So! Yesterday, Penny was 4 months old. Up until now (she says, as if it has been ages of predictable and reliable behavior), I’ve managed to post her month update on the day, but I told you long ago to not expect too much from me in the way of regular monthly updates and in all honesty, I feel like a day late is little to sniff at when I have kept it up for FOUR MONTHS NOW.
I didn’t get to make the post yesterday since Penny had two medical appointments – her four month check up and a follow up on her hospital stay with one of two specialists she will need to see. Also, we’re expecting house guests, so we’ve been busy. Penny will be meeting her great grandmother for the first time, and we didn’t want our neglected house to take away from the full Penny sensory experience.
Entirely too much of this month looked like this:
In fact, it was pretty much exactly at three months that we took Penny in to the doctor on suspicion of a severe drop in awesomeness, so Penny’s health has basically been the focus of this entire month. Two weeks were spent going back and forth to her pediatrician, trying to work out what was going on, five days were spent in Phoenix Children’s Hospital, and the last two weeks have been working on getting back to normal.
Stressful, yes, but one of the reasons we took Penny in to see the doctor in the first place was that she just wasn’t the same. I feel like an asshole saying this, and everyone says you just jinx yourself if you do, but we always had such a good baby. Smiley, happy, only cried when she needed something. And she just changed. She was so unhappy, all of the time. I felt like a moron going in to the doctor with the complaint that my baby cries, and I have to admit that I was worried that the happy Penny times were just a phase, and the upset, crying, miserable baby times were the new normal.
Well, two weeks out of the hospital, and I am relieved to say that misery does not seem to be the case.
“I’LL HAVE THE SAMPLER PLATTER, PLEASE. HEAVY ON THE MILK SAMPLES.”
She went to breakfast with us on Sunday morning and we brought along her Bumbo seat, since we’re working on helping her to regain her strength and muscle tone after what was likely 4 or 6 weeks or more of a brutal infection. Not only did she set a new household record for Bumbo sitting, unseating Phil from the top of the charts, she also charmed the hell out of our waitress with her smiles and general goodnatured baby-ness.
Anyway. Four months old!
Special skills: Bumbo sitting, obviously. Also does these weird, kind of creepy sit ups when she’s swaddled and in her bed at night. OH, also? Sleeping in her own bed at night. Deadly accuracy with hand into gross, drooly mouth. Still not laughing or reaching out for things, but does make a weird quacking noise and will hold some toys if they’re placed in her lap. Gaining weight like a… well, she eats like a hog.
Most annoying features: We have so many bibs and for three months I was all, “Well, I guess the bibs will go the way of the newborn caps, because our baby just doesn’t need them.” And then? Drool. Also? Spitting up. She’s all, “Hey, I just unloaded half my bottle into your lap, so I’m going to require another half of a bottle.” Undisturbed by her own grossness, just suddenly hungry again. In short, it’s bib-city over here. Has also LEARNED HOW TO WHINE AND IT IS SO AWFUL.
Most adorable features: She just smiles all. the. time.
And look, I don’t like to brag (yes I do), but her cloth diapers are pretty damn adorable as well and if you think I’m not going to talk about them soon, you are NUTS, especially considering that this just came in the mail from PinkieBling:
Yeah, that’s a detachable lettuce ruffle, no big. EXCEPT, NO, YES BIG.
She also makes a lot of sounds, the way that babies do, that makes you think that they think they’re actually talking to you. So Phil and I spend a lot of time doing the standard, “Oh, yeah?” and “Is that right?” and “What next?” and “And then?”
And since we’re obnoxious people of a certain age, it is inevitable that as soon as an opening is overheard, someone will shriek, “NO AND THEN!” from wherever they are in the house.
Dislikes: When no parents are in sight. When Sheldon crowds her space. Being naked and also being dressed, as has been the trend. This one super adorable romper she has that just sends her into a RAGE whenever I try to make her wear it. Being wiped clean. (Also? Thank you to everyone who suggested Mustela wipes for the unshakable baby-cheese smell. Because, gross.)
Likes: Songs about babies named Penny. Singing along. The bath, a longtime favorite. The diaper changing song. Waking up in the morning. Watching nerd-television with her dad. Being told exactly what is going on at all times. Her steves, especially Steve Canada, a gift from Lara.
Most desirable features: Sleeping from 7:30/8:oopm until 4:30/5:30am. Really, that pretty much rules. As long as her last feeding is timed perfectly, we can set ourselves up for a solid night of sleep. Too early, and she’s squawking at 3am. She’s also easy to put to sleep. Bottle, bath, diaper, swaddle, bed with someone sitting next to her for 5 – 10 minutes, maybe one return for a pacifier retrieval, and that’s it. She also wakes up smiling at anyone who comes to get her.
However, it is important that we RESPECT the BEDTIME.
There’s a lot of awesome about Penny, but at four months in with a hospital stay behind us, the sleeping thing is pretty much at the top of my list of things that rule.
So. That’s Penny. Her stats at 2 months put her right about average in length and head, and at about the 30th percentile in weight. A few weeks ago, she had dropped down to 8 lbs, 15 oz and right off the growth charts. At four months, she has worked her way back on to the curve.
At the end of July, we went to the doctor because Penny just didn’t… seem right. We’ve always gotten a lot of compliments on our smiley, happy baby and that baby seemed to be missing. There were also some diaper issues and feeding issues. At the doctor, we found that she was about the same weight as she had been at her 2 month check up at the end of June. We decided to try Zantac for reflux because it fit all of the symptoms perfectly.
We were to follow up in a week. During that week, Penny had what we assumed was a growth spurt – eating constantly and then sleeping. She was still having some eating issues, but other symptoms seemed pretty improved on the Zantac. When we went back to the doctor, though, we found that she had lost nearly a pound. Which was a problem.
However, since we assumed she had just hit a growth spurt, we decided to schedule another check up about a week out from there, figuring that maybe we actually caught her on a upswing of weight and she was gaining.
A couple of days into that week, I just didn’t feel that the improvements we had seen in the previous week on Zantac were still apparent. Eating issues, fussiness, general unhappiness – I don’t know, I actually kind of wrote it up to MY stress and moved her check up forward a few days.
We went in to her doctor last Wednesday and went over the whole story again, adding this time that while she had previously been able to lift her head and chest when lying on her tummy, she couldn’t do that anymore. That, combined with the rest of what was going on, lead the doctor to suggest that we get checked out at Phoenix Children’s Hospital. We were surprised to hear that, but even more shocked because we were expecting a referral to head down there sometime in the next couple of weeks but were instead sent directly to the emergency room.
