It is 1980-something… I am in middle school. I am a class 1 geek.
I had chosen to take Audio Visual class for a semester because I had heard that there was nothing to do and I knew all the cool kids did it. It was a blast! Brian Fox and I would sit in the room full of TVs and projectors and we would watch General Hospital and talk about baseball and other people. And for an hour each day I was one of the cool kids. No - he didn’t talk to me outside of that, but it was ok. It felt better than nothing. I felt like I belonged just a little bit.
When I was younger, I spent a lot of time wanting more...more money, a better house, a nicer neighborhood, a dad at home, a mom that didn’t work, better clothes...i was just poor, shy, and not sure how to break out of my shell and be the person I wanted to be.
All these years later I am no longer shy. I don’t care that I don’t have a dad, I like my life. I am outgoing - even slightly obnoxious. I don’t take crap from anyone. I am quite successful in my job, and people tend to like me in spite of my smart-assiness. Money is not a primary focus for me, although maybe because I am no longer crazy-poor. I wonder how much of my upbringing has made me who I am today?
It is 1980-something… I am in middle school. I am a class 1 geek.
One of the hard lessons for me is learning that having kids is not about me. It is about them...
I am here to love the, nurture them, take care of them. I should not concern myself with how they feel about me...
I should do what is best for them and not spend so freaking much time worrying about if how they feel about me. For starters, they are babies - the don't feel much about anyone as long as they are changed and fed and rested...duh!
I was so concerned...about the boys liking me. About them loving my husband's mom more than me (she lives with us and watches them during the day when I am at work). I should be happy about this...this is GOOD for them. I should grow up and quit worrying about this stupid stupid stuff.
I am seventeen. A senior in high school. It is early May and it has just recently started feeling like summer is on the way. I feel the pull to the beach and simply cannot resist the temptation. After begging my mother non-stop for hours, throwing in some great guilt-tripping about how I never see her, we are on our way to lake michigan instead of school.
I still remember that day like it was yesteday. I remember listening to Corrie Hart's Boy in the Box tape on the way up to St. Joseph. I remember going to Lulu's boutique and finding my graduation outfit - and being so shocked that my mom was buying it for me. I remember going out to lunch and eventually baking in the sun. I drove home - a rare thing in and of itself - and fought sleep the whole way.
I remember wearing my sunburn like a badge. I couldn't have been happier. When I look back now it isn't about skipping school...it was about being with my mom. It was about us never looking at the time, never once the whole day thinking we had better things to do. We just drank up that time together. It was a perfect day.
I have tried to do this occassionally with my girls. I hope they remember these special times and like them as much as I did at their age....
Do you own “the perfect jeans”? Do you recall the horrific process of finding those perfect jeans? Do you remember going from store to store, trying on pants ranging in price from $20.00 to $160.00 – trying to see the freaking difference? Was your butt too big for that pair, or your legs too long? Did you wish to GOD that they didn’t make the rise so low that half of your middle hung over the waist-line? Did you start to absolutely HATE everything about your body as you stared at it under the terrible florescent lights in the too tiny dressing room. Were you certain that they were using circus glass and that there was no way you could possibly be so large? Did you then watch every person for the next two weeks wondering if you were fatter than them?
I have been looking for the perfect jeans for weeks. Weeks I tell you. Damn jeans. Damn body. Damn, damn, damn. I have tried expensive jeans, cheap jeans, long – short – cropped – faded – flared – boot legged… I have had every designers wares on my body and I have to tell you this: my body looks horrible in jeans. Period. Seriously – horrible. I thought that maybe I was trying the wrong styles, or wrong size, or wrong designer…however I am here to tell you that I have had on every pair of jeans in the DFW metroplex and they all suck ass. Unfortunately they don’t suck my ass – it is still as big as ever – and it looks bad in jeans. I hate my post-pregnancy body. Hate. It.
