*whimpers*

Second to the migraine that I had for five weeks or so, the absolute worst part of my pregnancy with Rosco was how he positioned himself towards the end.

He had some body part wedged right at the bottom of my right ribs.  He would move and kick and it would hurt so bad it would take my breath away.  At the time I simply supposed “Well, I’m short - where else is he going to go?”  I did try to talk the OB into inducing me so I could get the kid out, but she wasn’t having it.

What are the chances that a second kid will favor those exact same ribs?  (Hypothetical question.)  Oh muh damn.  Em’s got her feet right there and in the past few days she’s been making her power increasingly evident.  Before now, she’d sort of nestle into that side at night and perhaps an elbow or foot would poke out and prevent me from laying on my right comfortably.  But then yesterday: holy shit.  Last night I must have rolled about ten times trying to get off my side.  It’s hard to sleep on my left without suffocating because Scott’s over there, so I always end up rolling back the other way.  The only semi-comfortable position at this point is sitting straight up (and even that is a strain on my back).

Now the daytime thumps and punches will intensify and I’ll be spending my days clutching myself and making boo-boo sad faces.

This Wednesday I have an ultrasound scheduled to see how big she’s getting.  They’re really checking for growth restriction, and I am *really* curious now to know if there’s a significant uterine abnormality that’s keeping them off of that top left quadrant.  It’s just weird that they’d both lay at the exact same angle given they’re 3 1/2 years apart and the uterine memory isn’t supposed to be that long.  (The only difference so far is that R was front-facing and Em is somewhat behaving and facing the rear.)  If she’s not growing at a normal pace I guess they’d pick a date and induce me since sometimes kids who aren’t thriving in the womb do much better on the outside.  On the other hand, if she’s bigger than average I’m not sure if they’d do anything about it.  (For reference, Rosco was a hair shy of 8 pounds.)

*holds self*

Posted by Tiffany on 04/30 at 09:17 AM
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ROSCO!

Every time some stranger comes into this house, Rosco follows around whoever is escorting the stranger and interjects himself into the adult conversation.

When it’s just one of us home alone it’s a real problem.  He’ll stand right beside you, talking over you, and saying things to the stranger like “Yeah, yeah, yeah, OKAY MAN, it’s time to go.”

Super-embarrassing.  He won’t stay put in a room while you’re in the course of the meeting.  He’ll get louder and just follow you.

Right now Scott is talking to a contractor about our master bedroom situation.  Rosco tried to insert himself into the action before the guy even got himself into the house, but I had to drag him off, kicking and screaming, into the t.v. room.  I had to do the mommy-hiss on him: you know—squinty eyes and lecturing him through clenched teeth.

He cried the “I’ve been beaten!  CPS, come get me!” cry for about 30 seconds, and then he settled into watching Clifford.  Just like that.

That child.  *sigh*

Posted by Tiffany on 04/29 at 11:24 AM
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I am banshee, hear me scream!

You know, I’m one of those women who undergoes a pretty severe personality change during late pregnancy.  I hide it pretty well I guess.  If I didn’t someone would certainly think I was a sociopath.  I’m actually sitting here right now with my brow furrowed based on a conversation I had hours ago.

I’m far less likely to like people.  People who were on the cusp before automatically go into my “dislike” list.  People who I like need to tread carefully or I might snark them to death.  People who I disliked before are absolutely in the “Don’t fucking try to talk to me” list.  I think this is some sort of evolutionary thing.  Maybe some cavewoman made the connection that toxic people gave her a headache or something.

I don’t like to make decisions regarding terminating relationships when I’m pregnant because I know I might be acting rashly.  But seriously?  I’m this close—> || <—to deleting my Facebook account.  There are a shitload of super-entertaining people in my list, so this isn’t a reflection of them.  This is a reaction to the one or two who really annoy the fuck out of me.  I’m just over it.

I haven’t spoken to a certain family member in two years, yet we’re Facebook “friends.”  Not that friendly, obviously.  She can only see my limited profile and my albums.  I don’t respond to her messages.  Again, this person annoys the fuckity-fuck out of me in pretty significant ways.  The only reason I extend as much courtesy to this person as I do is because I’m actually a decent person (a decent person who swears a lot—we do exist).

I guess I just don’t believe that being stressed out has to be a mandatory thing.  I’d rather cut ties and have a huge smile on my face than be devoted to something/someone that wants to suck the life out of me.

