Confessions

I figured out how to post a picture on my blog so that I could include a photo of a baseball player. I've never posted a picture of Raisin. I pinky-swear that I will fix that soon.

I told Raisin that I was drinking milk, but it was Sprite.

I got out the maternity clothes last night so I could wear the comfy sweats. In 4-5 months when I'm complaining about being tired of wearing them, I dare you to remind me that I'm the one who wanted to get it all out so early. (Fortunately for my ego, everything else is still too big. But I LOVE those sweats.)

I believe my friend is making a mistake, but I won't tell him that. This is partly because I don't have the right, but mostly because I'm too chicken.

I think Grease is one of the best movies ever made. Shut up.

Grease II is unquestionably one of the worst movies ever made. Maybe the worst.

It's a slow week at work, and I am -- well, I'm taking it easy a little. Shhhh.

I won/earned a trip to Phoenix from work. (I was nominated for a "good job" award, and everyone who gets those awards is eligible for this trip. I was selected.) DH and I go next week, and I'm really looking forward to it. At the same time, I feel guilty because my coworkers don't get to go. Raisin will be spoiled by Baba and Gamma while we are gone -- another source of both guilt and pleasure.

I have possibly thrown up more this week than most of the rest of my life combined. Neat, huh? (Also see, "work, taking it easy at.")

Someone told me yesterday that I was starting to look pregnant. The other people in the conversation took giant metaphorical leaps backward to avoid being associated with her. Ha!

I will probably put on my pajamas right after Raisin goes to sleep tonight. Then I will watch "Survivor" and complain about how much Shane bugs me. I can't wait.

Kiiiirrrrrbbbbbyyyyy PUCKETT!!!!!

If I had to name 5 members of the Baseball Hall of Fame to save my life, I would die.

If you needed to know who won the World Series in 1988, 1989, or 1990, I would be the very last person in the whole world you should ask. THE LAST.

I can probably only name 2-3 players on this year's Twins team.

But I sure as hell know Kirby Puckett, Kent Hrbek, Gary Gaetti, Dan Gladden, Greg Gagne, et al. I was 9 when the Twins won the World Series in '87, 13 when they did it again in '91 (I thought Chuck Knoblauch was HOTT, and I almost cried when he left us for The Dreaded Yankees).

Kirby is a hero in this state. He led us to two World Series victories. He loved the game, and he taught a new generation of ball players to love it too. (Torii Hunter is one of the few Twins players I CAN name.) He was generous, and he stuck with Minnesota even when he could have made more money somewhere else.

His last 10 years were sad and hard, and now that he's gone there's a lot of debate about whether he deserved that or not. In the end, nobody really cares anymore. This is how Minnesota will remember him. So long, Puck. We'll miss you.

Random On My Mind

Raisin has developed an aversion to weekend naps, so we are trying to get her to at least have some "quiet play time" instead. Overheard this Saturday during our first attempt at "quiet play time:" "Mommy? Mommy! MOMMY!!! Dinah, Dinah, Dinah, Dinah [a reference to her new book about a shiny choo-choo train named Dinah]. Elmo. Baby. Baby Elmo! Mommy? Mommy! MOMMY!!! Mommy, back! Mommy, Raisin! Mommy, Raisin sad!!! Mommy! Daddy? Mommy!"

It's going well, I think.

The new baby (Raisinette? Craisin? I've got nothin') has a heartbeat! Did you know that in the 8th-9th week of pregnancy, some women experience some normal very light bleeding as pregnancy functions are transferred from the corpus luteum to the placenta? I didn't know that, which resulted in a pretty severe freak-out and a trip to the midwife. (How severe of a freak-out? After being reassured by hearing the heartbeat, my systolic blood pressure went down almost 15 mm Hg.)

Bonus: relief seems to greatly reduce the not-just-morning sickness. The midwife also recommended papaya extract. Anybody tried this with any success?

In Which I Start Out Trying to be Funny, But End Up All Maudlin Instead

You know what's great about pregnancy? Nobody wants to mess with me. I'm trying not to expect special treatment (except at home, of course -- sorry DH), but damn if I don't get it anyway.

I told a friend that my plan for healthier eating had been shot to hell by the not-just-morning sickness. This friend, a total food puritan, responded, "oh, you just need to pamper yourself right now!"