Now, here we arrive at the part where I will be employing the Rumplerood Method, first seen here, where I don’t actually tell you any specifics of what was going on. This isn’t because I don’t like you, Internet, or anything like that. It’s that having specific medical details tends to make certain types of people (which is of course not you, Internet) make certain types of comments – prying questions as to why or why not doctors have done or not done this or that; stories of how their kid had the EXACT SAME THING (which turns out to not be the same thing at all) and all we NEED to do is X, Y, or Z; or reassurances of “Oh, that’s not a biggie,” which is the most annoying because, hello? Hospital? Very biggie, you asshole.
(Not you. Them.)
So we arrive at the emergency room and get taken back to a room relatively quickly, but there was a lot of waiting from that point forward. Once we saw a doctor and talked about what was going on, they decided to admit her before even doing any tests – her weight loss was just that severe and regardless of what came out of the tests, she needed some beefing up help.
So we shall call the weight loss Problem A, and consider it to be the main reason we went to the hospital.
Some tests and scans were run while we hung around in the emergency room, waiting for her room to be ready. Scan 1 was completely fine, but Tests 1 and 2 introduced Problem B and Problem C.
Off we went to our room.
You know, the days really blended together quite quickly. I stayed at the hospital with Penny the entire time and Phil went home in the evenings to handle the dogs.
So we’ve got Problems A, B, and C. Here’s where things started to get all kinds of messy. Problem A could easily be caused byProblem C, and Problem A could, sometimes, in some cases, cause Problem B. OR? All of the problems could be completely unrelated to each other and each a sign of much larger problems. OR? A and B could be related and both fall under C. OR? C could be its own random thing and B could be a HUGE THING.
Or? Also? Could be no big.
We saw doctors the next day who said, “Yeah, the thing is… Problem C, right? Well, it’s so unlikely that she actually has that that we need to run the test again. Because it’s just not likely at all.”
So Test 2 was repeated, and it was quite an unpleasant test for Penny. So unpleasant, in fact, that when they failed at it twice and wanted to attempt a third, I was all OH HELL NO, she needs to rest for tonight. This terrible nurse (all of the nurses except one were just fantastic) apparently wrote in Penny’s chart that I REFUSED the test and they had to scurry around finding an alternate method, which I did not realize had happened until I talked to the doctor the next day. I thought the nurse was just being nice to arrange this for Penny, but it turns out that SHE thought I was a huge bitch who was REFUSING medical treatment for Penny when all I said was to LEAVE IT FOR THE NIGHT. Twice is enough, you know? But I would have let them try again the next morning. Whatever, that nurse was a anal pimple. Doesn’t matter, though, because the doctor told me the next day that he didn’t blame me at all for stopping them.
Anyway, Problem C? The doctor was right, it probably wasn’t Problem C at all, but SO WEIRDLY? They discovered a second variation of Problem C that was definitely, definitely the case in a WAY HUGE way. They had already started treating for Problem C1 and the treatment was basically the same for Problem C2, so WHY EVEN REPEAT THE HORRIBLE TEST if the treatment WASN’T GOING TO CHANGE ANYWAY AAUUUGHHH.
That point is about where I started to lose my grip, but the hospital isn’t a great place for grip-losing (actually, it kind of is, because we got moved to a new room at one point, when Phil wasn’t there, and I had to re-unpack all of our stuff and Penny ALSO needed to eat and I ALSO needed to pump and she had a blow out (not to be a huge snot, but that has NEVER happened in cloth diapers and happened 80 berjillion times in the disposables at the hospital) and THEN she peed in her bed while I was changing her, and the nurses’ aides came in and bathed her, changed her and fed her while I got a shower and got to pump and was left alone for 30 minutes). Anyway, what I was saying was that I started to lose my grip but saved up all my grip losing to unleash on Phil on the drive home from the hospital yesterday because SERIOUSLY, there is just NO NEED to be in the farthest left lane THERE JUST ISN’T.
While Problem B could be a side effect of Problem A, it can also be a serious indicator of a large problem in its own right, so Test 3 was performed to checked for Very Serious Issue 1. And that test, which was a HUGE pain in the ass, completely failed. Penny didn’t fail the test, the test failed. Over the course of the next couple of days, every doctor we saw would tell us we either needed to repeat it or that we probably didn’t need to repeat it – whichever was the exact opposite of what the previous doctor had said. We will be repeating it, but on an outpatient basis, in a few weeks. Just FYI.
Somewhere in here, we also had Scans 2 and 3, for issues related to Problems C and B, respectively. Phil was present for both of those Scans, of course, as they were painless and easily handled with a pacifier loaded with sucrose. Oh, by the way, our baby is goddamned sugar fiend now.
Scan 3 was perfectly clear, which was great, though the results of Test 1 indicating Problem B still couldn’t be ignored. Scan 2, however, indicating that while Problem C sometimes just happens, it was possible that a bigger issue was at work and there would need to be a third kind of scan on Monday. Now, they were telling us this on Friday, which was aggravating, because COME ON. MONDAY. But it was absolutely necessary to do scan three to check for the potential Very Serious Issue 2.
Now, while waiting for Monday to roll around, Test 1 had to be repeated several times and — okay, you know what? Test 1 was blood work. Whatever. So, it of course had to be repeated, and every time they needed to do that, they tried to draw from her IV, which NEVER WORKED, and her IVs kept failing anyway. She had THREE IVs, and by the time we left last night, the last one had failed, too. It’s a good thing we were leaving then, because the next spot they were going to have to go for was the scalp. They had to call in the “IV Team” each time she needed a new one and take her to the whimsical “Treatment Room” to get them done (she had repeated episodes of Test 2 in there as well) and after a couple of visits, her entire body stiffened up whenever she saw the ceiling.
Eventually, Monday did roll around and with it so did Scan 3, which was pretty much entirely unpleasant, but luckily only because Penny was scared to be held down. Not that that’s a good thing, but I was confident that the procedure was relatively painless and her crying (and lo, there was crying) was because she was scared. Which, you know, knowing that your kid is terrified is bad, but slightly lower on the HOLY SHIT WHY DO PEOPLE EVEN HAVE KIDS IF THEY’LL JUST BE FORCED TO DO TERRIBLE THINGS TO THEM scale than terrified and in pain.
So, we’re checking for Very Serious Issue 2, and I was quite confident that we’d be cleared and sent right home, because you know how I feel about being average – that’s us. We’re average. She had Problem C, yes, but our Household Averageness would be protecting her from Very Serious Issue 2.
Apparently, Penny did not inherit the average gene.