Posted by Tiffany on 04/28 at 05:19 PM
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BEHAVE, fetus!

I swear this young’un is trying to give me heart failure.

I told you how when I went in for one of my first prenatal appointments (the second one I think) that the doc couldn’t find her heartbeat on doppler.  This was after I’d had a viability ultrasound but before she was large enough to assure me that she’s okay by kicking the piss out of me regularly.  The doctor wheeled in the ancient ultrasound machine to see what she was doing and of course: she was fine.  (Statistically at that point I would be one really unlucky hag for her not to have been given the year I’d had.)

Well, today I went in for my 30-week appointment and she decided to play peek-a-boo with the doppler again.  Right now her spine is curled against my abdomen and her butt wedged under my right ribs.  So, that means her heart is closer to my spine than to my belly button.  It took about five minutes to pick her heartbeat up on doppler and he ended up locating it on my left side right under my ribs.  *shrug*  Of course, she was bumping him through my belly as he palpated, so it wasn’t an issue of “Is she all right?” but more-so of “Where’s your heartbeat, kid?” 

Please child - just cooperate.

In other news I passed my glucose tolerance test “with flying colors.”  I knew I would: I handle sugar like it ain’t no thang.  (Salt on the other hand….ugh.)

I guess they also tested me for anemia when they drew blood last month and it seems I’m borderline anemic.  That is to say if the cut-off for diagnosis is 17, I was at like 16.8.  (I don’t remember the exact numbers.  I don’t have great short-term memory, but suffice it to say I didn’t meet the minimum.)

The doctor asked if I’ve been tired.  Well of course I have.  I just assumed it was general preggo tired and not any sort of nutritional deficiency.  I don’t eat a lot of red meat, but I do get iron from other places…or at least I thought.  Doc says that anemia is one of those things that tends to get worse as the pregnancy progresses so it’d be a good idea to supplement with some iron pills…lest I crumble to the floor in a sleeping pile one day.
Constipation here I come.

Posted by Tiffany on 04/27 at 12:18 PM
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Picky.

When it comes that food I’m generally not that hard to please.  If someone puts a plate in front of me I’ll eat what’s on it.*

When I hooked up with Scott I had to alter my cooking preferences a lot.  There’s a long list of ingredients he shuns (including mustard, onions, tomatoes in most forms, peppers, and so on), so there are certain things I just can’t cook.  Stuffed peppers?  Huh.  I can’t remember the last time I had that.  [mouth waters at thought]  Basically, Scott has an aversion to simple food items that can be found in almost every savory recipe.

True, I could cook things just for me, but that’s an absolute waste.  Ingredients tend not to come sized for individual servings, and cooking one serving is just as time consuming as cooking four.  Instead I’ve just adapted by only cooking things that he’ll probably eat.  Sometimes I stick something new into the roster because I think he needs it in his diet, but for the most part I don’t travel off the beaten trail.

With Rosco, from the time he started eating solids I tried to put things into his diet that Scott has problems with.  Most of the time he does okay.  He’ll eat pickles (Scott will only handle them with napkins) and peppers and all sorts of things Scott won’t eat.  Usually, if he doesn’t know something is “bad” he’ll eat it.  (He thinks mustard is nasty because Scott told him so.)  That’s not to say he’s not picky.  If it seems like I’m talking out of both sides of my mouth here, bear with me.

As Rosco has matured into total three-year-oldness, he has definite preferences about what he’ll eat and how.  For example, I’m hard-pressed to get him to eat chicken in any form other than nugget-shaped.  Chicken strips?  Only with bribery.  Grilled chicken?  Probably not.  Additionally, he likes to have all his food laid out in front of him so he can see what’s there.  If I offer him a smorgasbord of items, he’ll at least try all of them but if I give him a burrito, he won’t eat it unless it’s presented to him unfolded so he can review (and reject) the contents.  Again, I just adapt.  If it looks like he’s having a week where he wants to be single-minded in his food requests, I’ll comply but sneak some good stuff in where he’s not looking (for example I’ll substitute his afternoon salty snack for that special yogurt that makes you “regular” - he likes it, so no biggie).

I do get annoyed, though, when something particularly yum is on the table (by my judgment, anyway), and Rosco picks at it.  It’s not like how it was when I was growing up—he has a lot of variety in his diet and his food is prepared in such a way that it would be pleasing to a kid’s palate.  It’s not just stuff slopped onto a plate (no offense to my late granny). 

