I have been stuck about what to post lately. I've had a few ideas, but I'm finding myself a little grumpy and so I didn't want to be such a drag. Sigh....so I'll recap a few tidbits of the past week. Sorry...it might be long or boring. Or both.
21 weeks: Hard to believe we are this far, but we are. And, as excited as I am, I have been miserable too. Sore. Sick. Out of breath. Blah blah blah and see below.
Texas Turd: This is a new phrase in our house. Admittedly, I have plugged the toilet a few times recently. Yes, I'm quite embarrassed to post that. But last night, I flooded the toilet in the master bath. Water ran through the floor to kitchen below. A perplexed Mr. W came to my rescue and grabbed the mop out of my hand just in time for the gag reflex. I reminded him there are 3 of us using my facilities. Then I went to cry.
Lesson in Parenting: A few nights ago number 1 nephew phoned. At 2:30 in the frigging morning. I've mentioned him before. He just started his first post-college broadcasting gig for a news station in an adjacent state. At first I thought he was just shooting the shit with Mr. W (who answered). I was peeved. It was the middle of the night. I know he gets off work late, but the rest of us don't. Then Mr. W passed me the phone. I say hello and nephew says "hey" all chipper, then starts to cry. He is homesick. He hates his new city. Hates his job. Doesn't know what to do. I suggest he could quit and deal with the consequences (he is under contract). He could come home more for visits. (It's a 6 hour drive and he's not making enough for lots of plane tickets yet). I tell him it will get better and give him some suggestions for ways to cope with the change. He calms down a bit, says he wants to come by and visit soon. We hang up and I lay awake all night thinking about this kid. And then I scope out his face.book page the next morning to see what else is up. And herein lies the lesson, although I haven't quite deciphered what it is yet. Nephew called US. Not his dad (Mr. W's brother) or his wacko mom (they're divorced). So how do you keep from fucqing your kids up in the head? There is a reason he didn't call his own parents. I don't want my kids to have that reason.
Politics: I avoid this one in my blog but I am pissed beyond belief. Our state just voted in 2 outrageous tax bills this week. They affect only 3% of the population, but we are snagged in them both. On top of that, the Bush tax cuts expire at the end of this year, and our city put a tax in place last year on people in my profession. By the end of this year, we will have a 10% increase in our income tax. This has made me grumpy. Mr. W wants to move but there is no way we will sell our house. The thing that pisses me off the most is it's not about the money. It's about the way it's being managed, and the way politicians and voters have singled out certain groups of people.
Happy Thoughts: After all of this, I thought it appropriate to end on a happy note. My childhood friend I mentioned awhile back is having her transfer tomorrow. I am so excited and hopeful for her. She has had a smooth cycle and I hope it continues. Happy, sticky thoughts to you, my dear!
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Monday, January 18, 2010
Fair Warning: Another Post About Vomit
Two nights ago I awoke in the middle of the night to a horrific sound. It was one of the purry ones barfing on the floor next to my side of the bed. I've seen my share of cat vomit over the years. It comes with the territory and is usually managed quite well with proper diet and brushing.
But something must have crawled inside Mr. Mitten and died. It was the most heinous, foul-smelling, projectile laden stuff I have ever seen. I jumped out of bed thinking I could quickly clean it up while it was wet and so I ran half asleep to grab toilet paper to throw on top of it.
Wrong.
I returned to the scene of the crime only to vomit in my own hand. And so I ran back to the toilet to finish the job. When I thought I was done, I went to the bathroom sink to clean myself up only to continue vomiting profusely in the sink. By this time, I had several lights on and had made enough noise to awaken Mr. W from his slumber. He jumped out of bed to find the floor covered in cat disaster and the bathroom sink filled with mine.
"WTF?" Was about all he could say.
It quickly became apparent this would not be a quick-clean-up-and-go-back-to-sleep type of night. The mess and smell were so bad we couldn't leave it and we couldn't easily clean it. Mr. W dug the steam cleaner out of the closet and proceeded to clean the bedroom carpet for what seemed like eternity. The smell was so bad I had to stick my head under the sheets.