Very Serious Issue 2 has varying levels of severity, from “hey, not so bad, if you’ve got to have it” to “well, this is pretty much no good.” Penny, choosing an obnoxious time to display a glimmer of averageness, falls right between “usually clears up on its own” and “almost always require surgery to correct” on the scale of Very Serious Issue 2 severity. However, there’s nothing we can really do but watch, wait, and medicate in a preventative manner while we wait to see if she grows out of it or needs some scalpel-ish interventions in the future.
All during this time, we were also working on weight gain, as Penny had dropped down below 9 pounds, and I am pleased to say that yesterday morning, she weighed in at 9 lbs, 14 oz. And then she peed on the scale, so maybe 9 lbs, 13 oz. It was actually quite a lot of pee, so let’s say 9 lbs, 12 oz and call it good.
“YOU SAID YOU WOULDN’T TELL ABOUT THE PEE!”
OH, and yesterday morning? A doctor I hadn’t seen before came in and brought up another round of issues that arose from the blood work, which could be a thing or not a thing at all, but seemed suspiciously like a thing, though it could be a thing caused by Problem B or Problem C or an undiscovered Problem D which might have come and gone without us even NOTICING, or? OR? Could very well be Very Serious Issue 3 which we will ABSOLUTELY need to be looking into.
We’re at home now and I’m in between phone calls for follow ups. Every issue requires a different type of doctor. We’ll be going to her primary care doctor to follow up on weight and general health, as well as to repeat blood tests and look into the potential for Very Serious Issue 3.
We’ll be checking in with a set of specialists about Problem B and the potential for Very Serious Issue 1, as well as returning to Phoenix Children’s for a repeat of test 3, as it absolutely needs to be done at a center that has experts who specialize in performing the test, even though they did a SUPER CRAPPY JOB of it the first time (apparently, the test should have lasted twice as long as it did to get good results).
And of course, Penny will be seeing a team of specialists for Very Serious Issue 2, not just for a follow up next week, but several over the next year as well as one or more repeats of scan 3 and monitoring of her new medication so that we can keep an eye on it and hope it resolves on its own.
Some things about the hospital:
1. I developed a two slice a day chocolate cake habit, because the hospital cafeteria had FOUR DIFFERENT KINDS OF CHOCOLATE CAKE, you guys.
2. This is totally going to sound like a humble brag, but am becoming increasingly more awkward with people complimenting Penny. She charmed the pants off EVERYONE once she started feeling better (you guys – YOU GUYS, our smiley baby is BACK, which is awesome and also makes me feel TERRIBLE for how long I tamped down the “something’s wrong here” instincts in order to not be “that new mom” with the panic over nothing), and more than once, a new nurse came in and said, “They told me you were cute!” She was seriously complimented to her tiny eyeballs – it’s a good thing she doesn’t understand English, because she would have a big fat head. When someone says, “She’s so cute!,” I generally reply, “She thinks so!” Any ideas of better replies would be helpful, because look. I’m just going to have to accept it. I have a gorgeous baby.
3. I DO NOT WANT HELP WITH THIS, but since so many people asked if I’m still nursing – yes and no. Problem C is likely what caused Penny to lose so much weight, and with it, she lost a lot of strength. As she lost strength, her suck weakened, she at less often and for shorter periods, and that tanked my supply, so she had less to eat, so she lost more weight, etc, etc.
She’s being fed supplemented formula right now and I met with a FANTASTIC lactation consultant at the hospital and we’re working on increasing my supply again, but it’s probably not going to work. I’m allowed to nurse her one or two times a day and I pump the rest of the time. I am not going to go into a list of everything I’m doing in this situation, so you’re going to have to trust me that I HAVE IT UNDER CONTROL.
We’d like to go back to nursing. It might not happen. We’re all okay with that, because Penny’s health is absolutely paramount. Please. Do not suggest, because I’m telling you – did it, doing it, about to do it. Covered.
4. Gained four pounds from cake.
5. Look at her bare upper arm. Someone put a scratch on my showroom condition baby.
“It’ll buff right out!”
6. The last night we were there, I was jerked awake in the night twice by the little girl – maybe 5? – in the room next to us, screaming and screaming. I mean, HORROR MOVIE style screaming. Not crying. Not yelling. Freddie is at the door and his claw hand is DIGGING THROUGH RIGHT NOW kind of SHRIEKS. It was terrifying, for one, but for the most part, I just felt so awful for her. It was heartbreaking to hear a small child in such horrific pain.
But then the next afternoon? The truth came out. Not scared. Not in pain. HUGE BRAT who was REFUSING to take her medicine. Even our wonderful, sweet, overly kind and patient nurse walked out of their room throwing her hands in the air, telling the mother that she can’t do anything until she gets her daughter under control. This nurse, who didn’t even roll her eyes ONE TIME at me asking the same question over and over and over and was nothing but wonderful with Penny, washed her hands of that kid at that moment. So I got RETROACTIVELY FURIOUS about being woken up like that, for extended periods of “I am just a huge pain in the ass” 2am scream symphonies.
7. Thank you to everyone on Twitter, Facebook, here and in my email who took the time to let us know you were thinking of Penny and hoping for the best for her. I would totally say something like, “I read her every comment,” but I didn’t. I mostly continued with my usual pattern of singing her songs about her own butt and giving live commentary on shows on the Food Network (“That Penny is a bitch. She is not an accurate representation of what a Penny should be. You remember that.”). But I did read them all myself! And read some to Phil! So, thank you all. A lot.
Hey, so did you know that I spend a lot of time reading baby forums? I wasn’t sure if I ever told you that. I mostly just read in law stories, because parents of new babies have the best and most insane stories to offer, but I come across other ridiculous stuff on the regular as well.
So let me ask you about this one: What’s with ladies who are having girl babies who manage to work into every conversation some point about how they won’t be buying their daughter anything pink, they hate princess stuff, their stupid mother in law keeps buying DRESSES for her baby GIRL, and it’s all so awful, and there will NEVER be ANY of that pink or girly stuff around HER baby because she doesn’t want her daughter to have girly stuff?
Which, I guess, is kind of fine, but you never hear anyone going, “My mother in law keeps buying PANTS for my SON! Doesn’t she know I don’t want any of that PANTS CRAP in my house? And get this – a blue onesie! BLUE! I’m sorry, we’re just not doing that. Nope. I don’t want any of that boy-y shit for MY son.”
Nope. It’s only ever against the girl stuff. And okay, I know there are a couple of people out there who deliberately bought gender neutral EVERYTHING for whatever sex baby they were having for some kind of deep reason, but if that was you, you need to understand that you’re the exception, not the rule, and that this is not about you.