Tonight’s dinner was from the Relish! line-up.  It’s a menu-planning tool I last used about a year ago.  I took a little hiatus when Rosco was in that finger-food stage: I’m not a short-order cook and I’m not cooking two different dinners.  I re-joined last week when I had an itch for some variety, and it’s nice to let the service do the research and planning work for me each week.  Anyway, the recipe o’ the day was for chicken caesar wraps and a cucumber salad.  Basically heaven on a flour tortilla: grilled chicken, romaine lettuce, and a homemade dressing (no eggs involved - don’t worry) served with a cool salad that included sliced cucumbers and couscous (recipe called for quinoa, but Momma didn’t want to drop $6 on that).

Delightful.

Well, Rosco picked at it, and by that point in the day I didn’t care.  He ate the couscous and left the cukes.  I put four little piddly strips of chicken in his wrap, but didn’t roll it up.  He picked out the chicken, rolled it up, and ate a lettuce and dressing burrito.  Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.  That chicken was damn good and he didn’t even try it.

Sometimes the pickiness is worth battling over, and sometimes it’s not.  Rosco pushed a few of my buttons this afternoon, so I chose not to have the food battle tonight.

I just wish he’d eat the stuff that’s really-really good.  Sheesh.

*Except when it comes to potato salad.  I don’t eat just anyone’s potato salad.  I also don’t eat animal organs, gristly things like pig ears and chicken feet, catfish, and a few other things that have “ick” factor.

Posted by Tiffany on 04/26 at 06:52 PM
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Friday Roundup

Still haven’t heard back from the new dentist’s office.  It’s been, what, two weeks?  They told me “We will call and get your OB to fax authorization and then call you to schedule a new appointment.”  It’s not that hard.  I gave them a direct number right to the appointment and nurse line.  The OB office has four receptionists that can answer questions and at least two people in the back at all times that can sign a freakin’ authorization—they don’t need to pull a record since everything is computerized.  It’s just a matter of printing out a pre-formatted sheet and scribbling an undecipherable signature on it. 

I’m not going to call and remind them.  I don’t like them that much to do that—they don’t give me good vibrations.  They’re lame-ass, and that’s not cool.  (That’s not just based on this whole appointment issue, but also on the fact that the staff acted like I had leprosy.  For example, what usually happens when a visibly pregnant woman needs to lower herself onto an exam chair (or get off one)?  A person holds out an arm to grab so the aforementioned preggo doesn’t bust her ass, right?  Not at that place.  The hygienist just stood there watching.  This is the South.  What she did was rude, and I hate to nitpick about that kind of thing.  She wouldn’t even touch my (zipped shut) purse to move it when I’d put it in the wrong place.  She was like “No, not there.  You need to put it over there,” while pointing a gloved finger [this was after I’d sat my fat ass on the exam chair].  Makes me wonder how she was going to clean my teeth without actually touching me.)  The whole visit just didn’t sit right with me, so they can bite me (no pun intended).

I’m at the 30 week point today.  That means that after today the number of full weeks I have left will be in the single digits.  I should probably get some stuff done, right?  I’m TOTALLY not nesting.  Other than gathering some diapers and such, I seriously think that from this point on that only preparation I’m going to do is get the infant seat installed in the car.  I’ll do that at around, oh, 36 weeks.  That’s something you don’t want to be doing while you’re in labor, you know?

New things happening with my body this week: ankle and wrist pain, itchy skin, a pimple that won’t go away, sweaty underboob (fun waking up with a pool of water in your shirt), onset temporary paraplegia when laying on my back (I keep pushing my luck with that), and my belly is now resting on my lap when I sit.  I’m at the stage where I’m justified in complaining about shit…but I’ll try to limit that.

I’d like to take a mini-trip before I turn into a beached whale (I think with R that was at around 35 weeks or so).  Williamsburg sounds nice, but I don’t know if I can do the walking.  I can barely walk to the mailbox without going “Oh!  Whew! *pant pant*”  I’m afraid to take the kid to the museum again!  I barely made it around last time.

Rosco has had two more soccer practices since that first disastrous night.  Scott took him since I’d already washed my hands clean of the situation.  On Tuesday, Scott said Rosco did really well: he listened and it was the other kids who were acting foolish.

