Once I finally got Punky to sleep last night, I collasped on the couch as usual. I was tired, but not enough to overlook the stabbing pain on my left side. I was ovulating. Same pain I get every month. Lasts a few hours then disappears.
My mom started menopause young, at my age in fact, and my doctor told me it can be hereditary. Every time I feel that annoying pain as an egg bursts through the ovary wall, I can't help but wonder if it will be the last time. I don't think there are many good eggs left in my baskets. My clock is making it's final desperate ticks. And a voice in my head seems to naggingly whisper, "It's now or never... Come on, roll the dice... Take a chance... See what's meant to be..." And I second-guess my decision in a moment of weakness.
I closed my eyes and lost myself in the thought of another baby. What would it be like to have two? Would it be another beautiful girl, or would I have a son the second time around? What would I name him/her? Would I even be able to have another successful pregnancy or would it end in a loss?
Oh, the wonderful baby smells. The precious bond while nursing. The first smile, first giggle, first word, first steps...priceless. The tiny, adorable outfits. The cuddling. The co-sleeping. The miracle of life...
Just as my thoughts were about to turn to the worry, the diapers, the two a.m. bottles, and the three hundred pounds of crap you have to cart along everywhere you go with a new baby, Punky's dad came home from work.
He made his way into the living room and over to me on the couch. "Are you asleep?" he whispered.
"No. Almost. But not quite." I whispered back.
"Oh," he said somewhat disappointed, "Are you tired?"
I knew where this conversation was heading, and what a moment to be having it. I rolled over and opened my eyes. "Not too tired, I guess."
In the light of the TV I could see the smug grin that appeared on his face. That "I might get lucky" look that men get. Better not leave him hanging too long...
I sat up and boldly declared, "I'm ovulating right now. Wanna make a baby?"
In one swift, seemless movement the grin changed to panic as he leaned in and kissed my forehead. "Goodnight, get some sleep," he muttered and headed for the bedroom. Damn, worked better than the old headache routine and at lightning speed to boot.
I can't take any form of birth control due to the blood disorder and the risks of clotting and stroke, and he knows he can't be relied on to always use it in the heat of the moment. It's not too big of a deal since I am one of the lucky 10% of women who can actually physically feel ovulation. And we generally avoid it like the plague and take no unnecessary chances. But once in a while it's tempting. For me, anyhow. Not for him, obviously.
After checking on Punky who was sound asleep in her crib, I returned to the couch and listened to the faint ticking of the kitchen clock. As I drifted off to dreamland I couldn't help but wonder...will it still be ticking next month?
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
Eighteen Months
I can hardly believe that title...
I think Punky has changed more in the last two months than any previous time frame. The difference between sixteen months and eighteen months is incredible. She is embracing the world of toddlerhood. And she's good at it.
She had her eighteen-month check-up on Friday and the results were just as I suspected. She was always in the 5th to 10th percentile for height and weight; now she's in the 50th for height. The growth spurt I felt she had was no figment of my imagination. She did get tall...just under 32 inches.
Her weight, on the other hand, still lingers in the same percentile it's been. Twenty pounds, three ounces now. She finally reached the point where it's legal to turn her forward-facing in the car, but I plan to keep her rear-facing as long as possible. I watched the videos; I'm not taking any chances.
She reached all the normal milestones for her age, and the doctor was impressed with her language development. Despite the fact that she screamed the last two times we tried to clean her ears, there's no sign of an ear infection or fluid. So, we can just add it to the list of things she previously loved and now suddenly hates. This "phase" stuff sure is fun.
Of course the appointment ended with a round of vaccinations and Punky was not happy. Actually, she cried through most of the visit so I was already numbed to it by shot time. She was genuinely afraid and teared up at the doctor's every move. I had so many questions I didn't get to ask because we were all rushing through the appointment so she would calm down. But I did get an answer for the rash behind her knees. Eczema. Again. Most likely caused by a food allergy.
Last year I was fairly certain carrots were the culprit. Now she hardly ever eats carrots. She eats so many different foods; it will be next to impossible to isolate the trigger. The doc found it odd that it cleared up in the winter but came back in the summer. Usually eczema works the opposite way. Poor kid, she's apparently ass-backwards like her mama. Medicine designed to make you sleep makes me jumpy and wide awake; the non-drowsy stuff knocks me out in twenty minutes flat. Heat to sooth cramps? Nope, only makes it worse. Ice for me, thank you. The list goes on and on...