In fact, Internet, the Internet would be a much nicer place if people could recognize when they were an exception
“No, ACTUALLY, I hate Ice Ice Baby, so your offhand comment that everyone loves Ice Ice Baby, a comment composed exactly .05% of this entire blog post , is completely wrong, and even though you made some very excellent points further down the post, I didn’t read them, because I needed to come to the comment section IMMEDIATELY to let you know how wrong you are, because I don’t understand that you made a pretty inconsequential generalization and feel you MUST BE INFORMED that not only is your statement not correct 100% of the time, but I, in fact, am one of the VERY PEOPLE to which it does not apply!!”
and not the rule
“You know, you’re right, french fries do have a pretty universal deliciousness acceptance rate.”
Anyway, Internet. Exceptions and rules. Figure out which one you are and stop shitting on people’s days.
So, right. The vociferous refusal to buy pink, girly stuff for girl babies. (There is a post here on Mommy Interrupted discussing the specific implications of little girls being exposed to a sort of “princess culture” which I think is a different thing entirely, important to discuss and outside the scope of what I am bitching about right now, but available to you if you’re interested in a good read about the topic and have opinions! To share!) I would get it more, I think, if the same thing happened for boy babies, the refusal to have anything blue or any trucks or what have you.
I don’t see why it’s bad or wrong or somehow objectionable (even for the few people that make an issue of it) for your little girl to wear little girl clothes and play with little girl toys. I’m not saying you should PAINT the kid pink or something, but… she is a girl. So why so determined to strip away anything “girly?” I think you’re sending more of a harmful message about “girly” things being shameful than a powerful message about whatever you think you’re sending a powerful message about.
I have no conclusion to this.
*****
Kind of related? People who buy their kid 6 of those wooden toys and nothing else, not because they want to live some kind of Montessori lifestyle with their baby, but because they don’t want that plastic crap all over their house. I think their baby boys also wear ties and sweater vests 100% of the time.
It kind of goes with the whole thing that people are afraid of other people thinking that they’re different now that they have a kid. I have seen that a lot with blogging and with my own blog – Oh, so and so has changed since she had a baby, it’s just awful.
OF COURSE SHE CHANGED, SHE HAD A BABY.
Except no, it’s not really changing, I don’t think. I think you’re the same, but you’re living a different life. I mean, what if you won a bajillion dollars in the lottery? I don’t think it would fundamentally change you, as a person, but you wouldn’t be living the same life any more and you’d probably conduct yourself differently in a lot of aspects of your life. I mean, you could try REALLY HARD to keep everything EXACTLY THE SAME, but I don’t think it would be possible.
(“Actually, I’d keep everything exactly the same!” See above re: exceptions and rules. Jerk.)
Having a baby doesn’t make you a different person, it makes you the same person living a different life. Why would you even want to keep everything exactly the same and as indistinguishable from pre-baby life as possible? You’re still the same person. There’s nothing to be scared of about living a different life. It’s a good thing.
*****
Hey, want to pretend for a second you’re interested in the diapers I bought yesterday because, okay, forget the charade that I buy them for Penny, I was having a bad day and wanted them.
Actually, I only bought the top one yesterday, but the pirate one became available this morning, and my eyes were still all blurry, and these diapers are SO hard to get, and Penny already has two OTHER pirate diapers, which everyone knows is a perfect justification for buying a third of ANYTHING, because now it’s a COLLECTION.
These diapers are all-in-twos, or AI2s, which means that they have two pieces – a shell and a soaker, and the soaker usually snaps in to the diaper. The soaker is the absorbent piece. This is different from all-in-ones (AIOs) because in those, the soaker is sewn inside the diaper. It is different from what is called a fitted diaper, which can be constructed in the same way as AI2s or AIOs, but does not contain a waterproof layer, so require a waterproof cover to be worn over them. And, of course, also different from pocket diapers, which are waterproof and have a pocket that you stuff with absorbent inserts.
Phil likes AIOs, because obviously they are the simplest to use, but they take for-ev-er to dry. Since the soakers in AI2s just snap in, and they don’t require any covering, I’m hoping he’ll like these. He’s always willing to do a diaper change, which is great, but he doesn’t have the same kind of memory as I do for which inserts work best in which pocket diapers, so I usually have to stuff a diaper for him to use anyway.
*****
Penny is closing in on four months old now, and we are dying to get her to laugh, but she seems to be channeling Mandy Moore’s Scrubs character.
“Penny! Penny! Hey, Penny! Poop!”
“That’s so funny.”
“Butts! Farts! Funny face.”
“That’s sooo funny.”
“Tickle! Chick-a chick-a chick-a chick-a TICKLE!”
“That’s so funny.“
“GODDAMNIT BABY, LAUGH.”
“That’s so funny.”
She’s SO CLOSE to laughing that I’ve stopped trying to make her laugh when Phil isn’t here, so that he doesn’t miss it. Of course, this leads to the two of us hunched over her, making total assholes of ourselves, while she just stares and occasionally graces us with a goofy smile and an ALMOST LAUGH.
Seriously, we are making TOTAL ASSHOLES of ourselves.
*****
The picture for Penny’s birth announcements was taken when she was eight weeks old (oops), the actual announcements arrived when she was about 10 weeks old (oops) and the last of them went out when she was 14 weeks old (damn it).
This is what they look like:
I have a pile of them left (okay, and three left to send out, shut up). So, just like my incredibly large stack of lady-part ultrasound pictures (WHY did they think we not only needed to see it, but needed a labeled picture EVERY SINGLE WEEK?), I am left with a bunch of Penny paraphernalia that is useless, but not quite suitable for the trash.
I’m going to go hand them out on some sleazy street corner, I think, so when you get one, you look down, ready to pitch a flier for a strip club or bad comedy show right into the trash, and you’re like, “Whoa, a baby! That’s unexpected!” and then you throw it in the trash, and your day is just ever so slightly better, either from the unexpected baby OR from the one fewer strip club flier you are forced to gaze upon because you’re too polite to say “No, thanks!” to the flier people.
I spent the entire weekend in my Butt Rust clothes – giant 2XL undershirts that have suffered the consequences of my inability to use a fork like a normal person, and huge athletic shorts from the dude section of the BX that were not only big to begin with but lost a little bit of the snap in their waist after a couple of months of being called upon to circle The Hut. Normally, on the weekends, I put on grown up clothes at least for a few hours, and I did try this weekend, but it only lasted about 25 minutes before I needed to get back on the couch with the baby, and if you’re just going to be hunched up in a corner of the couch for hours on end, either feeding a baby or holding her while she creates a spreading drool-spot all over the front of your gross ugly shirt, you might as well wear your floppiest pants and grossest, ugliest shirts.