...but last night they came back home before the practice had been in session for an hour.  Rosco wasn’t listening, Scott asked him if he wanted to leave, and Rosco said yes.  I asked him at dinner last night if he wanted to play soccer anymore and he said “No,” so…

Don’t know what’s going to happen next Tuesday.

My little experimental garden is coming along nicely.  The bush beans (what of them that came up), tomato, and zucchini plants are growing at a pretty nice clip.  The carrots are struggling (I should probably thin those seedlings) and my green onions aren’t doing much of anything right now.  April is usually a rainy month here in NC, but this year we’ve been very dry.  Since the hoses attached to the front and back of the house can’t reach the raised bed I’ve been having to fill a watering can to hand-water.  It’s annoying, yes, but the alternative is having the plants die and be pissed that I wasted my time.
...
We finally got someone out to look at our master bedroom and bathroom so we can start some renovations.  I think we’re waiting on one more quote before we decide on a contractor.  In the meantime, we’ll be spending this weekend moving Rosco into his new room, and moving our crap into Rosco’s old room to make room for the fix-it dudes.  Will update on that eventually.

Posted by Tiffany on 04/23 at 11:52 AM
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What, me crunch?

I think I’ve made a couple of references to the fact that I’m considering cloth diapering Em.

Those of you who have been following me for a while know that I’m not really the crunchy natural living type.  I don’t even know if there’s a label that fits me.  I do whatever works for me in a given moment.  For instance, with Rosco nursing worked for me…but I didn’t even make a solid decision about that until the day he was born. It was about convenience and economics, really.  If nursing hadn’t been easy I wouldn’t have made myself a martyr, you know?

I didn’t consider doing cloth diapering with Rosco because it was just way off my radar early on.  I didn’t really know anyone personally who did it and just assumed it was one of those things that people on the fringe do.  Also, I thought “That’s for POOR people!”  (I never said I didn’t have a touch of snob in me.)  The idea actually made me kind of squeamish.  I’d probably have to touch poop!

Well, guess what?  Unless you’re wearing latex gloves at every diaper change and have the dexterity of a magician YOU’RE GOING TO TOUCH POOP at some point while changing your kid’s diaper.  Do you freak out?  No.  You roll your eyes, sigh, and grab a baby wipe.  What else are you going to do?  Leave your kid flailing on the changing table while you run off to wash and disinfect your hand?

With R there was also the daycare issue.  When he went into daycare at around nine months it wasn’t really a facility that was going to be super-accommodating about using diapers other than the disposable sort.  As it was they handled breast milk like toxic waste (but I think all centers do that).  I didn’t like the idea of the center sending me home a plastic bag full of shit-encrusted diapers at the end of the day because it’s against their policy to dump the contents.

Now I do know lots of crunchy-type people who use cloth, but I also know quite a few “normal” ones who’ve slowly acclimated me to the idea whether they know it or not.  (I make a distinction between crunchy and normal here because the crunch-oriented ones can actually be really militant!  A normal person who just happens to engage in certain natural living activities as a lifestyle choice—say, because their kid is prone to allergies and rashes—isn’t going to put his/her nose up in the air if you choose to do something that’s mainstream.  You know what I mean.  I’ve seen as many crunchy types saying stupid shit about mainstream practices as I’ve seen mainstreamers who look down on alternative practices.  Ignorance works on both ends of an issue, hons.  Doesn’t help to attack the folks “in the middle” who don’t care what you put on your kid’s ass.)

I guess this time I really don’t have much of an excuse.  I don’t work outside the home…or even leave the freakin’ house all that often.  Finding a way to dispose of poop isn’t going to be a problem: toilet is right there.  The new problem will be keeping up with the laundry and dealing with the learning curve that I have to drag Scott into.

I’m still pretty ignorant about this, so I’ve been picking up bits and pieces of information here and there.  I’ve found some checklists online about basics you should buy, but when I look at them my eyes bulge out and I think “Oh, shit, I gotta buy all that?!”

If you know of any sites that advise on the basics of cloth diapering that don’t have that nagging pedantic tone, pleeeeease refer me to them.  I’ve found one, but know there has to be lots more.

Posted by Tiffany on 04/22 at 02:32 PM
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I grow my own pillow.

My hair has been giving me fits lately.  For those of you who are out of the loop (since I don’t post pictures of myself that often), I don’t relax my hair [anymore].  No, I’m not posting a picture here.  I look crazy today.