Anyway, this year and a half has gone by so quickly. One year ago today I had the best photo shoot with Punky; now I can't get her to sit still long enough for the click. I'm going to attempt some eighteen month shots but I'm not expecting much cooperation on her part. We'll see, maybe I can bribe her with a cookie. Or an apple. Yeah, an apple will probably work better.
It is so much fun watching her learn to communicate verbally. She continues to repeat words and phrases. Her current favorite is, "Oh, man." Her dad spilled half a box of crackers all over the kitchen floor the other night and Punky marveled with delight as she jumped up and down, pointed at her dad, and shrieked, "A mess! A mess! A mess!" over and over again. And now when I ask her if she loves her mama, she says "Yes!" and my heart melts every time.
She still loves books and is taking an interest in longer ones these days. It's so refreshing to read new stories to her, books that have more than a handful of words per page, and somewhat of an actual plot. Dr. Seuss books are a big hit now. Sometimes we make it all the way through; sometimes we don't. But it's an improvement nonetheless. I can't wait until we can read the books I loved as a kid...Judy Blume, Beverly Cleary, Paula Danziger, Paul Zindel...but those are still a long way down the road.
A few typical behavior issues have popped up recently as she tackles toddlerhood with a vengence. Jumping on the furniture is a big one. Beds are like giant magnets for her and no amount of asking, telling, begging, pleading, yelling, or disciplining can deter her from their magical, bouncy powers. I'm so worried she'll get hurt, like broken-bone hurt, and I'm about at my wits end. I hope this is one phase that passes quickly.
Learning to share is another hurdle we are struggling with now. She doesn't have many opportunites to interact with other kids, maybe once or twice a month if that. She doesn't like sharing her toys, and gets mad when I tell her to let another kid play with her things. And then there's the hitting. She has a bit of a temper and likes to take a swing when she doesn't get her way. Never hard, more like just a tap, but the intent is there and it drives me crazy. That's not a behavior she sees, so I don't know why she even thinks to have that kind of reaction to anything. Yeah yeah, another phase...all kids do it...blah, blah, blah...
Not to paint a picture of a total devil, she really is well behaved 99% of the time...but the 1% is awfully frustrating. She picks up her toys, helps clean up messes she makes, generally listens very well, does what she's asked to do, and is normally pleasant, sweet and loving. I know, if she were an angel all of the time she wouldn't be a normal kid. And what fun would that be.
Happy half birthday, beautiful girl. I love you...
I think Punky has changed more in the last two months than any previous time frame. The difference between sixteen months and eighteen months is incredible. She is embracing the world of toddlerhood. And she's good at it.
She had her eighteen-month check-up on Friday and the results were just as I suspected. She was always in the 5th to 10th percentile for height and weight; now she's in the 50th for height. The growth spurt I felt she had was no figment of my imagination. She did get tall...just under 32 inches.
Her weight, on the other hand, still lingers in the same percentile it's been. Twenty pounds, three ounces now. She finally reached the point where it's legal to turn her forward-facing in the car, but I plan to keep her rear-facing as long as possible. I watched the videos; I'm not taking any chances.
She reached all the normal milestones for her age, and the doctor was impressed with her language development. Despite the fact that she screamed the last two times we tried to clean her ears, there's no sign of an ear infection or fluid. So, we can just add it to the list of things she previously loved and now suddenly hates. This "phase" stuff sure is fun.
Of course the appointment ended with a round of vaccinations and Punky was not happy. Actually, she cried through most of the visit so I was already numbed to it by shot time. She was genuinely afraid and teared up at the doctor's every move. I had so many questions I didn't get to ask because we were all rushing through the appointment so she would calm down. But I did get an answer for the rash behind her knees. Eczema. Again. Most likely caused by a food allergy.
Last year I was fairly certain carrots were the culprit. Now she hardly ever eats carrots. She eats so many different foods; it will be next to impossible to isolate the trigger. The doc found it odd that it cleared up in the winter but came back in the summer. Usually eczema works the opposite way. Poor kid, she's apparently ass-backwards like her mama. Medicine designed to make you sleep makes me jumpy and wide awake; the non-drowsy stuff knocks me out in twenty minutes flat. Heat to sooth cramps? Nope, only makes it worse. Ice for me, thank you. The list goes on and on...