Last Wednesday, I called DH when I was leaving work. He was supposed to go to class that night, but I knew there was no way I'd be able to take care of Raisin alone -- too sick. So, he skipped class. Last night, he apologized to his group for missing last week, and explained what had happened. They fell all over themselves to say that under no circumstances should this class take precedence over the needs/wants of a pregnant wife. Dude.

I've even had managers at work (not my manager, mind you -- but they still outrank me, so it counts) tell me not to worry about work projects. I'm growing a baby. Work can wait.

To a certain extent, I agree with this philosophy. I know my limitations, and I'm willing to scale back my expectations of myself while my body deals with the stresses of pregnancy. At the same time, I'm scared to think that everyone is giving me this much license. I worry about taking unfair advantage. I worry about lowering my expectations too far. I worry about jeopardizing projects and goals on which I've worked hard, but that now are taking a backseat to what's going on in my uterus.

Fortunately, this time around I have one person who will not (cannot) cut me any slack. Raisin needs Mommy to draw stick figures in soap crayon on the bathtub walls, whether or not I think I'm too tired. She needs Mommy to cut her chicken nuggets into bite-sized pieces, even when the sight of them churns my stomach. (Daddy has different jobs. This post is about me. Me!!!)

She doesn't yet understand what's changed about me, or how it will impact her (that's another post waiting to happen). So for now at least, she just doesn't accept any change in me at all. I think I'm relieved by that. It's like there's a piece of my life that hasn't been completely transformed by this pregnancy, and I guess I really need that, at least until I start feeling better and can reclaim some more of myself.

So Proud

If DH and I are to disagree about something (in a very civil and I-statement-oriented way, of course), it's likely to be the degree of cleanliness required in our home. I am of the opinion that dishes should be washed, clothes picked up off the floor, and closet doors and dresser drawers closed by the end of each day. DH is of the opinion that my obsession with hiding our mess from ourselves is, um, silly.

Yesterday, while dressing Raisin, DH pushed her dresser drawer closed only 3/4 of the way. Raisin shoved him aside and refused to let him finish putting on her clothes until she had finished closing the drawer.

Then, last night, she spent her entire bathtime "scrubbing" the tub with a washcloth.

I love this kid.

Good Times, Really Good Times

Ah, the early days of pregnancy. I'd forgotten the joys of becoming nauseated by sounds (and just about anything else). I didn't remember what it was like for my stomach to be hungry while my brain rejects the idea of food -- any food.

And sleep -- sleep is awesome too, what with the not being able to get comfortable, and the getting up to pee in the middle of the night. I'm only 7 weeks along -- I don't even have a belly yet! But I've still had to get out the trusty body pillow, which DH loves (he called it the blockade pillow today, and he's not wrong).

The hormonal emotional swings are also fun for the whole family. Oh, and the exhaustion. Check, check.

I am a delight to know these days. Please come by, you'd be in for a real treat.

The Giveaway Clue

For the answer to the riddle, we'll turn to another of the 20th Century's great literary minds, Phoebe Buffay:

Are you in there, little fetus?
In nine months, will you come greet us?
I will buy you some Adidas...

A Riddle

Metaphors

by Sylvia Plath

I'm a riddle in nine syllables.

An elephant, a ponderous house,

A melon strolling on two tendrils.

O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers!

This loaf's big with its yeasty rising.

Money's new-minted in this fat purse.

I'm a means, a stage, a cow in calf.

I've eaten a bag of green apples,

Boarded the train there's no getting off.

**If you figure this out and by some strange fluke know my parents, please don't tell them. We're having dinner with them tomorrow and I want to tell them in person. :)

Justice

Ok, so today I heard a story on the radio about a woman who left her three children (the oldest of whom is 3) alone at her apartment while she went to try to see a Jerry Springer* taping. After FIVE HOURS, the oldest one knocked on a neighbor's door for help. Police were called, charges filed, and the mother is spending 30 days in prison. (The kids will be entered into the foster care system.)

My question is: 30 days? I know nothing about this woman except this incident. Maybe she's ordinarily a very loving and protective mother. Maybe she understands that losing her kids is the worst thing that could happen to her. Maybe serving 30 days' time will convince her to get whatever help or support she needs (assuming, of course, that she can afford it).