I did finally find a pair of Levis and a pair of Calvin Klein jeans that didn’t make me immediately hurl – and they are two sizes smaller than the ones I bought after having the babies. So I am in an 8, which makes me happy…but there is no muscle in my body – my hips are ginormous and my butt is bigger than Rhode Island. And it is all so flabby…soooo flabby. Lets all hail the flabby lower half of me! Yikes. And – do you want to know how much I spent on said jeans? $14.99 and $16.99 on clearance…GO ME!
My husband is out of town all week...he just left and I miss him already...and not just because it is hard being a single parent. I feel so lonely the moment he leaves. Every. Single. Time.
Our dogs were at their annual “well dog” checkup when we received a call from the vet. We were informed that our Lab had a bite wound under all of his enormous amounts of fir and that it would require surgery to open, drain, and fix it. Sounds a bit like what they did to my c-section, no? Our poor puppy came home with a tube sticking out of his side and about 5 stitches. Poor, poor puppy. Our weekend was full of hydrogen-peroxide-putting-on which required chasing the dog and cornering him. He spent most of his time hiding from us, and I really don’t blame him. They removed the tube today, and all he has now is a hole in his side surrounded by stitches. Apparently the wound will heal from the inside out and then he will be good to go. In the meantime, he is on pain medicine and antibiotics. MRSA-fighting antibiotics. Can you freaking believe it? MRSA can spread to pets…so they are treating him as if he has it in case he got it from me. Stupid MRSA.
Speaking of MRSA, I went BACK to the ear doctor this morning and there is no improvement in my ear. I have been referred to an infectious disease specialist which I will see later this week. My doctor said that he “felt the need to warn me that this could end in a hospital stay and potentially some time in the ICU” – which scared the daylights out of me. However, when the specialists office called back with my appointment time, they told my husband that they very seldom have to put anyone in the hospital…so I am hopeful that this will be no big deal and manageable from home. I have too much going on here – babies, teenagers, work – to deal with that.
Bath time has become a daily ritual for the boys are our house. It doesn’t take too long because my husband and I both participate – each of us responsible for a baby from dirty to clean. If you think it would be a nice, relaxing, fun time for the boys…you would be WRONG!
Sure – everything starts out ok. We get them undressed, wrap them in a towel, and put them in the already warm bath. We then wash them and get them squeaky clean. It is at this point – where they come out of the bath – that things start to rapidly decline.
Once Roark is taken out of the bath, he goes crazy. He balls up his little fists until his knuckles turn white. Then he pulls his little legs up to his body, and he lets out the most ear-piercing, glass-shattering scream. And he continues to scream while I “rub the lotion on its skin”, put on his diaper, put on his pajamas and hat, and wrap him up in a big ol’ blankie. He cries so hard that he begins the funny breathing – you know, the kind where the crying is so hard that breathing is difficult?
Cole gets upset after he is removed from the wonderfully warm water – but somehow his piddly little cries fail in comparison to his brother’s. He has such a soft, grunty cry…and it is really rather pathetic. Roarks will seriously wake the dead and therefore it can NEVER be ignored. Not for a second. Seriously – listen closely wherever you may be and you just might hear it…
I am at home today…I like it much better than the office. I have already played with the little minions several times. Cole’s latest trick is a riot – we take this doggy and act like it is attacking his face (no – not a real dog) and he grins and tries to bite it. Small amusement for most of you – huge step for us. He has a sense of humor. Yeah Cole! Signs that he may survive this family.
I decided to go into work today instead of working from home. I miss the boys and I miss home. The office has no personal touch, and it is too quiet here. The thing is, I don’t work with anyone in my area…I have an office and need to keep the door shut most of the day because my conference calls will bother the people in the cubby-holes if I don’t. So – I come in here to be by myself… strange to say the least. The good news is that in a week or so I am moving to another building and I will actually be with people I work with! Maybe they will ask me to come over and play. Yes – I am six.
I love running. It is normally a very cathartic experience for me…especially when my husband goes. We are able to talk about our day, our plans, our children, our troubles – we get to be together for a short time and deal with all that life has thrown our way. Normally.