Anyway, this year and a half has gone by so quickly. One year ago today I had the best photo shoot with Punky; now I can't get her to sit still long enough for the click. I'm going to attempt some eighteen month shots but I'm not expecting much cooperation on her part. We'll see, maybe I can bribe her with a cookie. Or an apple. Yeah, an apple will probably work better.
It is so much fun watching her learn to communicate verbally. She continues to repeat words and phrases. Her current favorite is, "Oh, man." Her dad spilled half a box of crackers all over the kitchen floor the other night and Punky marveled with delight as she jumped up and down, pointed at her dad, and shrieked, "A mess! A mess! A mess!" over and over again. And now when I ask her if she loves her mama, she says "Yes!" and my heart melts every time.
She still loves books and is taking an interest in longer ones these days. It's so refreshing to read new stories to her, books that have more than a handful of words per page, and somewhat of an actual plot. Dr. Seuss books are a big hit now. Sometimes we make it all the way through; sometimes we don't. But it's an improvement nonetheless. I can't wait until we can read the books I loved as a kid...Judy Blume, Beverly Cleary, Paula Danziger, Paul Zindel...but those are still a long way down the road.
A few typical behavior issues have popped up recently as she tackles toddlerhood with a vengence. Jumping on the furniture is a big one. Beds are like giant magnets for her and no amount of asking, telling, begging, pleading, yelling, or disciplining can deter her from their magical, bouncy powers. I'm so worried she'll get hurt, like broken-bone hurt, and I'm about at my wits end. I hope this is one phase that passes quickly.
Learning to share is another hurdle we are struggling with now. She doesn't have many opportunites to interact with other kids, maybe once or twice a month if that. She doesn't like sharing her toys, and gets mad when I tell her to let another kid play with her things. And then there's the hitting. She has a bit of a temper and likes to take a swing when she doesn't get her way. Never hard, more like just a tap, but the intent is there and it drives me crazy. That's not a behavior she sees, so I don't know why she even thinks to have that kind of reaction to anything. Yeah yeah, another phase...all kids do it...blah, blah, blah...
Not to paint a picture of a total devil, she really is well behaved 99% of the time...but the 1% is awfully frustrating. She picks up her toys, helps clean up messes she makes, generally listens very well, does what she's asked to do, and is normally pleasant, sweet and loving. I know, if she were an angel all of the time she wouldn't be a normal kid. And what fun would that be.
Happy half birthday, beautiful girl. I love you...
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Pools, Tractors, Crayons, and ABC's
It's so pathetic that once I actually find a minute to write these days, I need to try to cram weeks worth of crap into one giant mishmash of a post. But, such is life right now...
Two weekends ago, we filled Punky's little baby pool for the first time and let her go nuts. To say she loves it would be an understatement. She can be cold and shaking, with blue lips and all, but still screams in protest when I decide she's had enough and reach in to grab her.
The summer has only just begun and she'll have plenty of opportunities to use it if the weather continues its current trend. I didn't anticipate exactly how much work it is to scrub it out, fill it up, warm it up, and then dump it out creatively as to not cause a huge, muddy swamp in the yard...each and every single day she gets to use it. But the excitement, smiles, and giggles while she plays and splashes are well worth the effort. Now if I can just get her to stop drinking the pool water we'll be good to go...
In other news, her dad blew up the lawn mower last week. Punky was enjoying her pool while Grammy and I relaxed in the shade and watched. All of a sudden a black cloud of smoke made its way across the driveway. The stench of burnt oil filled the air. The 1970-something rider met its final death. No more money would be pumped in to try and revive it one more time. It was time for a new one. Gulp.
Yes, I said new. Within ten minutes of the mower's demise, he was on the internet seaching for another used hunk of crap that would surely cause us the same hassles and aggravation we've been dealing with for years. I figured it was time to bite the bullet and shell out the cash for a new one. Off to Sears we went.
It didn't take him long to pick what he wanted and write the very painful check. Painful for me, at least. I coped by giving him a twenty minute lecture on how he better take care of it, how I expect to not see it in pieces on the lawn, how he needs to make sure his son is careful when he uses it, how he better make it last for years... As you'd expect, the lecture was not well received; he called me his mother and threatened to drive it right up my A... But I needed to do it nonetheless.