Poor Mr. W. After being a champ with the carpet he tackled the sink. I had clogged it completely so he dismantled the drain to clear it. Still, the smell from Mr. Mitten permeated the whole room. I realized there was no way I could sleep there so we packed up the pillows and moved into the guest bedroom. Not knowing what else may eject from the kitty, we shut the door and kept them out, only to listen to them paw and meow outside the door for the rest of the night.
But something must have crawled inside Mr. Mitten and died. It was the most heinous, foul-smelling, projectile laden stuff I have ever seen. I jumped out of bed thinking I could quickly clean it up while it was wet and so I ran half asleep to grab toilet paper to throw on top of it.
Wrong.
I returned to the scene of the crime only to vomit in my own hand. And so I ran back to the toilet to finish the job. When I thought I was done, I went to the bathroom sink to clean myself up only to continue vomiting profusely in the sink. By this time, I had several lights on and had made enough noise to awaken Mr. W from his slumber. He jumped out of bed to find the floor covered in cat disaster and the bathroom sink filled with mine.
"WTF?" Was about all he could say.
It quickly became apparent this would not be a quick-clean-up-and-go-back-to-sleep type of night. The mess and smell were so bad we couldn't leave it and we couldn't easily clean it. Mr. W dug the steam cleaner out of the closet and proceeded to clean the bedroom carpet for what seemed like eternity. The smell was so bad I had to stick my head under the sheets.
Poor Mr. W. After being a champ with the carpet he tackled the sink. I had clogged it completely so he dismantled the drain to clear it. Still, the smell from Mr. Mitten permeated the whole room. I realized there was no way I could sleep there so we packed up the pillows and moved into the guest bedroom. Not knowing what else may eject from the kitty, we shut the door and kept them out, only to listen to them paw and meow outside the door for the rest of the night.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Nesting
Someone in this house is nesting. I'll give you a hint. It's not me (yet). And it's not the purry ones.
Sunday, Mr. W and I decided it was time to tackle the ominous task of stroller and car seat shopping. It's still early, but I wanted to do it while I was feeling decent and before we were under any pressure to make a decision. What started as a casual trip to the baby boutique and lunch, turned into and all day affair followed by dinner.
As a reward for dragging Mr. W around and for his constructive input on the matters, I took him to his favorite gourmet market so he could get some caviar. On the way, we side-stepped into his favorite Italian linen store. Now, although Mr. W likes to bake and sew, he is a man's man. The garage is full of camo gear and the house wreaks of testosterone during hunting and fishing season. And since there is something to hunt or fish for all year round....well, you get the picture.
But I digress.
If there is an obscure indulgence Mr. W enjoys (besides caviar) it's Italian linens. The store is having a sale (if you could call it that) so we wander through. There is a heavenly bed ensemble that we both are drawn to (not on sale of course) and so I drool over it for awhile, then decide to leave. It's really not the time for frivolous matters and we have a lovely collection on our bed from this store already.
But Mr. W is not having any of that. He summons the sales person ("bed designer") and tells her we want the whole thing. The sheets, the Euro shams, the regular shams, the coverlet, the silk duvet cover, and the silk throw. My jaw hits the floor. The salesperson runs to get her little book of swatches and stuff while trailing off that the fabrics are custom dyed per order and so the wait time is at least 8 weeks.
"Perfect," says Mr. W. He turns to me and smirks, "We're looking to come off of this baby thing strong, you know." (A line from one of his favorite movies.) And then it hits me.
For weeks now, our bedroom has been turned upside down by my humidifier, various medicinal accoutrements, and bottles or cups of whatever I can eat or drink. The bed is stuffed with old pillows every which way, and other things rolled up and twisted to make me comfortable. What was a gracious retreat, is now a fun house for a whiny pregnant lady and her jilted servant.
And so it occurs to me that Mr. W misses his wife.
There is a woodpecker that bangs on the flue of the fireplace in our bedroom from time to time. It's an obnoxious sound that echoes down the fireplace and throughout the bedroom. Fortunately, it only happens one time a year. I've been told that male woodpeckers make their nest and then summon their mate (by banging on our fireplace) to come inspect it. If she doesn't like it, she leaves.
