaking of evil, I'm going to spend my next free hour watching True Blood while I wait for my son to fall asleep. I've read all the Sookie Stackhouse books, but even after seeing the first season of the show on Netflix, I haven't yet decided if I even like the series. It's silly to complain that the series doesn't follow the books - of course it wouldn't - but the characters just aren't as intense. Also, Sookie's character is a lot dumber and more gullible than the one in the book, which I find unfortunate.
Whatever it is, it appears to be a combination of far preferring book versions of most stories to the movie/series, kind of bad acting and (in certain circumstances), poorly developed plot line.
Oh, well. I'm home alone once again with the kid - or kids, if you count the one punching my cervix. I'm bummed, but things are better between us than they were yesterday (silly argument, upset stomach). I'm beginning to resent my husband's work. They tried to call him in at 10 p.m. on Sunday, he worked until almost 10:30 Monday and only told him today at 6:30 - as we were preparing dinner - that he needed to come in yet again. Grrr.
Speaking of evil, I'm going to spend my next free hour watching True Blood while I wait for my son to fall asleep. I've read all the Sookie Stackhouse books, but even after seeing the first season of the show on Netflix, I haven't yet decided if I even like the series. It's silly to complain that the series doesn't follow the books - of course it wouldn't - but the characters just aren't as intense. Also, Sookie's character is a lot dumber and more gullible than the one in the book, which I find unfortunate.
Whatever it is, it appears to be a combination of far preferring book versions of most stories to the movie/series, kind of bad acting and (in certain circumstances), poorly developed plot line.
Oh, well. I'm home alone once again with the kid - or kids, if you count the one punching my cervix. I'm bummed, but things are better between us than they were yesterday (silly argument, upset stomach). I'm beginning to resent my husband's work. They tried to call him in at 10 p.m. on Sunday, he worked until almost 10:30 Monday and only told him today at 6:30 - as we were preparing dinner - that he needed to come in yet again. Grrr.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Things I've come to accept.
I should be incredibly irritated. After all, my husband and I came to an agreement only yesterday to be a little more disciplined to make sure we get to do everything we want. That agreement has already been tossed out the window thanks to my husband's work who called him at 10 p.m. on a freaking Sunday, trying to get him to go in. It's now getting toward 9:30 Monday and he's still there. At one point I would have been tearing my hair out in annoyance. But now, I'm just rolling my eyes. I've come to the following conclusions:
1. No matter what I'm about to do (relaxing, watching TV, writing, taking a bath), just as I'm about to do it if it involves something that will benefit only me and not the house, a child or a husband, I will be interrupted by my husband's questions about the remote, what I'm doing, what's for dinner. Or someone will call me and my husband will pound on the bathroom door.
2. My son has the exact same sense of timing my husband does.
3. My son will not sleep. Ever. And by ever, I mean that a million years from now, he will still be awake, probably singing in his high piping voice or yelling, "Hey, mommy! Come on, come here - I'm staying in bed. Come see me stay in bed!" I have been writing this post for 15 minutes and have already been interrupted twice. Oh, bloody hell. Make that three times. How is that kid still so freaking wide awake and, even worse, so damn gleeful about it?
4. Nothing, and I mean nothing, will go the way I hope it will. And if it does, it will freak me out.
5. A schedule with our family will not work. It just won't. When my husband and I came to our agreement, I mean my husband and I sat down and put together a reasonable evening schedule to ensure that the house is eventually put to rights, we both get time to work on our respective side businesses (yes, we both have them) and somehow will get to sleep by 11. The next day, it's 9:30 p.m. and my husband is not home, the kitchen is a sty once more and I need to wait until my son is at least semi-comatose to be able to do really anything.
6. I really, really hate books that are supposed to improve me. You know, Anna Karenina, Faust, Farenheit 451? Yeah, about those. I just can't get into them.