My last relaxer was ... er ... September 2008?  It was a “professional” one.  In general, I’m not a huge fan of letting “professionals” touch my hair.  Every time they do some shit gets fucked up because they don’t “get” it (they treat it as coarse instead of just curly). 

Anyway, I went in to get my hair done by this lady on a coworker’s recommendation.  She did some crazy voodoo on me and within a couple of weeks my hair started falling out.  Like - for real falling out.  When I ran a comb through it just broke off.  I started looking really jacked up.  Then the coworker who recommended the heifer asked me what I’d done to my hair because it had looked so nice before. (!!!)  Shortly after I cut it all off and said “Fuck it.”

Anyway.  I like being fuzzy.  It’s pretty low-maintenance since I don’t do a lot of styling.  At its current length I still have a lot of shrinkage so unless I’m wearing an entire vat of gel my hair looks like a microphone cover.

I’ve got a few complicating issues, though, that make detangling a problem.  Detangling makes the difference between me looking cooly unkempt or else looking like I live under a bridge in a tent.  One problem is that my hair grows in a swirl on top.  Most people have fairly simple hair patterns where maybe their hair naturally parts on one side and that’ll mark the two directions their hair grows in.  Mine grows like a whirlpool on top, so even when my hair is straight, it’s always sticking up because it doesn’t know where to lay down. 

The second issue is that not all of my hair curls.  For each little clump of curls there’s a straight hair that sticks out next to it.  The straight hair doesn’t go with the flow and knots with the curly hair.  Curly hair wants to clump, you know?  Because of the conflict I don’t get the definition that some curlies have.  I just look fuzzy.

The last issue, which wouldn’t be much of an issue if it weren’t for the two previous issues, is my curl type.  It’s pretty coily.  If you take apart your pen and look at the spring - that’s how my hair curls.  If you mess with it, you turn it into Brillo.  I really don’t want to have to go through this every time I wash my hair.  Do you know how long that takes?!?

I guess I’m just at a weird length right now and I’m getting bored.  When it’s shrinky-dinky I can’t just pull it back into a ponytail without putting it under a faucet and turning it into a sopping mop first.

I don’t know what I want you to tell me.  I’m just whining.

Posted by Tiffany on 04/20 at 11:23 AM
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Eh, forget it.

I had a fairly long post here about my current level of exhaustion, but I’m so exhausted that I didn’t feel like finishing it.

So instead, here’s a picture of Rosco passed out on the sofa.

Posted by Tiffany on 04/19 at 10:12 AM
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Embarrassed.

Okay.  Er…

Tonight was the first night of kiddie soccer.  It was basically an introduction to the concept of soccer and following simple instructions.  Guess which one of those things Rosco had a problem with.

Go ahead and think about it.  I’ll wait.

...

I knew we were going to have a problem shortly after we got there and they were having kind of a free play situation.  Rosco was dribbling the ball into the net, and I was encouraging him to try to kick it in from further away.  You know - like, 10 feet.  So, I pulled him and the ball back and told him to kick it.  He crossed his arms over his chest, closed his eyes, and grunted “UH UH!” as he shook his head.

Okay.  Whatever.  I thought to myself “kick your damn ball, kid” and went to stand on the sidelines to let Scott deal with him.  (He’s playing favorites lately anyway since one of us, ahem, is a mean bitch who never lets him do anything.)

Then the program officially started and the kids were supposed to join a circle to warm up while the parents stood off at the side.  Well, Rosco didn’t want to do that.  He wanted to stand back and stare.  When we pushed him up into the group of kids (they’re 3-5 year-olds, so it’s not like any of them were looming over him), he rooted his toes to the ground and started throwing a crying fit.

The only crying kid out there.  Every other kid was warming up.  Seriously.  No exaggeration.

I went to grab him to pull him off to the sidelines (because crying kids who are crying because they don’t want to do something should be removed from a situation, IMO), but Scott wouldn’t let me.  Fine.  Whatever.  Mean bitch mommy.  I went to sit on the bench and watched Scott and Rosco as they watched the kids doing warm-ups.  (You follow all that?)