The arrival of the new bed linens, shall almost coincide with nuggets' arrival. Me thinks Mr. W is preparing to fluff his his nest - to welcome his wife back.
Sunday, Mr. W and I decided it was time to tackle the ominous task of stroller and car seat shopping. It's still early, but I wanted to do it while I was feeling decent and before we were under any pressure to make a decision. What started as a casual trip to the baby boutique and lunch, turned into and all day affair followed by dinner.
As a reward for dragging Mr. W around and for his constructive input on the matters, I took him to his favorite gourmet market so he could get some caviar. On the way, we side-stepped into his favorite Italian linen store. Now, although Mr. W likes to bake and sew, he is a man's man. The garage is full of camo gear and the house wreaks of testosterone during hunting and fishing season. And since there is something to hunt or fish for all year round....well, you get the picture.
But I digress.
If there is an obscure indulgence Mr. W enjoys (besides caviar) it's Italian linens. The store is having a sale (if you could call it that) so we wander through. There is a heavenly bed ensemble that we both are drawn to (not on sale of course) and so I drool over it for awhile, then decide to leave. It's really not the time for frivolous matters and we have a lovely collection on our bed from this store already.
But Mr. W is not having any of that. He summons the sales person ("bed designer") and tells her we want the whole thing. The sheets, the Euro shams, the regular shams, the coverlet, the silk duvet cover, and the silk throw. My jaw hits the floor. The salesperson runs to get her little book of swatches and stuff while trailing off that the fabrics are custom dyed per order and so the wait time is at least 8 weeks.
"Perfect," says Mr. W. He turns to me and smirks, "We're looking to come off of this baby thing strong, you know." (A line from one of his favorite movies.) And then it hits me.
For weeks now, our bedroom has been turned upside down by my humidifier, various medicinal accoutrements, and bottles or cups of whatever I can eat or drink. The bed is stuffed with old pillows every which way, and other things rolled up and twisted to make me comfortable. What was a gracious retreat, is now a fun house for a whiny pregnant lady and her jilted servant.
And so it occurs to me that Mr. W misses his wife.
There is a woodpecker that bangs on the flue of the fireplace in our bedroom from time to time. It's an obnoxious sound that echoes down the fireplace and throughout the bedroom. Fortunately, it only happens one time a year. I've been told that male woodpeckers make their nest and then summon their mate (by banging on our fireplace) to come inspect it. If she doesn't like it, she leaves.
The arrival of the new bed linens, shall almost coincide with nuggets' arrival. Me thinks Mr. W is preparing to fluff his his nest - to welcome his wife back.
Monday, January 11, 2010
18 Weeks
It's a milestone. I don't know why exactly, but it just feels like it is.
Last week was the big ultrasound - the anatomy scan - the 3-hour appointment from somewhere that could resemble hell, but wasn't really.
They took 176 pictures of nuggets! All the organs, the arteries, the brains, measured the bones, the fluid, and any thing else they came across. It was really incredible. I even got the tech to do a 4-D picture even though it's too early. The boys were busy and are right on track for their age. Which means I got cut some slack about not gaining as much weight as is recommended. Clearly the boys are finding something to eat, even if I can't! And there are no signs of TTTS (twin to twin transfusion syndrome) found with identicals.
All is well. My blood pressure is normal, and I'm not spilling anything in my urine. It was some massive relief for me. I am still sore, short of breath, congested, and nauseous. But Mr. W says I am being a wuss. There is nothing wrong with me and I need to get over it!
The doctors are watching for signs of infection from the lost triplet. It was still visible on the ultrasound and is sitting near the top of my cervix. Dr. J said this was to be expected and everything looks good so far. However, any irritation or infection would likely crop up in the next 4 weeks. I am still breathing a small sigh of relief. We are not completely out of the woods yet, but thankfully my cervix has a history of being overly stubborn - something that should serve this situation well. Not only does it have a curve, but Dr. J said it was one of the longest they'd seen. OK, TMI, but damn it's nice to finally have something going for me!