We went running this morning, and it just wasn’t like it used to be. We loaded up the babies in the jogger, grabbed the dogs and headed out the door. He was wrestling dogs up ahead while I hung back a bit and pushed the jogger. This helped avoid the “Damnit shiner” and “Stop it, Zieggy” that would normally be heard in this scenario. We didn’t say more than two words to each other…and it seemed odd. It felt more like exercise than it has ever felt.
So much changes with babies. Most of the things are good. Our lives are richer. They are amazing little people and I love having them in our life. But I do miss some of the simple things that get put on hold, or that we have to change in order to accommodate our new life.
MRSA is an invasive and resilient pain in the ear for me. After my c-section in May I contracted an infection, which ended up being MRSA (antibiotic-resistant staph). A second surgery and an opened, draining wound were the outcome. That wound has long since healed, however the MRSA remains.
Last year I went through a series of ear infections which ended in me having tubes put in my ears. Everything has been pretty quiet in the ear area since then. Until over a month ago when I came down with an ear infection and a sore throat. A trip to the doctor and some antibiotics were supposed to fix the ear problems. However, thanks to the MRSA mentioned above, I still have a raging ear infection with a nice little hole in it that Just. Won’t. Get. Better. I am a little tired of feeling – well, tired. I have a constant headache, neck ache and ear ache. I am anxious to feel better. NOW!
My latest trip to the doctor – yesterday – amounted to a very small bit of humor. I have been to the ENT specialist twice now for this ear thing (since being pawned off by my regular doctor), and he is stumped. We have tried Bactrim (which I was allergic to – that was fun), and several ear drops. I am now on tetracycline and some other drops (actually for eyes, but they have me putting them in my ears) for the hell of it. The doctor has no faith that this will work and anticipates sending me to an infectious disease specialist next week… Why not send me now and get on with getting better? No idea.
The real issue here is that one of the boys also has MRSA. Is this what is in store for his first ear infection or cold? Will he face these issues when we try to get him better? What do we have to look forward to? And – does the other boy have it and we just don’t know yet? Only Cole was cultured in the hospital in addition to me – so we don’t know Roark’s status. What a mess. I had no idea Staph infections could be so horrible…in fact, I didn’t really know they existed. Wish I still didn’t know.
Do you ever read back a year ago, two years ago, five years ago in your journals and see where you were – how far you have come? Do you wonder if you have made ‘progress’ as a person? And – if you have not, do you wonder why? Or do you blindly exist and write and entertain without searching for purpose?
I am out of town for work. It is very very quiet here.
I found out last week that I was going to have to travel for a couple of days, and because I am a moron I decided that I couldn’t leave my babies and announced that I was taking them with me. Watch how the story unfolds…
My husband is also out of town for a few days, which means that I have been handling the boys at night for the past few nights. Nights that they DID NOT SLEEP. Guess who else DID NOT SLEEP? I am so freaking tired right now… Anyway, last night sucked ass. They were up and down, up and down…but mostly up. They decided not to eat on the same schedule and had me up almost all night with one or the other…or sometimes just to change it up – both.
So this morning as I was contemplating getting ready and packing all of their shit in the car, I lost it. Roark was crying, Cole was grunting. Roark wouldn’t eat, Cole wouldn’t sleep, and I had to leave soon. I unpacked everything of theirs that I had packed so far, called my husband, and told him that they would be there waiting for him with his mother when he returns tonight. Then I grabbed my stuff and headed out the door. Without my babies. And I cried most of the way to Austin.
I did stop crying for a little while when I got pulled over by the state-fucking-trooper because my inspection sticker expired a few months ago. Bastard. And I stopped crying long enough to drink my coffee… and well, as I sit in my very quiet hotel room right now, I am not crying. I am just listening to the silence wishing I could go to sleep right now and not wake up until tomorrow.