But maybe not. I have to say, my gut reaction to this was that she deserves much worse. If she'd had the care of MY child, I wouldn't be able to think of a punishment harsh enough for abandonment. And why should her children have any less protection than mine?

*The DJ's punchline: "... and now Jerry Springer would like to have her as a guest on the show."

Yesterday

5:45 am: Decide to get up a few minutes earlier than normal.
5:45 am: Use "extra" time to have peaceful breakfast. Read.
6:15 am: Realize that "peaceful" breakfast has now actually made you later than usual. Curse.
6:16 am: Raisin uses her internal radar to realize that you are already late. She wakes up earlier than usual, demanding attention. Curse (inwardly of course).
6:17 am: Husband takes over with Raisin, allowing you to shower. Relax a little.
6:30 am: Get out of shower and commence trying to dry hair and apply makeup with Raisin underfoot so DH can shower.
6:50 am: Self and Raisin both groomed, but both in pajamas. Dress Raisin.
7:05 am: CURSE CURSE CURSE. Raisin is dressed, but you are not. Work bag not packed. CURSE.
7:06 am: DH offers to take Raisin to daycare. Relax a little.
7:19 am: Finally manage to leave house, clothed and relatively put-together. Relax a little more.
7:40 am: Almost to parking garage. Realize can still be on time to work. Decide day will not totally suck.
7:41 am: Get honked at by idiot who thinks it's your fault he's blocking traffic. Curse.
7:45 am: Watch, shivering, from the bus stop as two buses fly by without stopping. Curse.
8:00 am: Arrive at work.
8:00 - 10:00 am: Work work work, meeting meeting meeting. Feel productive and hopeful. Project may be OK. Cheer up a little.
10:05 am: Attend Weight Watchers weigh-in. Realize have lost 4 pounds. REJOICE AND SING.
10:15 am: Return to work. All hell has broken loose with project. Curse.
10:15 - 2:00: Miss several meetings while scrambling to prepare for afternoon presentation. Project falls down around ankles, but presentation WILL BE READY DAMMIT.
2:00-3:30 pm: Give presentation. Unexpectedly, it goes really well. Cheer up quite a bit.
3:31 pm: Return to desk. Different project has run into problems. Curse.
3:35-4:12 pm: Work out new problems. Relax a little.
4:13-5:00 pm: Catch up on emails and phone calls. Leave feeling cautiously optimistic.
5:00-5:40 pm: Commute home and pick up Raisin at daycare.
5:43 pm: Set Raisin up with TiVo'd Sesame Street while DH cooks dinner and you start gathering trash for tomorrow's pick-up.
5:55 pm: Finish with trash. Head out to trash can to deposit. Trip and sprawl spectacularly across deck. Twist ankle, bruise knee, and scrape hand. Curse.
6:00 pm: Put on pajamas. Cry a little.
6:02 pm: Suck it up.
6:04-6:30 pm: Eat dinner.
6:30-6:55 pm: Clean kitchen. DH bathes Raisin and puts her to bed.
6:57-7:09 pm: Talk to MIL on phone. Feel better.
7:10-8:00 pm: Watch Gilmore Girls on TiVo. Threaten writers that LUKE AND LORELAI HAD BETTER GET MARRIED DAMMIT.
8:00-10:00 pm: Watch TV, yadda yadda yadda.
11:30 pm: SLEEP. Thank God.

Please Give Me Advice, Part II

My lovely and loving husband recently brought up an interesting point. Raisin is most definitely a mama's girl. DH takes this really well, but it can be really frustrating for both of us. For him, because some days he'd rather just get a kiss instead of, "NO DADDY!!! NO NO NO NO NO!" For me, because some days there is simply no other choice but for Raisin and I to be glued at the hip. It's the only way for all of us to keep our sanity.

Does anyone out there have any words of wisdom about this? We've been told before that there are "mommy" phases and "daddy" phases. So far, her entire life has pretty much been a mommy phase, with definite peaks and valleys -- times, like the last two weeks, when she'll hardly tolerate anyone else, and other times when she's a very easy-going kid. Are the daddy phases still coming?