Last week was the big ultrasound - the anatomy scan - the 3-hour appointment from somewhere that could resemble hell, but wasn't really.
They took 176 pictures of nuggets! All the organs, the arteries, the brains, measured the bones, the fluid, and any thing else they came across. It was really incredible. I even got the tech to do a 4-D picture even though it's too early. The boys were busy and are right on track for their age. Which means I got cut some slack about not gaining as much weight as is recommended. Clearly the boys are finding something to eat, even if I can't! And there are no signs of TTTS (twin to twin transfusion syndrome) found with identicals.
All is well. My blood pressure is normal, and I'm not spilling anything in my urine. It was some massive relief for me. I am still sore, short of breath, congested, and nauseous. But Mr. W says I am being a wuss. There is nothing wrong with me and I need to get over it!
The doctors are watching for signs of infection from the lost triplet. It was still visible on the ultrasound and is sitting near the top of my cervix. Dr. J said this was to be expected and everything looks good so far. However, any irritation or infection would likely crop up in the next 4 weeks. I am still breathing a small sigh of relief. We are not completely out of the woods yet, but thankfully my cervix has a history of being overly stubborn - something that should serve this situation well. Not only does it have a curve, but Dr. J said it was one of the longest they'd seen. OK, TMI, but damn it's nice to finally have something going for me!
Monday, January 4, 2010
Don't Let the Door Hit Ya...
...on the way out, 2009. I couldn't wait to see the past year go buh-bye. Ironically, for the first time in 20 years, I had no champagne, no social activity, and didn't even stay up until midnight.
Instead, my new year's eve went something like this.
I lounged on the couch watching the news while Mr. W made dinner. I was feeling pretty decent overall, had taken my zo.fran on schedule, and had a nice snack. And then, I opened my mouth to say something? cough? burp? I'm not really sure, but all at once I hurled all over myself, quite unexpectedly. I jumped up from the sofa and ran to the bar sink while vomiting in my hand along the way. While finishing the job in the sink, I peed my pants. By the time I was done, I was covered in vomit and pee. It was one of the most pathetic things I have ever seen or done and I'm rather embarrassed to even blog about it. But internets, I wanted you to start the year with a good laugh...at my expense.
Poor Mr. W. I could imagine the things going through his head. Is this my wife? Will this be my wife in 40 or 50 years as an invalid? Is this ever going to get better? Did we really want kids? All he could do was grimace and say "Are you OK?" "Yes," I squeaked as I coughed up the last chunks, thankful I had decided to install a garbage disposal in this sink, almost as an afterthought. I peeled off my clothes and left them in a pile in the middle of the floor. As I waddled upstairs to take a shower, I remembered the story Meinsideout told of vomiting all over her blackberry and new party dress in the car one night. At least I was not alone.
Cheers to 2010.
Instead, my new year's eve went something like this.
I lounged on the couch watching the news while Mr. W made dinner. I was feeling pretty decent overall, had taken my zo.fran on schedule, and had a nice snack. And then, I opened my mouth to say something? cough? burp? I'm not really sure, but all at once I hurled all over myself, quite unexpectedly. I jumped up from the sofa and ran to the bar sink while vomiting in my hand along the way. While finishing the job in the sink, I peed my pants. By the time I was done, I was covered in vomit and pee. It was one of the most pathetic things I have ever seen or done and I'm rather embarrassed to even blog about it. But internets, I wanted you to start the year with a good laugh...at my expense.
Poor Mr. W. I could imagine the things going through his head. Is this my wife? Will this be my wife in 40 or 50 years as an invalid? Is this ever going to get better? Did we really want kids? All he could do was grimace and say "Are you OK?" "Yes," I squeaked as I coughed up the last chunks, thankful I had decided to install a garbage disposal in this sink, almost as an afterthought. I peeled off my clothes and left them in a pile in the middle of the floor. As I waddled upstairs to take a shower, I remembered the story Meinsideout told of vomiting all over her blackberry and new party dress in the car one night. At least I was not alone.
Cheers to 2010.
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