Two babies = $469,000.00
My husband was out of town last night. I was at home with two babies all night long…I am losing my mind just a little bit.
Last night was not exactly easy. It was full of staying up late, waking up much, feeding babies a lot, rocking little boys to sleep, begging little boys to please, please please sleep, and then a little more of all of the above, rounded out with getting up early to take the girls to school.
He is out of town tonight too. Yawn.
I know that you are just dying to hear what happened with Roark and his ever-loving non-stop crying. Right? Well – he is getting better…quieter, that is. Prevacid – NOT the answer. Nutramigen – THE answer! The poor boy was apparently allergic to milk. He has now been on the liquid gold for quite a few days and every day gets a little better…he eats a little more, cries a little less, and allows me to regain a bit of sanity. Good boy.
In other news, the boys are now able to use our super-cool B.O.B Duallie Jogger. I LOVE this jogger. Over a year ago we saw this at REI and fell in love with it…long before we were pregnant. We finally own it – after a second mortgage on the house, and it is oh so wonderful I am now motivated to go jogging…and GOD KNOWS I NEED TO DO SOMETHING OTHER THAN SIT IN THIS CHAIR AND READ. Sitting does not equal exercise…a darn shame if you ask me.
Well, I am down to a size 8 or 10 depending on the style / brand of pants / jeans. Considering I started at 14, I feel OK about this. I would LOVE to be a 4, because that is what I own so much of, but without regular exercise that isn’t going to happen. This fat ass won’t dissolve on it’s own…damn. Hate working hard…hate it. What I really want is a diet of chocolate, ice cream, coffee, bread and high carb foods that allows me to lose weight. That is what I really want. Also – I want cake.
My husband and I went to the bagel / coffee place over the weekend – one of the few surviving pre-baby activities that we now involve the boys in (and NO they don’t drink the coffee – they prefer Red Bull in their bottles). While we were sitting outside with the babies drinking our coffee and talking about our plans for the day, a man came up to us and started talking about his 10 month old twins. He told us their names, where they were born, how hard they are to take care of, what their sleep schedules are like, what they eat, how much they cost, who their pediatrician is, how hard they are to take care of, what development doctor they are seeing, what eye doctor their babies went to, how much time they spent in the hospital, how hard they are to take care of… seeing a pattern here? This man was WHIPPED. He was so beaten down by his two boys that he couldn’t see the sunshine in the sky.
When this guy left he handed my husband his phone number and told him to call him if he ever wanted to do something, because he was “always wanting to get out of the house”. My husband and I decided that this is truly one of the saddest men we have ever seen. He and his wife had struggled with infertility for over 5 years. They went through god-knows-what for years and ended up finally getting pregnant (after adopting a little girl no less) through IVF. They were blessed with twins, and now he complains all the time.
I certainly understand his challenges. I KNOW how hard it is to take care of two babies. But – this man works all day and his wife stays home and handles the babies. He sleeps all night and his wife handles the babies. The only time he has much “baby responsibility” is on the weekends and then he can’t hack it. This really makes me sad. Did he think it would be easier? Did he not really want kids? Is it just hard because there are two babies, or is it because they have a 4 year old too? Would he be the same if there was only one child in the family? Is he just lonely in general and maybe the kids are something to blame it all on? I wonder…
Later that evening when my husband and I were sitting in the living room holding our boys, we both announced how happy we are with our children, with our lives, with everything around us…and it felt good. We felt complete – a family. And we realized that no matter how hard this baby thing is, we wouldn’t have it any other way.
My friend has breast cancer. She is 35 and has twin babies a year old. How much does this suck? Yeah – I cannot even quantify it. That is not to say that she deserves it less than anyone else, but seriously – so young and new babies – bites ass if you ask me. Just a little reminder that we are all in harms way, all the time.
As I said yesterday, we have a cry-baby on our hands.