Spending a large chunk of money at one time is always a hard pill for me to swallow. In the days immediately following, I tend to obsess and second-guess the decision. Little by little I digest the transaction and eventually it wears off completely, but those first few days are rough. I'm happy to say I've gotten past this purchase, and thankfully my A is still intact.
Moving right along, I bought Punky her very first crayons and coloring books. She loves sidewalk chalk, and tries to steal my pens in the house, so I figured it was the right time to introduce them. She's old enough to understand what to do...or should I say what not to do...with them, right?
Nope. She ate a third of the yellow one and colored the fridge purple. At least she was smart enough to peel the paper off before taking a bite. And mama was smart enough to buy non-toxic, washable crayons. As it turned out, the yellow one tasted yucky. Punky told me so several times while I scraped wax off her teeth. And the purple wiped off so easily that she actually did some of the clean-up herself. I'd love to say she learned some valuable lessons but, since I caught her licking the orange crayon last night and trying to write on the carpet, I guess it didn't fully hit home. So for now, she remains on crayon probation.
Onto the ABC's. Punky's doing so well learning her letters, and I don't mean the silly song. I mean actually recognizing the letters, saying them by name, and then telling me a word that starts with that letter. I bought her some flashcards with pictures, letters, colors, and shapes. She is so interested and asks to look at them at least once a day. It's amazing how much knowledge she's already managed to suck out of these cheap, simple cards. And she learns so fast, it makes my head spin. Maybe in a few years she can tutor me in math. But then again, it's language she's learning so quickly and easily...she could be left-brained with a lazy right side. Like me. Oh well.
Two weekends ago, we filled Punky's little baby pool for the first time and let her go nuts. To say she loves it would be an understatement. She can be cold and shaking, with blue lips and all, but still screams in protest when I decide she's had enough and reach in to grab her.
The summer has only just begun and she'll have plenty of opportunities to use it if the weather continues its current trend. I didn't anticipate exactly how much work it is to scrub it out, fill it up, warm it up, and then dump it out creatively as to not cause a huge, muddy swamp in the yard...each and every single day she gets to use it. But the excitement, smiles, and giggles while she plays and splashes are well worth the effort. Now if I can just get her to stop drinking the pool water we'll be good to go...
In other news, her dad blew up the lawn mower last week. Punky was enjoying her pool while Grammy and I relaxed in the shade and watched. All of a sudden a black cloud of smoke made its way across the driveway. The stench of burnt oil filled the air. The 1970-something rider met its final death. No more money would be pumped in to try and revive it one more time. It was time for a new one. Gulp.
Yes, I said new. Within ten minutes of the mower's demise, he was on the internet seaching for another used hunk of crap that would surely cause us the same hassles and aggravation we've been dealing with for years. I figured it was time to bite the bullet and shell out the cash for a new one. Off to Sears we went.
It didn't take him long to pick what he wanted and write the very painful check. Painful for me, at least. I coped by giving him a twenty minute lecture on how he better take care of it, how I expect to not see it in pieces on the lawn, how he needs to make sure his son is careful when he uses it, how he better make it last for years... As you'd expect, the lecture was not well received; he called me his mother and threatened to drive it right up my A... But I needed to do it nonetheless.
Spending a large chunk of money at one time is always a hard pill for me to swallow. In the days immediately following, I tend to obsess and second-guess the decision. Little by little I digest the transaction and eventually it wears off completely, but those first few days are rough. I'm happy to say I've gotten past this purchase, and thankfully my A is still intact.
Moving right along, I bought Punky her very first crayons and coloring books. She loves sidewalk chalk, and tries to steal my pens in the house, so I figured it was the right time to introduce them. She's old enough to understand what to do...or should I say what not to do...with them, right?
Nope. She ate a third of the yellow one and colored the fridge purple. At least she was smart enough to peel the paper off before taking a bite. And mama was smart enough to buy non-toxic, washable crayons. As it turned out, the yellow one tasted yucky. Punky told me so several times while I scraped wax off her teeth. And the purple wiped off so easily that she actually did some of the clean-up herself. I'd love to say she learned some valuable lessons but, since I caught her licking the orange crayon last night and trying to write on the carpet, I guess it didn't fully hit home. So for now, she remains on crayon probation.