7. I am a much meaner person than I ever realized. I just hide it better.
After reading this, I'm actually trying to get annoyed because I feel it's my duty to do so. I mean, I've experienced every single one of the situations that should tick me off today. But I can't seem to muster the interest, the energy or the same level of irritation I would have just a few years ago. What is wrong with me? Am I losing my edge? Getting old? Getting numb? A combination of all three? Ugh. The kid may be slowing down. I'll bet if I pick up a good book, that'll get my husband to come home.
1. No matter what I'm about to do (relaxing, watching TV, writing, taking a bath), just as I'm about to do it if it involves something that will benefit only me and not the house, a child or a husband, I will be interrupted by my husband's questions about the remote, what I'm doing, what's for dinner. Or someone will call me and my husband will pound on the bathroom door.
2. My son has the exact same sense of timing my husband does.
3. My son will not sleep. Ever. And by ever, I mean that a million years from now, he will still be awake, probably singing in his high piping voice or yelling, "Hey, mommy! Come on, come here - I'm staying in bed. Come see me stay in bed!" I have been writing this post for 15 minutes and have already been interrupted twice. Oh, bloody hell. Make that three times. How is that kid still so freaking wide awake and, even worse, so damn gleeful about it?
4. Nothing, and I mean nothing, will go the way I hope it will. And if it does, it will freak me out.
5. A schedule with our family will not work. It just won't. When my husband and I came to our agreement, I mean my husband and I sat down and put together a reasonable evening schedule to ensure that the house is eventually put to rights, we both get time to work on our respective side businesses (yes, we both have them) and somehow will get to sleep by 11. The next day, it's 9:30 p.m. and my husband is not home, the kitchen is a sty once more and I need to wait until my son is at least semi-comatose to be able to do really anything.
6. I really, really hate books that are supposed to improve me. You know, Anna Karenina, Faust, Farenheit 451? Yeah, about those. I just can't get into them.
7. I am a much meaner person than I ever realized. I just hide it better.
After reading this, I'm actually trying to get annoyed because I feel it's my duty to do so. I mean, I've experienced every single one of the situations that should tick me off today. But I can't seem to muster the interest, the energy or the same level of irritation I would have just a few years ago. What is wrong with me? Am I losing my edge? Getting old? Getting numb? A combination of all three? Ugh. The kid may be slowing down. I'll bet if I pick up a good book, that'll get my husband to come home.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Bathroom Broadcasts.
I keep forgetting how newly potty trained my son is. Just a couple weeks of this and it feels like he's been in underwear forever. Last night he reminded me of how excited he still is about potty training. In a Borders.
So, I had to pee, as most pregnant women do. My son is kind of afraid of public bathrooms because they're much larger than those we have at home and the toilets are much louder. After finally managing to lure him into the bathroom to at least wait outside the stall for me, he abruptly climbed under just as another patron was entering. I asked him not to; he kept coming. All in all, no big deal - kind of gross, worthy of a, "Hey, we don't do that," and another handwash.
So, he stood there in front of me, happily playing with his straw (he still has an obsession with sticks and stick-like things), when abruptly he yanks my legs open and, before I could snap them shut, looks in the potty, looks up at me (my face, thankfully) and crows, "Hey, mommy, you peed! Good job. I'm so proud of you! Now you can ride the school bus, too!" Then proceeds to clap and dance for joy. All the while, I'm snorting and laughing, my head in my hands. I know I shouldn't because it'll encourage it later, but, darn it, it was funny and I couldn't exactly leave immediately.
I could hear the woman in the next stall snickering, and she exited quickly while I was rearranging myself in the stall. All I can think of is that at least he didn't tell anyone outside the bathroom.
So, I had to pee, as most pregnant women do. My son is kind of afraid of public bathrooms because they're much larger than those we have at home and the toilets are much louder. After finally managing to lure him into the bathroom to at least wait outside the stall for me, he abruptly climbed under just as another patron was entering. I asked him not to; he kept coming. All in all, no big deal - kind of gross, worthy of a, "Hey, we don't do that," and another handwash.