Also, even during the valleys, I have to admit she's still pretty easy-going. She rarely cries when being left with a trusted caregiver. She enjoys daycare and seems to really thrive there. So, I'm not even sure this really is a problem, or if we'd be creating a problem by trying to force her feelings one way or the other.

Thoughts?

Tidbits

I have readers! Thank you for commenting!

Scene 1: I am reading in the living room, and DH stops by on his way to get something to drink.
Him: On House they were just doing that CSI camera thing where the camera goes into somebody's body. Except they were going into this woman's nose. And then I paused the TiVo, and now the whole TV screen is filled up with this woman's nostril.
Me: Um...
Him: I just didn't want to be the only one with that mental picture.
Me: Thanks?

Scene 2: DH is fixing dinner, while I settle Raisin in her high chair and set the table. I finish a few minutes before dinner is ready, and Raisin is getting impatient.
Raisin: Mommy! Snack! Snack! Milk! Mommy! (ad infinitum)
Me: Raisin, you're hungry, huh? (yes, stating the obvious is my specialty. shut up.)
Raisin: Hungry!
Me: Well, tell Daddy to hurry up! (didn't think she knew this phrase)
Raisin: HURRY UP, DADDY!!!! (oops, guess she did)
DH, as I collapse in helpless giggles: Nice going!

Scene 3: After dinner.
DH: Raisin, are you all done? (no response, but also no indication of wanting to eat)
Me: Raisin, are you done? (no response, I pull her chair away from the table)
Raisin: No! Mine! Mine!
DH, recognizing this as a ploy: No, Raisin, you're done. Do you want to take a bath?
Raisin: No bath, Daddy! No Daddy, no no no!
Me, surprised: Raisin, are you sure!? You don't want to take a bath?
Raisin: Mommy bath! Yeah.

Scene 4, which I belatedly remembered after Scene 2: My brother is showing us his Napoleon Dynamite toy, which says several phrases from the movie.
Doll: ...It's pretty much my favorite animal. It's like a lion and a tiger mixed... bred for its skills in magic.
Me: Oh, boy. We should probably turn that thing off. Next thing you know, Raisin will be saying "idiot!" all the time.
Raisin: Idiot!
Me: I am the stupidest person ever.

I almost missed it....

But this is De-Lurking week!

From my stats, I doubt I have a lot of visitors who aren't commenting, but if you are, please comment this week. I'd love to know you're out there!

So tired. So very, very tired.

Sleep is very important to me. If I don't get the requisite 7-8 hours my body demands, ugly things are gonna happen. I have empirical evidence of that this week, to wit:

--One morning, I got out two spoons with which to eat my breakfast cereal. Once I realized the error, I chose to make use of both spoons because that was easier than returning one to the drawer.

--I had to do math in my head to figure out whether I needed to take the elevator up or down to get from the third floor of my office building to the fifth.

--I nearly cried when a DJ on the radio announced that excessive caffeine consumption can cause ringing in the ears. I don't drink that much coffee, nor do I have ringing in my ears. I just thought it was sad.

--A friend I rarely see is having lunch tomorrow with another friend, and I am thinking about not joining them because it would be during Raisin's naptime, and WHAT IF I NEED A NAP TOO!?

I wonder if I could get me some of those poppies the Wicked Witch of the West used to make Dorothy fall asleep?

Welcome, 2006!

We rang in the New Year at my brother's house, with his wife, my parents, my cousin, and his wife.

The awesome things about this arrangement: there was lots of booze, and laughter. We don't see much of my dad's side of the family, as represented by the cousin who came, so it was fun to catch up with him. My parents brought fireworks, which we set off in the snow in my brother's backyard. Fireworks look especially bright and beautiful in the snow.

The drawbacks to this arrangement: My cousin and his wife, and my brother for that matter, are crazy mad partiers compared to the rest of us. At first, it is just funny when someone else is drunker than you. Then you realize how old and suburban and parentlike you truly are (especially if you're like me and have always been the boring sibling). Then, it's just plain awkward. At least I was spared the part where my cousin passed out....