Onto the ABC's. Punky's doing so well learning her letters, and I don't mean the silly song. I mean actually recognizing the letters, saying them by name, and then telling me a word that starts with that letter. I bought her some flashcards with pictures, letters, colors, and shapes. She is so interested and asks to look at them at least once a day. It's amazing how much knowledge she's already managed to suck out of these cheap, simple cards. And she learns so fast, it makes my head spin. Maybe in a few years she can tutor me in math. But then again, it's language she's learning so quickly and easily...she could be left-brained with a lazy right side. Like me. Oh well.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Blogiversary and the Big One Hundred
Yep, it's true. One year ago today I made the decision to jump on the blog bandwagon and put my thoughts out there for the world to read. At that time I had no idea if I'd even stick with it.
Coincidentally, this also marks my 100th post...a milestone in its own right. Given life's challenges, working full time, and the expected craziness thrust upon any new mom, I think averaging one post every 3-4 days this year was a great accomplishment.
Blogging has lived up to my expectations thus far. It offers me a fantastic outlet to express my emotions...whether good, bad, or ugly. It allows me to be happy, silly, angry, sad, and sappy. Most importantly, it provides me a way to document the precious moments and milestones in my daughter's life without having to glue, tape, and staple pictures and other miscellaneous objects to a pink, frilly scrapbook that would undoubtedly end up rotting away in someone's attic years down the road.
The dust seems to be settling a bit in my new position, so hopefully life will return to normal soon and I'll actually be able to stay awake long enough to post more often. Punky has changed so much the last two months and I've missed out on capturing some of those memories. And with how completely cluttered my head has been lately, many are lost forever. I'm lucky to make it out of the house with matching shoes these days, let alone remember what happened a few days ago.
Anyway, I'm looking forward to year number two in my own little corner of cyberspace. Based on my lifetime history, I can confidently say there will never be a shortage of material. Never a dull moment...as my grandmother used to say. It's always something...and that something, whatever it is, usually makes a memory worth noting. And Punky may need a detailed list to present to her therapist someday when she blames her parents for everything that goes wrong in her life.
Coincidentally, this also marks my 100th post...a milestone in its own right. Given life's challenges, working full time, and the expected craziness thrust upon any new mom, I think averaging one post every 3-4 days this year was a great accomplishment.
Blogging has lived up to my expectations thus far. It offers me a fantastic outlet to express my emotions...whether good, bad, or ugly. It allows me to be happy, silly, angry, sad, and sappy. Most importantly, it provides me a way to document the precious moments and milestones in my daughter's life without having to glue, tape, and staple pictures and other miscellaneous objects to a pink, frilly scrapbook that would undoubtedly end up rotting away in someone's attic years down the road.
The dust seems to be settling a bit in my new position, so hopefully life will return to normal soon and I'll actually be able to stay awake long enough to post more often. Punky has changed so much the last two months and I've missed out on capturing some of those memories. And with how completely cluttered my head has been lately, many are lost forever. I'm lucky to make it out of the house with matching shoes these days, let alone remember what happened a few days ago.
Anyway, I'm looking forward to year number two in my own little corner of cyberspace. Based on my lifetime history, I can confidently say there will never be a shortage of material. Never a dull moment...as my grandmother used to say. It's always something...and that something, whatever it is, usually makes a memory worth noting. And Punky may need a detailed list to present to her therapist someday when she blames her parents for everything that goes wrong in her life.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
More Peas, Please
Icky, mushy, stinky baby food peas. Punky could never get enough of them. It was surely on her list of favorites, and she never left an ounce in the bowl.
Icky, yucky, stinky real cooked peas. Punky could never get enough of them. She'd eat'em by the fistfuls, cramming as much as she could into her mouth at once if I turned my head for so much as a second. She'd pick'em out of mixed veggies with her fingers so she could eat them first. She'd ask for more when they were all gone.
Punky loved peas. Until this week. And I haven't a clue why. I'm completely puzzled...
The first time she refused them, I thought perhaps it was the rare occasion when my child wasn't really hungry. I can count on one hand the number of times that's happened.
The second time, I thought she was just being fussy. Possibly tired. Somewhat whiney. Not in the mood for peas.
Today I stuck two peas on the fork, followed by a hunk of ravioli and then a piece of cooked carrot. She made a strange face and stared at me. A few seconds later, her lips opened and out came the two peas. The ravioli stayed in, the carrot stayed in, but she spit the peas out whole. Not smushed. Still perfectly round. Little shit.