I’m very tired and very resentful in ways that can’t be described due to the ability of the general Internet (not you, the rest of them) to laser in on such posts to leave comments about what terrible, ungrateful parents anyone who posts such things must be, so let’s just leave it at that. Tired, resentful, willfully deaf to any crying that doesn’t sound urgent enough, at least for just fifteen goddamn minutes PLEASE.
*****
You know what else I found myself kind of resentful about this weekend? Breastfeeding advocates, specifically on the Internet.
We’ve talked about this before, I am all for breastfeeding. I’ve even made myself aware of a lot of the ridiciulously named “booby traps,” things people and doctors and society and whoever say and do to prevent, hinder, or otherwise discourage breastfeeding.
However, a lot of the “breastfeeding at all costs” type of information being given out has really obscured a lot of necessary information I was trying to find this weekend, and I am pretty cheesed off about it.
Now, I am about to give examples, and they are examples of the situation, not questions I want you to answer in the comments, okay? Please do NOT talk about my boops in the comments. I like you, but we’re not that close. Seriously, please don’t, because I will probably not be able to stop myself from responding, and it will likely be really bitchy, and you’ll be all, “I was just trying to HELP, I am never coming here AGAIN” and I honestly WILL NOT CARE because I am holed up in the bedroom right now while Phil is home for lunch and in a few minutes I have to go back out there to that baby and the drool mark on my shirt won’t even be all the way dry before she redampens it and I JUST CAN’T TAKE IT TODAY.
There’s some pretty common questions, I think, that new mothers tend to ask – how do I know if the baby is eating enough? How do I know if I’m making enough milk? I think they’re pretty common, at least.
Which is why it’s so weird that it’s almost impossible to find real answers. I understand that a lot of women think they can’t make enough milk, or are told they don’t make enough milk, and that it’s not true nearly as often as it is said. And I understand that a lot of new mothers are worried when their baby shortens nursing sessions, and that’s just a thing that babies do. Yes, those things are true.
But when you are looking for the answers to these questions, it would be nice if they were actually THERE, in addition to the standard “DON’T LISTEN TO WHOEVER IS TELLING YOU THAT!” reassurance. Without fail, even on LLL sites, all I come across are answers like, “It’s normal for a baby to eat for only a couple of minutes” or “As long as the baby is nursing often, you’ll make enough milk,” or the very common, “If there are an adequate number of wet and dirty diapers and the baby isn’t losing weight, you’re fine!” And nothing beyond that.
Except sometimes? The baby IS losing weight. And sometimes, someone is asking how to tell if their milk is drying up because IT JUST MIGHT BE, not because some horrible outside force is trying to convince her to supplement with the evil formula. And sometimes a lady is familiar enough with her own goddamn baby to KNOW it absolutely IS a problem that she’s only nursing for a couple of minutes per side and NEEDS TO KNOW WHAT TO DO.
Yet all this information is hard to find on the Internet, buried beneath tons of “IT’S FINE! DON’T LISTEN TO ANYONE WHO SAYS IT ISN’T!,” if it’s even there at all.
I’ve written before about breastfeeding “experts” (and I use quotes to indicate not that I don’t think such a thing exists, but that among the true experts, there are many people who are in-quotes experts) and a couple of situations in which I felt their failed to properly push for and advocate for breastfeeding by providing ALL the relevant information, correctly. And now I find myself almost on the opposite side, looking for these people who are supposed to have ALL the information, not just the information relevant to their almost political-ish opinion on the necessity of breastfeeding, crowding out the whole of my search results with “It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine!” with no instruction or help on how to figure out if it’s actually NOT.
And we ARE working with a doctor and I KNOW I can go see a lactation consultant in person and a whole host of other solutions, I’m just expressing my annoyance that the information I need is seemingly not available on the Internet – instead, there’s a whole lot of “don’t trust your friend who said this, don’t trust your doctor who said that, don’t trust your instincts that say whatever,” if “this,” “that,” or “whatever” are at all indicative that maybe breastfeeding should stop or maybe formula supplementation should start.
Again, I’m not really looking for help on my issue, I’m just annoyed all over again at what a goddamn mess just trying to do the right thing by your baby ends up being a lot of the time.
*****
Phil doesn’t really talk about his past or growing up a lot. He doesn’t really have a great memory in general, and isn’t really the type to recount his whole life to someone. I know him now, and I know the vague outlines of his past, and in day to day living, it’s easy to kind of forget, in a subconscious way, that I don’t really know everything there is to know about him, or at least, his life and what’s gone on in it, until he reminds me in a hilarious manner.
Phil’s the type of person who doesn’t really always remember that not everyone is aware of what’s going on inside of his head or privy to all of his thoughts at all times. He’s the type that just picks up in the middle of a conversation and is kind of annoyed by your blank look, until you point out to him that the first 15 minutes of the conversation took place entirely in his head and it would be nice to be brought up to speed before being expected to give a response.
This whole “not everyone just knows everything” is especially funny when he throws out some random memory or experience from his childhood or past like it isn’t even a THING, and is surprised when you’re all, “Wait, WHAT? Did you just say, ‘Well, that time I got hit by a motorcycle…?’ Seriously? You’re just going to drop that out there and act like it’s not even RIDICULOUS to just SAY?”
In a way, it’s almost more fun to NOT ask Phil about his past and then just sit around and wait for the rare moments he decides he’s going to talk. Like yesterday, when Aerosmith came on my Pandora station.
“When I bought my first CD player, I bought this CD.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. And then the first chick I ever did it with stole my CD player. It was a boom box.”
“Were you mad?”
“Well, kind of, but that’s not even the weirdest thing that happened with that girl.”
“Oh?”
“Nope. The weirdest thing was that I had sex with her twin.”
“You did WHAT?”
“And she was watching from the closet.”
“That HAPPENED?”
“She said it did. And then suddenly she was a triplet.”
“I don’t even –”
“This is the one I met when I worked at Baskin-Robbins, because I called a radio station to request a song while we were closing up and then she called the store because she heard me on the radio.”
“I DON’T EVEN –”
“She also faked a pregnancy and that was a whole other thing. Hey, do you want lunch?”
*****
I would normally put a picture of Penny about right here, but I don’t actually have any. Just take one of the pictures you’ve already seen and draw some angry, Oscar the Grouch-style eyebrows on it, and maybe some rage lasers shooting out from the general facial area, and then find the most grating sound you can and crank it up to full volume.