Next they broke into age groups to work on drills.  Rosco wasn’t listening to the group leader and was standing there like a statue again.  If I didn’t know *for a fact* the kid has super-sonic hearing I would have really been concerned about his ability to hear the instructions.  He didn’t want to do what the other kids were doing and just stood there.  When it was time to rotate, he grabbed his ball and started kicking it into the goal.  That’ll all he wanted to do.  Alone.  Tantrum ensued, so Scott brought him to the bench where I was and let him cry some. 

I asked him if he wanted to leave.  “No.”

I asked him if he wanted to go join the group.  “No.”

I asked him what we were there for, then.  No answer.

I gave him the mean bitch mommy ultimatum (go play or let’s go home).  He played with the bench some.  Then he played with a stick.  Then Scott asked him if he wanted to go home.  He said no, and then allowed himself to be pushed onto the field again.  More watching.  No participating.

The next time it was time to switch, Scott decided to walk to the sidelines to leave him out there and see what he did.  Well, he didn’t follow his group.  He grabbed his ball and spun in a circle looking around (for Scott, I guess).  One of the helpers went up to him to point him to where he was supposed to be.  Rosco took that as an opportunity to dribble his ball towards the goal and kick it in.

*headsmack*

I went to sit in the car after that.  I’d already insisted, adamantly, that if Rosco didn’t want to listen and be part of the group it was asinine for us to be out there and I met my limit after an hour.  We (well, Scott) didn’t go out and buy him a soccer ball just for him to play by himself in an isolated corner.

Half an hour later they make it to the car and Scott shares that Rosco actually participated.  Mmkay.

I’ve already told Scott that if it comes down to me having to take Rosco next time and Rosco acts up - he’s going home.  I’m not going to wait around for him to get with the program.  He’s not a dumb kid who doesn’t know his elbow from his tooter.  He’s NOT afraid of people.  He talks to weird strangers in grocery stores (much to my chagrin!).  He’s perfectly capable of following instructions but often chooses not to.  He reacts by throwing public tantrums to get us to change the situation.  Shit doesn’t work on me.  I’ll take his butt home instantly and try again the next time (which may also be the last time depending on how it goes).  That’s why I didn’t take him to stores for about six months.  He’d act up (shrieking, thrashing, screaming “I want it!  I want it!”), and I’d just abandon the cart and leave.  Guess what?  He doesn’t act up in stores now because he knows I won’t take him if he does.  (He does try that shit in restaurants, though.  I don’t even want to talk about that right now.  It’s embarrassing and my blood pressure is already up for the night.)

Scott says that taking him home would have been “quitting.”  Um.  No.  Taking him home is giving him a chance to think about “Did I act appropriately?” and “What could make it better?”

We also disagree on what R’s true problem was.  Scott thinks that he wasn’t ready to be around that many people and that he needs to be eased into it.  Um, no.  He was fine until they moved into a more structured activity and was told to “listen to the lady in the black shirt.”

Honestly?  If it were just up to me just based on that first hour tonight, I wouldn’t take him back on Tuesday.  It’d be a “Maybe we’ll try again at 4 since you weren’t ready last week” conversation. 

Scott’s going to take him.  Good.  Maybe if mean bitch mommy isn’t there Rosco won’t have performance anxiety.

Posted by Tiffany on 04/15 at 08:08 PM
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What, me nest?

I have accomplished pretty much jack shit this week.  I can’t even say I’ve tried to accomplish anything.  I just don’t feel like exercising any organs (including my brain) so I don’t bother trying to muster up the willpower to do so.  The thought of getting up to wash dishes right now makes me want to sigh deeply.  I will get up to eat one of Scott’s birthday cookies, though.

Also, my something-or-other hurts.  It’s hard to define the region, but basically it when I stand up or lay on a side it feels like I have a bowling ball on my cervix.  I feel like I need to walk like I’ve just gotten off of a horse.  This sudden achiness is probably because the baby is starting to put on fat.  I’ve got the Mayo Clinic Guide to a Healthy Pregnancy in front of me and it says that starting in week 30 (Friday) Em’ll [“Em” is what dear fetus will henceforth be called.  No, “Em” is not short for Emma or Emily.  It’s pretty far off what the kid’s real name will be, but’ll make sense to a few of you in a couple of months.]  gain about half a pound weekly. 