My husband and I took him to the doctor yesterday and we at least have a plan of action:
- Roark is now on Prevacid (possible reflux issues causing the crying, although he does not spit up). We are to use this for one week. If no improvement,
- Switch to Nutramagen formula and see a gastro-something-rather pediatric doctor for an upper GI-thingy.
Today Roark has been acting like a normal baby. We think that it is because we switched him to Nutramagen the other day. He was on it two days and now is better... however last night we switched him back to EnfaCare, and put him on the Prevacid. I sure do hope he doesn't start the screaming again - if so, I am putting him right back on that horribly expensive formula ($25.00 per 12.8 ounce can - compared to $12.00 for EnfaCare)...where he will remain until his 18th birthday!
Last night I went back to Walgreen's to pick up his prescription - which we had dropped off 2 1/2 hours earlier, and was assaulted with the pharmacist from HELL! They had not filled the order yet(oh, they were just too busy to fill it and to call to tell us, and in fact announced that insurance didn't cover Prevacid at all - so I would have to pay cash if I wanted it filled. Now couldn't they have told us that when we dropped it off and had to give them our insurance card (which they apparently didn't even enter any information from, because they wanted it AGAIN when I came back)? I wanted to KILL THEM...DIE! DIE! DIE! I pulled a typical me and bit the lady's head clean off, exposing the arteries. I then paid the $65.00 for the prescription and demanded they call the doctor and insurance company today and FIX THE FUCKING MESS THAT THEY HAD CREATED. I gave them until 6pm tonight. I am so mean.
So Roark has had two doses of the Prevacid, and my fingers are crossed that this works. I was told it could take 72 hours to show improvement, which right now feels like a lifetime...seriously. So much crying...
We did find out that Roark weighs 9 pounds 7 ounces and Cole weighed in at a hefty 10 pounds 13 ounces - porker (at least I think that was thier weights...shoot, my memory is going). I do know for sure that Cole is quite a bit fatter than Roark...and I blame the eating issues.
Raise your glasses and toast with me - "here is to NO MORE CRYING"
Roark cries. Non-stop. All the freaking time!!! I have to keep telling myself that he is only a baby and doesn’t know what is wrong – but MY GOD it is driving me MAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
He won’t eat. He won’t sleep. He won’t stop crying. What is wrong???? He will actually eat about 30-40 cc’s and then starts into the high pitched wailing. He then refuses to eat another drop, and continues crying, bursting eardrums all around, until he falls asleep for a few minutes, only to wake and start again. This is especially fun when he has not had wet diapers the past couple of changes and I have to force feed him…wow he HATES that. He doesn’t fall asleep – he just screams and won’t suck on the nipple. And – this is great – if you push him too much….perhaps let milk drip down his throat while he is crying…he will power puke all over you and lose everything he has had so far. Back to square one.
Now - when I say he cries all the time, I mean ALL THE TIME. Not just an hour or two a day - if he is awake, he is screaming his little head off. Colic? Maybe...but what the hell is Colic anyway? I think it is a made up word for anything doctors cannot figure out - kind of like a virus.
I have to tell you - I get so frustrated with him. I don't know what is wrong - if anything even IS wrong. And I sure can't fix what I don't understand. So, I get mad. I don't talk mean to him...I don't hurt him, I don't do anything bad at all - I just get these horrible feelings of frustration and irritation and even just that makes me feel guilty. My husband said he feels the same way - but he talks even sweeter to him then, so he doesn't get tipped over the edge. We are both looming so close to the edge...so close. I admit I have whispered, in the very sweetest voice, that he is driving me CRAZY...and that I just can't take much more. I have begged him to stop crying...which of course did NOTHING. What kind of teenager will such a stubborn baby turn into???
Today, at 5:20 Roark (AKA Screams) has a dr. appointment. I have told them that he is broken and that I will not be taking him home with me until they fix him. That – or I want my money back.
Boys are sleeping. Texas game on T.V. Junk food for dinner.
What more could a person want?
Did I go jogging again today? You betcha!
Did I follow yesterday’s advise to myself? Hell no!