I guess she hates peas now. Hopefully it's just a phase.
Icky, yucky, stinky real cooked peas. Punky could never get enough of them. She'd eat'em by the fistfuls, cramming as much as she could into her mouth at once if I turned my head for so much as a second. She'd pick'em out of mixed veggies with her fingers so she could eat them first. She'd ask for more when they were all gone.
Punky loved peas. Until this week. And I haven't a clue why. I'm completely puzzled...
The first time she refused them, I thought perhaps it was the rare occasion when my child wasn't really hungry. I can count on one hand the number of times that's happened.
The second time, I thought she was just being fussy. Possibly tired. Somewhat whiney. Not in the mood for peas.
Today I stuck two peas on the fork, followed by a hunk of ravioli and then a piece of cooked carrot. She made a strange face and stared at me. A few seconds later, her lips opened and out came the two peas. The ravioli stayed in, the carrot stayed in, but she spit the peas out whole. Not smushed. Still perfectly round. Little shit.
I guess she hates peas now. Hopefully it's just a phase.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Pie Hole Rules
Punky's dad is gross.
Not all the time...only in certain respects. And eating is one of them.
No, he doesn't chew with his mouth open. He doesn't wipe greasy fingers in his t-shirt. His clothes are free of permanent ketchup stains. He cleans up after himself, although I do find pretzel crumbs scratching my ass in bed from time to time. Grrr...
And it's not that he eats odd things like rattlesnakes or bugs. He's not into eating cute little furry creatures like baby bunnies. He's not into any exotic foods at all. Hell, I can't even get him to eat Chinese.
But the problem does lie in what he eats...and when. Our fridge could give the fridge in any science lab a run for the money. Things could be in there weeks...and he eats them. If there are no visible signs of mold and no overbearing odors, he eats it. Expiration dates are meaningless... just a gimmick so people throw out perfectly good food and buy more. He leaves pizza with meat toppings on the counter overnight and eats it for lunch the next day. He likes it better that way.
I, on the other hand, tend to obsess about bacteria growing in or on my food. I check expiration dates every time I reach for something in the fridge. It doesn't matter that I had a sandwich the day before and used that very same jar of mayo, I still peek at the date before using it. And I won't eat or drink anything that is even so much as one day past date. Just the thought makes me gag...it doesn't matter what it is. I will eat leftovers, within a reasonable time frame of course, but only if they have been properly stored and promptly refrigerated after dinner. That means sealed containers and an hour after at most, not a loose sheet of aluminum foil four hours later.
So, to co-exist peacefully without me having uncontrollable urges to vomit, we needed some basic ground rules. I don't eat anything I'm not comfortable with, he doesn't cook anything using ingredients that I wouldn't be comfortable with, and when he feels the need to eat something that falls into the science experiment category I must be in another room or simply not home. And I agreed not to throw out any of his shit in case he planned on eating it.
Now we have a baby eating real food. The rules had to be amended to apply to her as well. He may have a stomach of steel but she surely doesn't. I don't want her eating anything questionable. Period. And she always wants some of whatever we're having, so eating his bacteria-laden food in front of her is not an option. He respects my wishes, or at least he says he does...
Enter the babysitter.
One day this week she told me Punky was being particularly fussy at lunch time, refusing veggies and other stuff she normally adores. So she gave her some leftover pasta and sauce she found in the fridge as well as half of a baloney sandwich. Yeah, as tiny as she is, my kid eats like a horse.
Anyway, my heart immediately skipped a beat. That sauce was from a week ago. The baloney that clearly states "use within seven days of opening" had been open for more like three weeks. Every bone in my body wanted to take her to the emergency room for food poisoning but I restrained myself and let nature take its course.
Okay, so she didn't appear to get sick, unless you count the pound of multicolored shit that burst through the constraints of her diaper right before bed that night, but otherwise she seemed fine. Yeah, I realize the extreme crap-isode may have been unrelated and didn't necessarily indicate botchilism, but it was an odd coincidence nonetheless.
The next day I briefed the babysitter on the above highlights and told her not to feed Punky anything from the fridge. Ever. Unless we tell her to, of course. She understood completely since she is married to his brother and apparently the gene for eating spoiled food runs in families. He's the same way. Ugh.
Hopefully Punky didn't inherit it. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.