Also, Raisin is apparently old enough now to be frightened of sleeping in strange places. She slept fitfully, and DH and I kept missing chunks of the party while we tried to soothe her back to sleep. Finally, after watching the ball drop and toasting 2006, we gave up the party and went to bed with her between us. Not exactly conducive to a good night's sleep.

But, after all, I can't think of a more blessed way to begin my new year. My daughter was snuggled in my arms and my husband was holding my hand. The people I love most were all under the same roof. If the way the year begins foretells something of the way it will progress, then I couldn't have chosen a more perfect beginning.

And if anyone threw up this morning, I didn't witness it. Even better.

Introducing....

[First, Raisin is all better. I don't think she even remembers being sick or the evil nebulizer. She's 100% herself again. I'm so relieved that my bones get all jello-y everytime I think about it.]

And now, on to the point (that's being generous) of this entry. We have a new member of the family, and we couldn't be more thrilled! He has taken up residence in our bedroom, which is just fine with us. He doesn't use up much space, although I am still getting used to the whirring sound he makes in the middle of the night.

He's a great addition to our household, as he is already really good at figuring out what we like and don't like. I can just tell we're going to be really good friends, especially once the holidays are over and our regular schedule starts again. Then he'll really be busy keeping up with all our demands.

OK, this is lamer than I thought it would be, and I knew it was lame. We have TiVo! TiVo lives at my house! TiVo records Jeopardy! and Whose Line is it Anyway? and Gilmore Girls and all kinds of reality TV shows that I am slightly ashamed of but love anyway.

I bought it for DH for Christmas (and a little bit for myself too). I am the best wife EVAH. And he is the best husband EVAH, because he bought a flat-screen TV for TiVo to live with. (We didn't know what the other person was getting -- we are so meant to be.) TiVo and the TV are now married, and we are all living happily ever after. The end.

I Got Your Christmas Spirit Right Here

Yesterday I almost bit off a coworker's head. And not with mere words, either. Actual cannibalism was very nearly committed, by me. So, for anyone who prefers that I not sever your pretty necks with my razor-sharp Teeth of Fury, please take note:

1. Do not talk down to me. I'm nice, but my pet peeve is people who patronize (my pet peeve is alliterative, isn't that cool!?), and I will get mean.

2. Do not act as though I'm not doing my job. I am, and I'm doing a good job, and you are not the boss of me anyway. So there. [blows raspberries to demonstrate maturity and professionalism]

3. Do not keep repeating the same question. I answered that question. I do not have time or patience to tell you again that I will take care of it. I WILL TAKE CARE OF IT.

4. Do not offer suggestions if you A) do not know what you are talking about, and/or B) have nothing to do with the project at hand. See #s 2 and 3 above, and know that I AM DOING MY JOB AND I WILL TAKE CARE OF IT.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In other news, Raisin is quite herself again, except for an antibiotic-induced diaper rash with PAIN and SWELLING and REDNESS ouch ouch ouch.

Oh, we need a little Christmas, right this very minute....

A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Raisin has pneumonia. We spent about 5 terrifying hours in urgent care and the emergency room on Saturday, watching her struggle for each breath. I haven't been this scared since the very first time she ever got sick.

Now that we're two days into treatment, she is doing much better. I may even unclench enough to send her back to daycare tomorrow. (She probably could've gone today, but my mom offered to stay home with her, and I couldn't refuse.)

I, however, am struggling with several layers of guilt that I cannot shake. Empirically, logically, rationally, I know that I did not cause my daughter's lungs to fill with fluid. But that didn't stop me from scrubbing the house top-to-bottom yesterday, or doing laundry every second that Raisin was sleeping or busy. If I'd been a better housekeeper, she wouldn't have gotten sick in the first place, you see. In this same vein, now would be an excellent time to ask me for favors or donations to your favorite charity. Who says Lutherans don't believe in doing penance?

On Saturday morning, I knew she was sick. She had a relatively low fever, she was coughing. She even threw up a few times. Her breathing was more rapid than normal. I did consider taking her to the clinic. DH and I mentioned it several times throughout the day. But we looked up every symptom she had, and none of them seemed to merit a trip to the doctor.

"They'll just tell us she has a virus," I kept saying. "It's better to keep her at home and keep her comfortable."