Enjoy.
*****
Hey, I am going to The Blathering, and there’s still 10 spaces left, I think, so. You know. Think about it.
*****
We are so sick of Arizona and so sick of our every attempt to get out of here being denied that we are at the point that Phil is seriously considering putting in for an unaccompanied short tour – Korea, or Diego Garcia, or something like that. He’d be gone for a year, without us, as the word “unaccompanied” implies. Before he even left, we’d know where we were going next, and people returning from short tours or overseas or whatever get a slightly higher preference on the base of their choosing. Of course, the base of their choosing is “chosen” from a list of what’s available, which is not guaranteed to not be even more hateful than where we are now.
And here’s the thing with doing a short tour – does he go now, and miss a year of Penny’s tiny babyhood, in hopes of getting us where we want to be, or does he wait and miss a year a little later on, one that Penny will remember?
Or, we can stay here in Arizona and keep requesting a Base of Preference, knowing that as long as we stay here, we’re likely stuck here for who knows how long, but as soon as we move, Phil will be right at the top of the list and will likely deploy to Afghanistan or Iraq pretty shortly after our arrival? (Don’t get me wrong – everyone deploys and we know that Phil WILL deploy at LEAST once in the remainder of his career and we KNOW that and we accept it, but it’s not something we actively WANT.)
I don’t know. Arizona itself isn’t THAT terrible. It’s just not the life we want to be living right now.
*****
Imagine I said something else right here, some long, elaborate description of a problem that you can’t actually help solve, so we can just make this whole package a nice, round downer.
Internet, can you remember way back to yesterday when I told you about how it seems Penny has dived… dove? Doven? How it seems Penny has doven head first into a growth spurt, and we’d been hanging out on the couch for a couple of days to cater to her demands? Of course you don’t remember, because I overshot the balance of words to Penny pictures and no one pays attention to the words when I do that.
Anyway, the suspected growth spurt was timed perfectly, since she had a follow up visit with her doctor this week to check her weight, after a week on Zantac, since she had not gained any weight between June 29th and last Friday.
So, this morning we headed out for her appointment and got her weight right away. I assumed that after the last two days, she had to be up.
6/29: 9 lbs, 9 oz
7/30: 9 lbs, 13 oz, fully dressed and in a wet cloth diaper
8/5: 8 lbs, 15 oz
Unbelievable. No way. The scale HAD to be broken. It was just too impossible. But no, they weighed her twice. The scale was zeroed out. 8 lbs, 15 oz.
I still thought it must be broken, though, until I was talking to the doctor about how skinny around the waist she appeared to me – I kind of thought it might be from getting longer. When the doctor looked at her, though, she pointed out how the skin around her waist and thighs was all loose. I don’t know how I didn’t register that. Just loose skin. There’s no fat on her.
It’s impossible to ignore that she dropped quite a bit of weight. 10 ounces, we estimate. However, what’s impossible to know is if she had actually lost more and is now on an upswing thanks to the crazy eating and sleeping of the last couple of days. Like maybe she was actually down 12 ounces and has regained two, and is working on more.
So, for now, Penny and I are setting up camp on the couch with no plans to move, letting her eat and sleep as much as she wants, and we’ll go back to check her weight again a week from today and hope to see a gain.
For now, though, Internet, we are all – that would be me and you, the collective Internet – just going to assume that Penny’s doctors have everything well in hand. I am not going to Google [much] and I have deliberately provided sketchy detail because I’d rather not have her comment-diagnosed. As you can imagine, this is an extremely stressful situation, considering that her one task in life is to GROW and it’s not quite happening at the moment.
You’d think I’d be a pro, what with the Butt Rust and all, but I’ve been a bit out of touch and disgustingly involved with the whole actual having of the baby thing. What I need from you is some help locating the most interesting, most engrossing and most distracting of all forms of entertainment: websites, shows on Hulu, movies, anything streaming on Netflix, books – anything. Not necessarily funny, not necessarily anything other than very suitable for taking minds off of things for days at a time, because me being stressed is not going to solve anything.
What have you got, Internet, other than suggestions and diagnoses of Penny, because we are leaving that part of the whole thing to doctors?
Hey, do you have Spotify? I don’t have any invitations, so if you don’t have it, I guess I’m an asshole for even mentioning it, but maybe you’ll get into Pottermore and you can hold that over my head, so we’ll be even. But if you do have it, go look up Dan Andriano in the Emergency Room – Hurricane. I recommend “It’s Gonna Rain All Day.”
But don’t listen to it until after you finish this post. It just wouldn’t go.
*****
So, just in time for her weight check on Friday, Penny seems to have hit some kind of three month growth spurt with unbelieveable stereotypicalness.
She had a couple bad days and nights of sleep, and then yesterday, did nothing BUT sleep, only waking up to eat. Normally, when Phil comes home in the evenings, he spends time with her while I cook dinner and then do my own thing for a little bit, but for the last few days, she’s been incredibly fussy when he holds her. We eventually, finally, in a slow “we have no idea how to do this, who the hell trusted us with a baby” kind of way, realized that she just wanted to be near her food source, so she and I spent ALL of yesterday on the couch. She’d eat and then fall asleep against my chest for hours. The whole day. It looked like this:
Aside from an ill-advised giant cup of iced coffee right before she fell asleep for three hours, it wasn’t too terrible. I watched Damages on Netflix (which was only possible because that damn DirecTV commercial for the show finally stopped playing – honestly, I thought nothing could ever make me have even a glint of a negative feeling toward John Goodman, BUT I WAS WRONG) and occasionally consulting my Google Reader.
Phil came home and I cooked dinner for us — did I mention Phil and I are on a diet? We were on a different diet, one of those limited time period diets that’s supposed to jump start your metabolism and turn you into a coal-fueled powerhouse or some shit, and it works by not letting you eat anything delicious ever again with the bait that by the end, it will be VEGETABLES that you find yourself craving, not stupid ice cream and diet soda. We lasted for a week before we went to Wendy’s, made ourselves kind of sick, and started a new, more reasonable diet the next day. I think we probably could have made it the whole course of the diet, though, because we were taking TURNS being furiously angry all the time. Anyway, I made a taco salad with ground turkey last night, even though I think ground turkey is an abomination.