On May 5th I’ll have a pretty good idea of what she weighs (and will weigh) since I’m scheduled for an ultrasound specifically to see how big she is.  In case you’re just now joining the snarky party, I have a birth defect called a Müllerian Duct Anomaly.  Specifically, I probably have a bicornuate uterus.  That means that rather than being straight across or slightly rounded up at the top, my uterus is heart-shaped which lesses the amount of room inside.  (I say “probably” because there was some previous concern about there being a small septate there (don’t do a Google image search for that, thanks); my doctor assures me it’s bicornuate, so I’ll just lean towards that diagnosis right now.).

Rosco weighed a perfectly respectable 7 lb 13 oz (just a hair larger than average), so growth restriction likely won’t be much of an issue, but those University doctors are a curious bunch who like dotting i’s and crossing t’s.

As usual I’ve gone wildly off-topic.  I was talking about not wanting to do shit.

What I really need to do is go through all of Rosco’s newborn clothes and see if Em can wear any of it.  Much of it was unisex, but the complication that comes into play is that Rosco was a late fall newborn and this girl is being born early summer.  If there are any short-sleeved onesies or those kimono-style shirts with the snaps in there I can re-use them. 

It’s stupid for me to shop for baby clothes without looking to see if we have some of this stuff first.  I dread the chore.  There are boxes upon boxes of clothes to sort through.  Most of it is lumped together by size, but I know there are a few straggling pieces in other places.  What’s the point of saving it if it doesn’t get re-used?  We could have gotten rid of that stuff a long time ago seeing as how people are constantly spawning.

Posted by Tiffany on 04/14 at 02:41 PM
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Trapped!

I’m basically stuck in this house this week.  Rosco’s bedroom furniture shipped last Thursday, and that’s all I know.  I don’t know where it’s being shipped from, which carrier is delivering it, or when it’ll be here.  I don’t even know if the stuff requires a signature or if they’d leave it out on the stoop.  What I do know is that I’m not entirely comfortable with a delivery dude leaving a huge boxed dresser and bed components at my front door.  My neighborhood can’t be described as sketchy by any means, but I don’t believe in tempting fate.

It’s not even like his room is ready to be set up.  Scott still has a lot of his crap in there.

Yes, that is a Lord Vader helmet you see on his desk.  And that desk chair?  Is mine.  I let him borrow it when his director’s chair collapsed (last year?  year before?), and I’d like it back soon.  (Thanks.)

This is turning into a hell of a process.  We need to get a new crib.  Rosco’s was recalled last year and we can get a free replacement *but* we have to dismantle the crib to send a part of it back to the manufacturer.  Right now Rosco is sleeping in the converted daybed (made from the crib), so we can’t take the furniture apart until his new bed arrives.  (And we still have to buy a mattress for the new bed.  And sheets.)

Next, I have to mail the crib component in and wait for the voucher.  When that arrives (supposedly in a week or so, but who knows) we have to go to Babies ‘R Us and ORDER a new crib.  That’ll thake 7-14 days to be delivered to the store.  So, that’s basically already a month out from now to get a crib here, by which point I’ll be *counts on fingers* 32-33 weeks pregnant.  I suppose I can put Rosco on the air mattress for a few nights to expedite things, but I imagine the child will spend way too much time going bouncy-bouncy-bouncy instead of sleeping.

Fortunately, I bought that bassinet so babygirl will have somewhere to sleep even if we don’t have our act together.

You know, it might actually be a good thing that I can’t leave the house right now.  Babies ‘R Us is doing this “25% off all the baby clothes you can stuff in a tote bag” sale and it’s good that I have an obstacle to getting there.

Posted by Tiffany on 04/13 at 10:45 AM
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Way to piss off a preggo.

I switched dentists.  I like there to be some consistency with my medical care professionals.  I see the same eye doctor every year (who’s great - I’ll be sad if he retires anytime soon), and for the most part see the same O.B. every month (university group practice - can’t expect being able to stake a claim on one doc).

My [former] dentist’s office had extremely high turnover, not just in hygienists but also in dentists which I found a little odd.  The first dentist we had moved to Texas.  The second one died (yeah, I know…).  The third one retired.  The fourth one annoyed the shit out of me the day I met her (which was the last time I was there).  So, that’s four dentists in one office in a six or seven year period.  I finally called it quits on the place when they messed up some billing issue.

Fast-forward six months to today, and I was due for a cleaning.  I found a new office in my insurance provider’s directory and figured I’d give them a shot since they’re two miles from the house.