As the day wore on, she got worse. Her breathing was more rapid, more shallow. She couldn't be comforted by any of her favorite things. DH convinced me that a trip to the clinic was warranted. Oh, God, what if I hadn't listened to him then!?

I completely went to pieces when the PA at the clinic checked her oxygen level and found it to be about 10% lower than it should be. I started to cry (didn't really stop for several hours afterward), and the PA had no idea what to do with me. Or with Raisin, apparently.* She sent us to the ER at Children's, which I now realize was the best thing she could've done.

There, we discovered that Raisin's O2 level was actually fine (whew!). They just didn't have equipment small enough for her fingers at the clinic. A chest x-ray confirmed pneumonia, while a dose of Prednisone relieved some of the irritation in her chest.

Then we settled in for the long haul. The doctors wanted to see how much improvement could be gained after several treatments with an Albuterol nebulizer. Easier said than done, since Raisin would rather have eaten live frogs than have the neb mask on her face. Even though I knew it was helping, restraining my daughter while she cried feebly and looked reproachfully into my eyes was the worst thing I've ever done.

Nevertheless, by the end of the third treatment, the doctor felt she had improved enough to go home. We're now the proud owners of our own nebulizer machine, which ought to be totally fun at parties. Raisin's even gotten used to the sensation; she doesn't fight quite as vigorously any more.

We are all recovering. Raisin is almost back to her usual self, while DH and I struggle to find some grace, forgiveness, and peace for ourselves. We are supremely grateful to the doctors and nurses at the children's hospital. They made our nightmare bearable, and they put my daughter on the road to recovery. My family will be safe and whole for Christmas, and I cannot think of a better gift than that.

*I am sure she was completely competent; she did a nebulizer treatment at the clinic, so she obviously knew what she was dealing with. But her "bedside manner" was nonexistent, and she did not answer any of our questions. There is more to the successful practice of medicine than the medicine itself. Hasn't she ever seen Patch Adams?

Now I've Done It

I have drawn my husband into the seedy underbelly of the Internet that is the blogosphere. :)

He's totally jealous of my mad blogging skillz and has started a blog of his own here. Because he truly does have some skillz, and is not lazy like me, he has also posted some pictures. So, if you've been dying to know what Raisin and I look like, now's your big chance!

When you're done, please come back and tell me that I'm pretty and that you still love me. Lie if you have to.

Heartwarming

Oh, so very tired, and oh, so very cold. Why do I live in Minnesota again? It is 3 Degrees here right now. The windchill is -6.

So, peppermint tea in hand, I am going to cheer myself up by listing The Adorable Things My Daughter Does. If it doesn't do anything for you, too bad. I am tired and cold. Leave me alone.

1. While watching a TV show with a dog (her new favorite animal), she cries "puppy, puppy!" every time the dog leaves the screen. Then she grabs the remote and pushes all the buttons, looking for the one that will make the puppy come back.

2. Books, or "guks," as she calls them, are cause for tremendous excitement. Her face lights up anytime she sees one of her favorites. (In other words, the ones with puppies in them.)

3. She is trying diligently to get her tongue around the words "Christmas tree." It's hard work for her, but her attempts are so cute that I keep pointing the tree out to her just to make her try to say it again.

4. She blows on her food when we tell her it's hot. She also blows on the oven and the hair dryer.

5. DH taught her to say "I love you," which comes out in toddlerspeak as "wuv oo." Melts me every time.

6. She knows how to play "Ring Around the Rosey," but she never wants to sing the whole song. Her version involves walking 3-4 steps around the circle, then skipping right to "we all fall down!"

7. She has a flair for mimicry. Most of it's endearing, like when she covers her mouth after she's sneezed, or when she folds her hand to pray. It's hard to enjoy it, though, when I know the day is coming when she'll swear in church or blow her nose in a napkin at a restaurant. Not that I ever swear or blow my nose in napkins, I mean, that's just rude.

8. Somehow she has discovered Elmo -- he must send out some kind of homing beacon to small children. I know WE didn't introduce her to him. She's learning the song: "la, la, la, ELMO!!!" Close enough.

9. When it's just the three of us, we play a dinner-table naming game. She points gleefully at DH, and yells, "Mama!" Then we giggle and she points out the real Mama, then Daddy and Raisin.

10. She swims in the bathtub.