So, he stood there in front of me, happily playing with his straw (he still has an obsession with sticks and stick-like things), when abruptly he yanks my legs open and, before I could snap them shut, looks in the potty, looks up at me (my face, thankfully) and crows, "Hey, mommy, you peed! Good job. I'm so proud of you! Now you can ride the school bus, too!" Then proceeds to clap and dance for joy. All the while, I'm snorting and laughing, my head in my hands. I know I shouldn't because it'll encourage it later, but, darn it, it was funny and I couldn't exactly leave immediately.
I could hear the woman in the next stall snickering, and she exited quickly while I was rearranging myself in the stall. All I can think of is that at least he didn't tell anyone outside the bathroom.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Toddler milestones and misinformation
Have you ever noticed how the second your kid starts doing something completely awesome, they all of a sudden start testing boundaries? The sucky thing is that they start testing them in new ways.
Over the last week, our son potty trained himself. After fighting with him for seven months, I finally threw in the towel over Fourth of July weekend and said, "Hey, it's your poop and pee - you go in your pull-up or on the toilet, but I'm done asking if you're ready to go and I'm done fighting about it. When you're ready, you tell me." Four days later, our son decides he's done with diapers and starts using the toilet consistently with just a few reminders and two accidents. Had I known it was as simple as handing over the reins, I would've just done that a long time ago.
Anyway, his new-found toilet prowess also resulted in sleeplessness (goodbye, naps and a normal bedtime) and him telling my husband for the first time that he didn't like him. You can probably imagine how well that sat with him. I tooled around on the Internet, interested in others' experiences with kids saying such things and came up with a blog that informed me that such behavior was a "strong sign" that the child had ADD. Yet another blog indicated that it was a sure sign of clinical depression. Still another said that it was bad parenting, while another indicated a learning disability. All these blogs indicated that a visit to the pediatrician was absolutely necessary. Wait, what?
Kids are absolute, complete jerks sometimes. Toddlers have no filters. I'll admit that there are a lot children out there who probably have medical issues resulting in poor behavior but who haven't been diagnosed, but isn't parenting stressful enough without assuming that everything your kid does is a sure sign of something that requires medication or behavior modification therapy?
The longer I live and the more I read, the more self-evident the following "truths" become. From before my child's conception 'til my death, I must realize:
-My child is damaged and requires medication
-It's all my fault
-Everyone is full of crap
-So am I
Over the last week, our son potty trained himself. After fighting with him for seven months, I finally threw in the towel over Fourth of July weekend and said, "Hey, it's your poop and pee - you go in your pull-up or on the toilet, but I'm done asking if you're ready to go and I'm done fighting about it. When you're ready, you tell me." Four days later, our son decides he's done with diapers and starts using the toilet consistently with just a few reminders and two accidents. Had I known it was as simple as handing over the reins, I would've just done that a long time ago.
Anyway, his new-found toilet prowess also resulted in sleeplessness (goodbye, naps and a normal bedtime) and him telling my husband for the first time that he didn't like him. You can probably imagine how well that sat with him. I tooled around on the Internet, interested in others' experiences with kids saying such things and came up with a blog that informed me that such behavior was a "strong sign" that the child had ADD. Yet another blog indicated that it was a sure sign of clinical depression. Still another said that it was bad parenting, while another indicated a learning disability. All these blogs indicated that a visit to the pediatrician was absolutely necessary. Wait, what?
Kids are absolute, complete jerks sometimes. Toddlers have no filters. I'll admit that there are a lot children out there who probably have medical issues resulting in poor behavior but who haven't been diagnosed, but isn't parenting stressful enough without assuming that everything your kid does is a sure sign of something that requires medication or behavior modification therapy?
The longer I live and the more I read, the more self-evident the following "truths" become. From before my child's conception 'til my death, I must realize:
-My child is damaged and requires medication
-It's all my fault
-Everyone is full of crap
-So am I
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Doctor's appointments and more doctor's appointments.