Not all the time...only in certain respects. And eating is one of them.
No, he doesn't chew with his mouth open. He doesn't wipe greasy fingers in his t-shirt. His clothes are free of permanent ketchup stains. He cleans up after himself, although I do find pretzel crumbs scratching my ass in bed from time to time. Grrr...
And it's not that he eats odd things like rattlesnakes or bugs. He's not into eating cute little furry creatures like baby bunnies. He's not into any exotic foods at all. Hell, I can't even get him to eat Chinese.
But the problem does lie in what he eats...and when. Our fridge could give the fridge in any science lab a run for the money. Things could be in there weeks...and he eats them. If there are no visible signs of mold and no overbearing odors, he eats it. Expiration dates are meaningless... just a gimmick so people throw out perfectly good food and buy more. He leaves pizza with meat toppings on the counter overnight and eats it for lunch the next day. He likes it better that way.
I, on the other hand, tend to obsess about bacteria growing in or on my food. I check expiration dates every time I reach for something in the fridge. It doesn't matter that I had a sandwich the day before and used that very same jar of mayo, I still peek at the date before using it. And I won't eat or drink anything that is even so much as one day past date. Just the thought makes me gag...it doesn't matter what it is. I will eat leftovers, within a reasonable time frame of course, but only if they have been properly stored and promptly refrigerated after dinner. That means sealed containers and an hour after at most, not a loose sheet of aluminum foil four hours later.
So, to co-exist peacefully without me having uncontrollable urges to vomit, we needed some basic ground rules. I don't eat anything I'm not comfortable with, he doesn't cook anything using ingredients that I wouldn't be comfortable with, and when he feels the need to eat something that falls into the science experiment category I must be in another room or simply not home. And I agreed not to throw out any of his shit in case he planned on eating it.
Now we have a baby eating real food. The rules had to be amended to apply to her as well. He may have a stomach of steel but she surely doesn't. I don't want her eating anything questionable. Period. And she always wants some of whatever we're having, so eating his bacteria-laden food in front of her is not an option. He respects my wishes, or at least he says he does...
Enter the babysitter.
One day this week she told me Punky was being particularly fussy at lunch time, refusing veggies and other stuff she normally adores. So she gave her some leftover pasta and sauce she found in the fridge as well as half of a baloney sandwich. Yeah, as tiny as she is, my kid eats like a horse.
Anyway, my heart immediately skipped a beat. That sauce was from a week ago. The baloney that clearly states "use within seven days of opening" had been open for more like three weeks. Every bone in my body wanted to take her to the emergency room for food poisoning but I restrained myself and let nature take its course.
Okay, so she didn't appear to get sick, unless you count the pound of multicolored shit that burst through the constraints of her diaper right before bed that night, but otherwise she seemed fine. Yeah, I realize the extreme crap-isode may have been unrelated and didn't necessarily indicate botchilism, but it was an odd coincidence nonetheless.
The next day I briefed the babysitter on the above highlights and told her not to feed Punky anything from the fridge. Ever. Unless we tell her to, of course. She understood completely since she is married to his brother and apparently the gene for eating spoiled food runs in families. He's the same way. Ugh.
Hopefully Punky didn't inherit it. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic
Given all life's crazy twists and turns lately, I am really struggling to find the time to write. And I miss it.
As the days pass I seem to encounter tons of things to write about...but when I finally find the time to sit down and type, writer's block sets in and my mind goes blank. Mentally, I've been running full speed as I try to learn my new job and get organized. When I get the chance to relax and wind down, I can't pull any thoughts together. My brain goes into siesta mode, I can't focus on anything, and I end up choosing to sleep over posting.
On top of writing, I also miss having time to read blogs. I've gotten way behind on ones I normally follow, plus I miss just browsing through in search of new ones. I can't keep a handle on my own life right now, let alone keep track of other people's.
As long as I've covered reading and writing, I may as well throw in some math. I was never a math girl. This new job involves way too much math for my taste. And it makes my head spin.
I was only in the second grade when I realized math wouldn't be my cup of tea. The first time I saw a multiplication table my head hurt. I wasn't grasping it. The concept eluded me. Finally after much patience on the part of my teacher, something clicked and my brain caught up to the rest of the class.