I went running this afternoon…at least I would like to call it that. In all actuality I barely jogged. And I would like to add that it SUCKED ASS!
Things to remember next time I drag my fat ass out “jogging”:
Change that god damned music on the MP3 player. If I have to hear Kid Rock’s “Cowboy” one more time, I will kill myself.
Take water. Seriously. It is freaking HOT in Texas right now.
Don’t run with a fever. Once the chills stop, the sweats kick in and it is a bitch.
Running sick will lead to the dry heaves – expect it.
If you have to go running, why not choose a different time than late afternoon when they are frying eggs on the sidewalk?
Stop eating so much junk and your ass will quit expanding and you won’t have to go jogging at all.
Don’t jog alone – it is much more fun when there is someone to complain to.
Last night we put the boys to bed at 9:00. They woke up to eat again at 3:thankyougod45. Amazing. Thank you boys.
And now – a list of items written to my son – Roark:
- Stop throwing up on me
- Stop screaming like a little girl in my good ear…it hurts
- Please drink your bottle without the ½ hour of screaming that you find necessary – it really doesn’t add to the ambiance during mealtime
- You get your diaper changed 8-10 times a day. Get used to it.
- Wipes cannot hurt you – you freak
- It is quite alright to fall asleep after eating without an hour long excursion into the world of insanity. Calm the fuck down and go to sleep.
- Stop waking up your brother
- Stop scratching me. And when I try to cut your fingernails because I am tired of scratching you, stop screaming like I am cutting off your fingers. They are fingernails. There are no nerve endings in them.
- Quit spitting out your pacifier when you really want it
- Do you know how cute you are? Especially after a bath when you smell so good and are wearing one of those hats that I love…
And a list of items written to my son – Cole:
- Stop spitting up. It is smelly.
- Stop waking up your brother.
- Grunting is NOT talking. It is grunting. And at 2 am it is annoying.
- Stop scratching me.
- The dogs bark all the time. ALL THE TIME! Please stop waking up when they do.
- You eat every three hours – not every hour-and-a-half. Pig.
- When you are full, please stop eating. Pig.
- The swing CAN be fun – give it a try.
- Poking your brother and sucking on his head when he is crying, although cute, doesn’t really help.
- Do you know how cute you are? Especially after a bath when you smell so good and are wearing one of those hats that I love…
The boys slept great, as is the usual routine now. To bed around 9:30-10, up at 2:30 to eat, asleep by 3:30 and sleeping until at least 6:30. It is pure bliss. Those 4-5 hours in the first part of the night keep me partially sane. This morning I tried to go back to sleep after they ate and didn’t have very much success. I could still hear them crying / grunting / giving their nanny a handful and found it difficult to tune out. Figures.
This afternoon, after Roark had pretty much spent the day crying – I took him. I was on conference calls but was feeling pretty sorry for him. He had been crying for hours off and on (which by the way I hear him doing now). So, I took him and fed him and got him to sleep. He then slept for a few hours and woke to eat again at 3. I just returned from an errand (3:45) and he is crying yet again. Poor boy. I don’t know why he sounds so unhappy – but I know that if I go get him, he will stop. I struggle with this – because Todd’s mom needs to figure out how to handle him, yet I hate hearing him unhappy. It is hard to butt out – which is why I really should stop working from home.
I have spent the better part of the day working my butt off on a project that I just found out is most likely to get CANCELLED. Damn it all to hell. This project has sucked enough time out of people’s lives for the past few months, and now there is no payoff. Stupid financials came in too high, so that is the price we may have to pay. Work sucks when this type of stuff happens…
I have been trying to get motivated to eat better again. I did two weeks on phase one of South Beach and then kind of let it go. I have lost some weight, but really have not been aggressive about it. I really want to fit into my pre-pregnancy clothes – and am totally determined NOT to buy any more big clothes…but fall is approaching and I have NOTHING to wear. That is unless I can squish my size 10 body into size 4 suites. Stupid fat.