I will be very glad when this baby is born, if only because I am sick of my doctors. Not that they haven't been very good to me, but...I'm really just tired of all the appointments. Can't I just call and tell them I'm fine?
Monday was the neurologist, today the OB. Tomorrow is a blood test, next week another blood test, a week from Monday is another ultrasound. That's not terrible, though. If I were actually ill, it'd be worse. I did have a reassuring discussion today with my OB. He was a little miffed with the perinatologist who talked about the choroid plexus cysts and managed to make me feel much better. There's a big difference between someone telling you, "Well, these cysts can be associated strongly with stillbirths and early child death, but I think yours should be ok, but that might not be true" and "I'm required to tell you about these, but I've never delivered a child who experienced a problem from these." Even though my OB isn't the most personable individual I've run across, I wanted to hug him by the time I left today.
My neurology appointment was good as well. I did the usual DUI battery (that's the best way to describe it) where I touched my fingers to my nose with my eyes closed, stood on one foot, walked across the floor on toes then heels, then did a few other reflex tests. My reflexes are pretty rock solid.
My sense of smell lately has been in overdrive and it's making me completely nuts. At least Ragsy and my husband don't smell any different. Everything else does, though. I can't stand the smell in my bathroom. And, no, I don't mean any toilet-related scents. I mean I can smell the soap residue that has built up inside the sink and I can't seem to scrub it enough to make it go away, so anytime my face gets near the sink while I'm brushing my teeth or washing my face, I have to hold my breath so I don't recoil. It's absolutely maddening.
I had an overdeveloped sense of smell to begin with, but this is ridiculous. I feel like I'm being bombarded by scent. My clothes smell funny even though they're clean. Food smells wonderful as usual, but more sharply wonderful than before. Outside smells alternately heavenly and like asphalt or grease or gas depending on where I am. It's almost enough to drive me nuts.
The whole experience gives new meaning to waking up and smelling the coffee. Or rather, the leftover stench in my car that used to be delicious-smelling coffee, but after I drink it is the scent of dregs rather than caffeinated deliciousness.
Monday was the neurologist, today the OB. Tomorrow is a blood test, next week another blood test, a week from Monday is another ultrasound. That's not terrible, though. If I were actually ill, it'd be worse. I did have a reassuring discussion today with my OB. He was a little miffed with the perinatologist who talked about the choroid plexus cysts and managed to make me feel much better. There's a big difference between someone telling you, "Well, these cysts can be associated strongly with stillbirths and early child death, but I think yours should be ok, but that might not be true" and "I'm required to tell you about these, but I've never delivered a child who experienced a problem from these." Even though my OB isn't the most personable individual I've run across, I wanted to hug him by the time I left today.
My neurology appointment was good as well. I did the usual DUI battery (that's the best way to describe it) where I touched my fingers to my nose with my eyes closed, stood on one foot, walked across the floor on toes then heels, then did a few other reflex tests. My reflexes are pretty rock solid.
My sense of smell lately has been in overdrive and it's making me completely nuts. At least Ragsy and my husband don't smell any different. Everything else does, though. I can't stand the smell in my bathroom. And, no, I don't mean any toilet-related scents. I mean I can smell the soap residue that has built up inside the sink and I can't seem to scrub it enough to make it go away, so anytime my face gets near the sink while I'm brushing my teeth or washing my face, I have to hold my breath so I don't recoil. It's absolutely maddening.
I had an overdeveloped sense of smell to begin with, but this is ridiculous. I feel like I'm being bombarded by scent. My clothes smell funny even though they're clean. Food smells wonderful as usual, but more sharply wonderful than before. Outside smells alternately heavenly and like asphalt or grease or gas depending on where I am. It's almost enough to drive me nuts.
The whole experience gives new meaning to waking up and smelling the coffee. Or rather, the leftover stench in my car that used to be delicious-smelling coffee, but after I drink it is the scent of dregs rather than caffeinated deliciousness.
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