(OH SPEAKING OF BEING ON A DIET: That whole “breastfeeding helps you lose weight” thing? Is that a crock? Because, yes. I lost the pregnancy weight quickly, but I also didn’t gain THAT much and was really swollen at the end, so. And I lost 5 more lbs pretty quickly, which was nice. But then, nothing. And I mean literally nothing and you guys know how I feel about the word “literally.” I could find no time to eat anything but a handful of wheat thins and and six popsicles and the scale would not budge. But I could order the entire Dollar Menu at McDonald’s for lunch for 6 days straight and it STILL WOULD NOT BUDGE. I call for an adjustment into the whole “breastfeeding helps you lose weight” line. Something more like
“Breastfeeding could help you lose weight but breastfeeding could also choose a weight for you and never let you leave it, ever, even if you ask breastfeeding really nicely, and you’ll have to go on a diet that is made up almost entirely of rage and bacon-related heartbreak to bust out of that plateau.”
That would be more accurate.)
Oh, another thing about that first diet? This basically sums up the whole experience:
Me: Blah blah blah sex blah blah something blah something something blah? Phil: Did you say something about cheese?
Right. Phil took Penny and I got up to make our dinner. Penny is eating so consistently right now, though, that I only really got to get it all cooked before I had to take her back from Phil and settle into the couch with her. I did not get any sour cream on her head when I ate dinner over her, which really shows me how far I’ve come as a parent, considering that there was a time I seriously thought about buying a small umpire-esque home plate whisk broom to handle all of the fall out after I ate a sandwich while she was eating.
I spent another couple of hours there and her bedtime rolled around, and I handed her over to Phil so I could go make my bedtime preparations. Another sign of how excellent I am getting at this parenting thing, aside from the parts where I’m supposed to know what to do, is that my bedtime routine no longer takes an hour to complete. I gather some clean diapers for the night, I get myself a glass of water, and I make SURE my corner of the fitted sheet is VERY tucked in because the ONLY THING WORSE than the crotch of my shorts or underpants OR BOTH OH LAWD not being perfectly lined up with the mid-line of my person is when the sheet pops off, which it can tend to do when you lay down-sit up-lay down-sit up all night long.
Seriously. Some day, Penny will be like, “Shit, shit, son of a BITCH, shit, shit, MOTHERFU–”
And my mom (because OF COURSE this will happen in front of my mother) will be all, “PENELOPE THURSA WENDY! WHERE did you learn such language?”
And Penny will go, “It’s the song my mom sings when the sheet comes undone in the night!”
I just hate that SO MUCH.
I’ve got the bed time routine down to just a couple of minutes now, though, and when I went to recollect Penny, Phil said, “Hey, she’s calm now, if you want some time to yourself.”
And I was all bewildered, because why would I need MORE time to myself? I had time to myself all DAY.
And that’s when I realized that my definition of “time to myself” has shifted from “time where no other person or animal in this stupid house makes any demands LEAVE ME ALONE I AM GOING TO WESTERN PLAGUE LANDS” to “Penny wasn’t crying and I had a whole arm free to peck out one-fingered responses on Twitter.”
*****
Hey, have you ever met one of those people who inform you, “Actually, did you know that you’re only supposed to use Q-tips on the OUTSIDE of your ear? Not in?”
Which, yeah, is what is written on the box, but I’m pretty sure that’s just a CYA move for the Q-tip people. Everyone cleans the inside part when it needs cleaning. Even that person. Right?
*****
I’ve decided (and by “decided,” I mean that I’ve had an idea I have no intention of following through) that instead of selling more ad space all up and down the page, since most people who ask for ad space are kind of a little bit ridiculous about it and I have to say no, I am just going to sell TJ’s Cosmo Cliff’s Notes. Except they obviously couldn’t all be Cosmo.
You just pick out the magazine you want TJ-noted, and PayPal enough money to cover it. Plus a dollar I can give to Phil to buy a candy bar so he’ll go to the store to get the magazine for me. Plus $1.50 more for him to get me a diet soda while he’s there, too.
So I will get the magazine and sit down with my diet soda and Phil’s candy bar (because, come on) and Cliff’s Note up all the magazines. I’ll be rich. In recyclable plastic bottles.
Basically, I want to read magazines and drink diet soda all day and want you, Internet, to fund this endeavor for me.
Are you shitting me right now? Get a job, hippie.
*****
You want to see a magic trick?
Okay, go have your kid’s (or borrow a kid, whatever) portraits taken and purchase a really healthy number of prints. I mean, think of all the family members who might want a print, even those ones like certain grandparents who will want a print of EVERY POSE, because if you send three poses to your mother and three poses to your sister and one of them has one the other doesn’t, THEY WILL COMPARE NOTES and there WILL BE PHONE CALLS, and really, purchase a more than adequate number of poses and prints of each pose.
Then, go buy some picture mailers, lay all your pictures out on the table and start to divvy them up and magic – all of a sudden you do not have NEARLY ENOUGH at the same time that you have ENTIRELY TOO MANY.
“Ok… ok. A 5×7 for each of these people, and a wallet. Wait, is it presumptuous to assume someone would want to carry a picture of my kid in their wallet? But then, is it stupid to just send one wallet when there’s two people? The grandparents should each get an 8×10, that I know. But… I have two 8x10s left. That’s not enough to send an 8×10 to any other category! Wait, do people care? Am I being one of “those parents” by sending portraits of my kid out? Why didn’t I go for the $700 package? The $700 package would have solved all my problems!”
This is why we did not go for the $700 package.
Or the $300 package.
Or the any hundred dollar package.
*****
Phil, holding Penny under the arms and bouncing her off his legs like an astronaut on the moon:
Crrrshhht. Crrrshhht.
Houston, we have a diaper problem.
Crrrshhht. Crrrshhht.
My helmet’s filling up with drool.
Crrrshhht.
- I’ve realized that having a kid hasn’t really left me with no time to blog, but has dramatically increased my reliance on “here’s whole bunch of unrelated points” kinds of posts. I like to write posts of 1000, 2000 words – you know that by now, Internet, and I appreciate your tenacity as you cling and determinedly troop through the most meandering and excessively EMPHASIZED paths I take to make what ends up being a very simple point.
But to write those posts, I start out with said very simple point, intending to make it very simply, but as it goes along I get more and more EXCITED about what I am saying and so DETERMINED to make myself clear that I just keep going and going and the tips of my fingers start to hurt because slamming the keys will obviously be translated and I imagine myself with my hair getting all stand uppy and maybe a little drool coming out one corner of my mouth. Blogging is not glamorous, people, except for those who make a lot of money from it and then I am pretty sure it is kind of glamorous.
So I get on these key-thumping, flailing-for-emphasis-even-though-you-can’t-READ-a-flail rolls, and it’s hard to generate such fervor and sustain it when you have to get up every 5 minutes to sing songs about butts and return pacifiers to mouths and say, “What-what-WHAAAAAAAT do you WAAAAAANT?”