In fifth grade, long division earned this previously straight-A student her first "C" on a test. It was completely over my head and made no sense at all. My parents happened to be remodeling our basement at the time, so my dad tried to help on the newly-hung drywall. Some day in the future, someone will buy that house, remove the paneling, and wonder why the hell there are huge long division problems all over the walls. In permanent black marker nonetheless. But it helped.
Junior high brought the wonderful world of algebra. Although I managed to get good grades, I really struggled to understand and absolutely hated it. But junior high also introduced something I could get my head around easily: foreign languages. Obviously, the left side of my brain was winning the intelligence war. And the right side napped a lot.
In high school I chose to skip calculus. I knew it would be a waste of my time as well as the teacher's. I already knew I would never be on any career path that required that knowledge. I opted for prob and stat instead and I have to say it was a much better choice given that it was a required course in college and I breezed right through it headache free.
I filled my college curriculum with as many language classes as I could. My B.A. is in Spanish but I also studied Italian and German. Electives were filled with writing and literature courses when available. To my utter surprise, public speaking ended up being one of my favorite classes. The actual speaking part not so much, but writing the speeches was fantastic.
Of course, all jobs require some math skills and I've always held my own, but for some reason it seems to be overwhelming me at the moment in this new position. It's probably just related to the fast pace of the job and trying to re-train my self to function in that type of role. I just feel easily confused, like my head is never clear...like somewhere in the background a heavy metal band is banging away every time I try to focus. And the right side of my brain still won't wake up through all the damn noise.
I am so looking forward to reaching the point where life settles down again. I want to read. I want to write. And I want my dad to take down the basement paneling, paint over the old math, and fill the walls with linear feet to square feet conversions instead. I don't think my new boss would appreciate me doing it in my office.
As the days pass I seem to encounter tons of things to write about...but when I finally find the time to sit down and type, writer's block sets in and my mind goes blank. Mentally, I've been running full speed as I try to learn my new job and get organized. When I get the chance to relax and wind down, I can't pull any thoughts together. My brain goes into siesta mode, I can't focus on anything, and I end up choosing to sleep over posting.
On top of writing, I also miss having time to read blogs. I've gotten way behind on ones I normally follow, plus I miss just browsing through in search of new ones. I can't keep a handle on my own life right now, let alone keep track of other people's.
As long as I've covered reading and writing, I may as well throw in some math. I was never a math girl. This new job involves way too much math for my taste. And it makes my head spin.
I was only in the second grade when I realized math wouldn't be my cup of tea. The first time I saw a multiplication table my head hurt. I wasn't grasping it. The concept eluded me. Finally after much patience on the part of my teacher, something clicked and my brain caught up to the rest of the class.
In fifth grade, long division earned this previously straight-A student her first "C" on a test. It was completely over my head and made no sense at all. My parents happened to be remodeling our basement at the time, so my dad tried to help on the newly-hung drywall. Some day in the future, someone will buy that house, remove the paneling, and wonder why the hell there are huge long division problems all over the walls. In permanent black marker nonetheless. But it helped.
Junior high brought the wonderful world of algebra. Although I managed to get good grades, I really struggled to understand and absolutely hated it. But junior high also introduced something I could get my head around easily: foreign languages. Obviously, the left side of my brain was winning the intelligence war. And the right side napped a lot.
In high school I chose to skip calculus. I knew it would be a waste of my time as well as the teacher's. I already knew I would never be on any career path that required that knowledge. I opted for prob and stat instead and I have to say it was a much better choice given that it was a required course in college and I breezed right through it headache free.
I filled my college curriculum with as many language classes as I could. My B.A. is in Spanish but I also studied Italian and German. Electives were filled with writing and literature courses when available. To my utter surprise, public speaking ended up being one of my favorite classes. The actual speaking part not so much, but writing the speeches was fantastic.
Of course, all jobs require some math skills and I've always held my own, but for some reason it seems to be overwhelming me at the moment in this new position. It's probably just related to the fast pace of the job and trying to re-train my self to function in that type of role. I just feel easily confused, like my head is never clear...like somewhere in the background a heavy metal band is banging away every time I try to focus. And the right side of my brain still won't wake up through all the damn noise.
I am so looking forward to reaching the point where life settles down again. I want to read. I want to write. And I want my dad to take down the basement paneling, paint over the old math, and fill the walls with linear feet to square feet conversions instead. I don't think my new boss would appreciate me doing it in my office.
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