Started off okay.  I was scheduled to go in at 8:30, so I showed up at 8:15 knowing there’d be a stack of paperwork.  That done, I finally got called back at something like 8:50.  Then the hygienist looked at me, flips through my paperwork, and asked “Are you pregnant?”

Er, DUUHHHHHHHHHH.  Either I’m pregnant or I have a baby-sized tumor.  This is definitely one of those situations where you can’t mistake me for being fat.

She then goes on to tell me that they need to get authorization from my OB to get treatment since I’m due for x-rays.

Er, oh yeah?  Last time I checked dentists could count teeth just fine without having an x-ray handy.  Actually, at my last office, the issue of x-rays came up several times when I was pregnant with Rosco (and also last year before I miscarried).  They just deferred the x-rays until my next non-pregnant visit.  They never once called my OB.  For what?  To tell him or her that they need to scrape my teeth?

What really annoys me is that she said that it’s for their protection and mine.  What the fuck is that supposed to mean?  I don’t need fillings (right now).  What exactly are they covering their asses on?  The probability that the taste of their toothpaste will make me want to retch?

Whatever.  I left calmly with my usual grace and decorum (while stewing on the inside).

They said they’d call my OB to get the clearance and then they’d call me back to reschedule.  Okay.  Well, I might not answer the phone.  That’ll be for their protection and mine.

...freakin’ dumb-ass corporate policies.  I’m mad that I threw my toothbrush out this morning thinking I was getting a new one.

Posted by Tiffany on 04/12 at 09:39 AM
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Ooh!  By the way…

I couldn’t decide whether this was a Twitter update or a blog post.

Rosco and I were at the playground this morning (Forest Hills).  The park has the typical play structures you’d expect for the ages 2-5 set: jungle gym (are they still called that?), swings, slides, sand pit, and so on.

Well, we’d been there for about half an hour when a woman (I won’t presume her to be a parent) came in with a young boy and girl.  The boy and girl were still in their pajamas.  I’m not shitting you.  I don’t even mean like that Carter’s stuff you can wear for both bed and play - they were pajamas with pants.  At least the boy had on short sleeves, but the girl was wearing a long-sleeved top.  In 80 degree weather.  Okay.  Whatever floats your boat, right?

The kids proceeded to go play in the sand pit.  In the sand.  In 80 degree weather.  In pajamas.  (Who am I to judge, though?  Maybe it’s laundry day and the woman figured that since they were going into the wash anyway it couldn’t hurt.)

Well, what made me really perk to attention was when I saw the boy with his back to the sand pit facing the fence.  I was wondering, “What the hell is he looking at?”  He did some jostling around in the general area of his boy parts and then adjusted his pants.

Oh.

He was peeing.

Next to the sand pit.

In plain sight.

Folks, this wasn’t a three-year-old.  I could *almost* understand if that was the case.  This was a kid of about six.

And the caretaker?  Sitting on the bench, oblivious, doing paperwork.

Okay, then.

Posted by Tiffany on 04/08 at 12:50 PM
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I really hope he behaves.

I registered Rosco for rec soccer this morning.

Those of you who have met me in person can imagine the “Oh, yay!” expression I’m wearing right now.  Those of you who have not - well, it looks like this: :-|.

I’m sure he’ll have a great time and stuff.  My apprehension lies in the fact that I’m a bit freaked out over the possibility that someone might “accidentally” kick my kid in the shins.  Which would make me “accidentally” run out onto the field and yell at them.  Worse, what if Rosco “accidentally” kicks someone?  Can you imagine how mortified I would be?  Yikes.

Since it’s a free program, other than the soccer ball you have to buy, I figured it’d be a good introduction to team sports without a huge investment.  He can figure out if he likes it or if we should wait until he’s old enough for basketball (which, let’s face it, is a damned contact sport).  Football ain’t happening unless it’s the flag variety.  Sorry.  Nuh uh.  (I’ll gladly be “that mom” that kids talk about at school because she doesn’t let her darling child try out for football.  Nooooooooo, suh!  Gotta draw the line somewhere.  I actually don’t want him playing *any* sport that requires a helmet.  That probably includes baseball, too.)

Anyway, back to what I was saying.  The program starts next Thursday and is a month long.  I think I can tolerate the bugs and heat for that long.  Because it’s in late afternoon/evening he MIGHT actually come home and go to bed without a fuss afterward!  We’ll see.

Posted by Tiffany on 04/08 at 12:06 PM
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