- I lost my train of thought right here for a second because I had to go sing a song about butts. Also, I’ve been working on another song to the tune of “Mandy” by Barry Manilow. I sing it to Penny while I work on it. It’s about her being an only child and how I’m going to live out my dreams through her and expectations are going to be really high and good luck.
- You see the ad in the sidebar there for Perching at Home? I think you should check it out, and I am in no way obligated by the ad being there to tell you that. I could just take the money and say nothing, you know. But I’m not. Because I REALLY think you should check it out. Especially if you’re planning some adorable newborn pictures for your present or impending baby.
I also think you should check out the crib rail covers, because I think they’re brilliant and perfect for the type of people who have actually made a nursery for the baby, with a theme and a talent for decorating and all.
BUT NONE OF THIS IS MY POINT. And I have two points. They’re not actually points. They’re just some things I want to say.
I was talking on Twitter about the lamentability of adorable footie pajamas having such a limited lifetime, and several people suggested just cutting the feet off, except I didn’t WANT to cut the feet off. I don’t know how to brush Penny’s hair. Having the jorts of the pajama world on her is just too far into unloved ragamuffin territory for me, what with her hair frizz-waving on one side of her head and sticking straight off the other. So, Beth offered to de-feet them for me.
I KNOW I could have just cut the feet off. Just so we’re clear. I just didn’t WANT TO.
You guys – they came out SO STINKING ADORABLE.
She’s only crying because she loves them SO! MUCH!
I love these pajamas. Having them de-footed definitely extends how long she’ll be able to wear them, and stops me from going to Carter’s and buying them in the next couple of sizes, like I did with a certain dress. Also, it is kind of hard to make excuses to go to Carter’s for new clothes when it has been made very clear that the baby hasn’t grown at all.
Also, shorty pajamas are perfect for Arizona. I don’t know what you non-Arizona people would do. Socks, maybe? I am the terror of old ladies everywhere – I basically never put socks on the baby.
Look, I KNOW that YOU just cut the feet off. And that’s FINE. But should you ever NOT want to cut the feet off, but still WANT THE FEET OFF, can I suggest having this done? I told Beth when she offered to do it for me – this should totally be a service. There are neurotic people everywhere who would rather have their pajamas de-feeted than cut them or buy bigger ones. If I am that neurotic, SOME OF YOU ARE, TOO. Thus, valuable service.
BUT THIS IS NOT ALL. Beth sent along a gift for Penny as well.
I was not in any way obligated or paid to say any of this. But look. The crib rail teething covers are just beautiful. She made my baby’s head resemble a Fraggle, which makes me feel pleasantly nostalgic in the way people who grew up in the 80s and 90s like to do (and someone inevitably, ALWAYS ALWAYS, chimes in with “hey, remember slap bracelets??” Yes. We all remember those. And yes, they were banned at my school, too. And then it ALWAYS devolves into people just making lists of random shit they recall “Popples! That waffle cereal! Hypercolor!”). AND she catered to my neurosis by de-feeting pajamas. I’m not OBLIGATED to say crap. But I wanted to. Seriously. Go look at her shop, and come back and tell me what the most awesome thing you found there was.
- Last night, when I was indulging my “stories about in laws” habits (you can indulge yours here and here), I came across yet ANOTHER incident of someone telling a pregnant woman, “Oh, you won’t care once you’re in labor” with regard to having people in the delivery room.
Internet, I heard that a lot. And you know what? I CARED. My mom sat in the waiting room almost ALL DAY for TWO DAYS. She came in when I was on Stadol for an hour or so, and she came in for a good bit of Friday when I had the epidural. The idea is that the pain will make you not care about anything else, I guess, but I was NOT comfortable being observed while I was in pain. The pain absolutely did NOT make me forget – in fact, it just made me want to be left alone all the more intensely.
Even once I had the epidural and was feeling much better, I STILL didn’t forget. I had my mom leave the room for EVERY check. I woke up from a brief drifting in and out kind of nap to find her talking to the nurse and even snapped at her for talking about my medical information. Being in labor did not make me suddenly forget what a private person I am and how much I wanted privacy during labor. It only made me MORE privatey.
So if you’re pregnant and you’re telling someone how you don’t want anyone in the room, and they laugh blithely and say, “Oh, I’m going to be in there. You won’t even care once you’re in labor!” or some woman who has been through it tells you, “Honestly, you won’t care once the time comes,” you should know that those people are CONFUSED. What they’re SAYING is, “I didn’t care once I was in labor.”
And they seem to have gotten a little mixed up and ended up thinking that what happened to THEM is what will happen to YOU.
One of the most frustrating things of first time pregnancy, I think, is the number of people telling you how you WILL feel and what you WILL do and how things WILL go, based on their personal experiences alone. And it can be so aggravating to try to make your case in the face of that – to say, for example, that you KNOW that you don’t want anyone in the room – because they’ve been through it and you haven’t and they take on an annoying, smug air of “Oh, you’ll see.” And it SUCKS having to defend your points from that position. It does.
Just use this translation code from now on: When someone says “You WILL/WON’T __________,” where __________ is whatever, it’s actually just an asshole way of saying, “I DID/DIDN’T __________.” Then you can take it for what it’s worth, depending on who it is coming from.
- Also assholey? On baby forums, the response, “This must be your first baby, right?” in reply to anything deemed even slightly overprotective, from the super experienced, way laid back, “look how little I care about everything and how cool I assume that makes me in your eyes” second-, third-, etc.-, time parents. I’m not even going to go into why that’s so assholey. You should just know that it is.
- Penny had her 3 month portraits done this weekend. It was mostly a shrieking disaster just like what’s going on behind me right now. Here’s one of the pictures.
I haven't found a convenient, easy to update method of displaying a list of links to all of the blogs I read, nor am I interested in getting all wrapped up in the politics of who is listed and who is not, so here is a link to a single blog that I do, in fact, read, to be updated randomly and completely at my own whim, for no particular reason or reasons I DON'T FEEL I NEED TO DISCUSS WITH YOU, INTERNET, but you can rest assured that I would not maliciously steer you wrong.
Hello! I'm TJ and this is my blog. The picture is a joke, get it? Because I'm INSIDE the INTERNET?
I'm 30 years old and I live in Arizona with my husband and our two big dogs. I've been married for just over a year, and we have a 7 month old daughter named Penelope. You can do the math. It's okay. We don't mind.
Read my stuff. You'll like it.
I know that at some point, this section of my site will be out of date. I promise you in advance, I'm aware of that.
