Back to Real Life

Kev is back to work this week and left on Monday for his first business trip of the season. I have a cold, a nasty stomach bug and a fever of 102. And I'm at work.

Monday night I took Amy to Friendly's for dinner and last night she had McDonald's. I dropped her off at school today with a baggie full of Kix and a box of milk.

How awful is that? The thought of cooking anything makes me want to die.

I am so thankful that she hasn't pulled her normal 2 hour nighttime routine ("I need to go potty. I need a drink. I need the light on. I need the light off.") on me these last two days and I was able to go to bed at 9 PM. He will be home tonight and hopefully not too tired to prepare a healthy meal for himself and the baby, because my next stop is pizza.

I feel really bad for looking forward to his going back to work.

In better news, we just found out that Amy is being "promoted" next week from the Toddler room to Pre-K 1. It is lame, but we are excited about it. The requirements are so vague, yet awesome. 1. Potty trained 2. Shows readiness for Pre-Kindergarten So I don't know what that means, but apparently they think she is ready. The differences in the Pre-K 1 room are minimal. The kids are older and there is more focused learning time, I think, but it is still mostly just learn through play. Also, apparently very few kids are ever promoted before their third birthdays, but my baby is awesome and special by accident of birth. Her birthday is right before the new school year starts so they want to her to acclimate before a bunch of new kids come in. She sometimes has trouble adapting to new social situations, so this will be a big help. If she goes now, most of the kids will be kids she used to know from her Toddler class. Familiar faces will make the transition way easier for her. Last year when we switched from an in-home day care situation to this school, she did not sleep for more than 45 minutes straight for 5 days. I would say we would like to avoid that.

OMG Dora!

When we got there, my husband and I were horrified. Amy just about passed out she was so excited.

She couldn't tell it was some gross ass low-rent Dora. She wasn't even surprised that Dora was six feet tall.

I envy her sometimes.

We Have Found Her Weakness and it is Mexican

You can read about half a million blogs about whose toddler won't eat, so I won't dwell on the frustration we have been dealing with.

But we cracked Amy's code. She will eat anything wrapped in a tortilla.

For breakfast today she had an egg and cheese quesadilla. For lunch a mac and cheese and broccoli burrito. Quesadillas again for dinner, this time with white bean puree and cheese.

That is the most she has eaten in months. I am really super excited. I know I am probably jinxing it. Tomorrow she'll probably be back to living on yogurt and french fries.

Stuck > Content

Still on me BB. Sucks.

We have a modest 2 bedroom ranch in a nice neighborhood.

It is not the neighborhood we wanted when we bought 4 years ago, but it's OK. Our friend is about to inherit a nice 4 BR house in our ideal neighborhood. It is on Money Magazine's list of top 100 places to live, which I would link to if I were using my fucking computer now instead of this GD phone.

Whatever.

Anyway, first of all his grandma isn't even dead, so the entire situation makes me uncomfortable. The house is worth about $200,000 more than our house but he says he will sell it to us for whatever we sell ours for.

It's not that I don't trust Friend, because I do. Kevin has known him for 25 years and he is Amy's godfather. It is just such a weird situation. He could change his mind at any time and who could blame him? If he could get $200,000 more by selling on the open market, why wouldn't he? I know he wants to avoid some repairs that we are aware of, but it is certainly not 200 grand worth.

So I don't want to do it.
Not to mention my complete and total aversion to change of any kind.




Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

nonsense

I am typing this on my BlackBerry because my internet connection is not working and since his job provided him with a wireless card, he does not care. I don't know how to fix it and that frustrates me.
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I can't believe I left that cry-baby post up for so long. How freaking embarassing.
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Maybe I should get Twitter. I don't know anyone irl that has it though, so who would read?
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My husband's job doesn't pay overtime, but for every hour of OT he works he accumulates 1.5 hours of vacation time. He is off for the entire month of July and I am already tired of him. Ninety percent of the things he says and does annoy me. Is that normal?
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My father has congestive heart failure. The other day when he was home alone, he had chest pains so severe that he fell over. Instead of calling 911 or even my mother, he Googled his symptoms. He thinks that *maybe* it was a heart attack, but probably not. He refuses to see a doctor

One and Done (Part the First)

My husband and I have one daughter, Amy, who will be 3 at the end of the summer. We are well into the time period now when people keep asking us when we plan on adding to our family. Quite simply, we don't and people do not seem inclined to accept that answer.

I don't really feel the need (or have the time) to explain all of my reasons to them, but I will explain them to you.

I had a rough time of it. I had two miscarriages (one natural, one missed (D&C)) before we finally conceived. I spent the next twenty-odd weeks puking my guts out. I lost over 25 pounds and only narrowly missed being hospitalized for dehydration. I was pregnant in the winter, and going outside in the cold seemed to aggravate my "morning sickness." The moment I stepped outside, I would vomit. I imagine my neighbors became accustomed to seeing me hunched over my front lawn every morning, and then frantically kicking snow over the mess before I left for work. My car made me claustrophobic and I had to drive my sister's mini-van, which had sketchy heat. Zofran, being a chemo drug, was not covered by my insurance for use during pregnancy, and we couldn't afford to pay for it out of pocket. I couldn't eat; I rarely drank. I suffered.

I felt like such an asshole. I was miserable and complaining and so many people were telling me nonsense about ginger and soda crackers and I just wanted to punch them all in the face. I just didn't want to be pregnant anymore and I felt so guilty about that because we wanted her so damn badly.

We went in April for the big ultrasound and found out we were having a girl and magically, the morning sickness tapered off. It was bliss. For two short weeks.

I started having sharp pains in my side. It was almost unbearable. I changed chairs three times at work. I adjusted the lumbar support in my car and even bought one of those lumbar pillows for sitting on the couch, but could find no relief. I called my OB and they said it was the baby pressing up against my ribcage and I should deal with it. I was only 5 months pregnant, there was no way she was that big. I consulted my old friend Dr. Google and diagnosed myself with shingles. It is the first time in the history of the Internet that I actually had the random ailment Dr. Google indicated for my symptoms. But alas, I couldn't take the anti-virals or the pain meds due to my pregnancy and suffered for another eight weeks.

Wow! I sound like a whiny baby. Could it possibly get any worse?

HELLO! MY NAME IS

So, hi! I am kinda new to blogging. I had a blog for a while, but I stopped posting since the only people reading it were my sister and my husband. So I couldn't say anything about either of them, and I really didn't have anything else to say.

I thought by blogging I would feel that I was a part of something. I love reading blogs, I love the tiny glimpses into people's real lives. It makes me fell like maybe I'm not a terrible mother, terrible wife, terrible sister, terrible daughter, terrible worker, terrible manager, etc...

I plan on keeping this blog the biggest of big secrets, so hopefully I can be totally candid here. I feel like I have a lot to say, and maybe if I say it, I won't be such a neurotic mess. We'll see.