#30 – NaBloWriMo

Not just 30 posts in 30 days, my friends.

36!

Thirty-SIX!!

November, you’ve notoriously made me your bitch in the past – “Who, me? Little ole’November? Why, you certainly wouldn’t hold those two miscarriages and the subsequent D&C’s against me, now would you??” – Oh, yes, I would. And I will ’til I hit the grave, but today, you are MY bitch, November. Suck it. Suck it, but hard.

#29 – More of the same.

Thanksgiving day we originally and tentatively planned on having supper for his side of the family at our house. We have the most dining space, plus it would be easier to manuever the MIL and her wheelchair once we snuck her out of the nursing home for the afternoon. But SIL said that we shouldn’t bother. Let’s go to The Club where they’ll be serving a buffet and just let someone else do all the work. OK, I thought, that’s cool, especially since everyone here was sick in some form or fashion.

Wednesday evening I discover that SIL is having dinner at her house. See you there! Ugh.

I used the rest of Friday to prepare the dinner for my side of the family at our house. Potluck style, which worked out really well. Except for the devilled eggs.

Care to guess how many dozen eggs it took for me to get enough decent for serving? Go ahead, guess.

We were up late Friday night cleaning up and Sparring Partner offered to take the kids to McDonalds in the morning so as to both keep the kitchen in order and to keep everyone out of my hair while I did some last minute prepping. It was a good plan until Aitch woke up once again vomiting Saturday morning after a couple days of appearing to be better. It wasn’t a huge mess this time, but I kept her home with me while Sparring Partner and Doodicus went out for their Scottish breakfast. I gave Aitch half a bottle and plunked her in the high chair while I worked on the eggs, emptying the dishwasher and polishing my fancy glasses (when I say “polish”, I mean dust them off since the last time they were used was when I put them away in the cabinets – four years ago).

Within minutes of finishing her bottle, Aitch lost the entire contents. It wasn’t pretty. It never is, is it? I was thankful it was in the kitchen just because it meant not pulling out the carpet shampooer yet again.

Are you sick of hearing about us being sick yet? I’m sick of telling you, so don’t feel bad if you are.

She had no dairy for the rest of the day. My mother felt it necessary to shovel her full of cranberries and corn until I sternly told her to knock it off. “She’s hungry!” “Then feed her some of this applesauce and make her some toast, because DUH!” Okay, I didn’t say “because DUH!”, but only because I was just too tired to start any shit with her.

Today we all feel a bit better. Aitch kept everything down, but she hasn’t been eating much. It’s been a full week since this all started and while I understand that stuffy noses and coughs can linger, vomiting randomly is not the norm. I’m hoping for a better week to follow.

#28 – Dahm it to hell.

I don’t know what celebrity POS show I was watching, but one of the stories was about a set of identical triplets all pregnant at the same time. Not just any triplets. The Dahm Triplets of Playboy notoriety (NSFW). Or so I’ve read since I let my Playboy subscription expire years ago.

Apparently they’ve also shown up several times on The Doctors, which is due to one of them being married to the executive producer, who also happens to be the son of Dr. Phil. Keep the crazy in the family, and all that.

I love my sisters. I confide in them. One of my sisters was my Maid of Honor. But it would take a hell of a lot of liquor combined with illicit drugs to get us to strip naked and mutually admire each other’s boobs. And with them being identical, isn’t that the epitome of narcissism?

I never would have given the story another thought if it hadn’t been for the announcement that these three women are no more than eight weeks apart in their pregnancies.

Most days I feel like I’m freeing myself of the sticky web of bitterness that was spun from infertility. But literally in an instant, I am mentally right back where I was two years ago: entangled in angry bitterness.

 

#27 – BlaRRgggGhhh…AcChooggxllllgbbbllelll

I don’t know who to formally thank for the tip that actually came in useful last night after Aitch was put to bed, but THANK. YOU!!

The tip, my dear friends?

When dressing the crib mattress, start with the mattress pad (obviously). Cover with a fitted sheet. Put another mattress pad over that and then another fitted sheet. If by the grace of mattress pad loving gift-givers you have a third, then by all means, add that one too.

Crib mattress lasagna, I think it is called.

So yes, after days of rather uneventful sickiness, Aitch decided to hurl after we put her down for bed last night. If she hadn’t decided to roll her muppet-hair in it, we could have simply peeled the first layer of pad/sheets off and put her back down.

This morning she again seems to be right as rain. She’s already packed away about 8 oz of milk, one scrambled egg and at least one strip of bacon (you can blame Sparring Partner for that one). Wait, a slight retraction of the “right as rain” since that would only apply if rain was green and can shoot out of the nose with such velocity AND adhesion that it allows the one firing off nasal frogs to sport an impressive handlebar moustache made entirely out of mucous.

And while searching for an image of a snot moustache, I found these:

Tell me, wouldn’t these be awesome if they’d fit on a baby bottle or sippy cup?!

#26 – Accounting

Home
Apples
Pajamas
Pink
Youth

Toes
Happiness
Afternoons
Nature
Kisses
Smiles
Giggles
Internet
Vacation
Invitations
Nights
Grass

These are just a handful of everyday things in my life that I am very grateful for.

We should remember that we don’t need a holiday to give thanks to the little things that make us smile.

#25 – Little Miss Muffet

Ahhhh, Saturdays. The beginning of the all too short weekend. The day to get shit done around the house because Sundays always get me down*.

Unfortunately this past Saturday heralded in the funk at Mama’s house. Not more than one hour after Aitch had her bottle (yes, she still is using a bottle. What of it?!?), and while we were all still lounging around in pjs discussing whether it was eggs and bacon day or pancakes day (Doodicus picks), she decided to unload the entire contents.

In an amazing display of centrifugal force, my cheek (and mouth!), neck and hair could only stop a small portion of what ended up hitting the floor in a curds and whey streak five foot long. What lead up to me becoming a human barf bag is that while I was in the front room blogging working, I heard Aitch start to whine and cry, like Doodicus had taken a toy from her or ejected her from the little rocking chair. I was prepared to reprimand him as I saw her standing there, clutching her hands together in front of her. Then I just assumed she had smooshed her hand into something. She reached for me and I picked her up and that’s when hell broke loose.

I rushed her into the bathroom and we sat in the tub while Sparring Partner and I got her cleaned up. I was grateful that I had gone to bed in a tank top under my t-shirt and was able to get most of the funk off of me simply by peeling off one layer.

I then focused my attention on cleaning up the mess left on the living room carpet and noted cast off on several toys. While I hate my Kirby vacuum, I was grateful for the shampoo attachments.

She did OK for the rest of the morning, drinking only a bit of clear pedialyte mixed with 7up, a chunk of banana and a couple of crackers. She woke from her morning nap not hungry, but once she saw Sparring Partner snacking on some chips, she quickly sidled up to him. I said it couldn’t hurt.

After one chip, she again upchucked.

Since then, she’s started coughing, oozing green snot, and one eye is weeping. Isn’t that what we refer to as a hot mess? Sparring Partner is currently suffering from an intestinal bug and I’m high on Tylenol Cold medicine for my troubles. Doodicus on the other hand, is a picture of health. He paid no attention to the drama that unfolded literally at his feet Saturday (hello?! the tv was on!); and since he refuses to give or take kisses, he has avoided transference of any number of funkified germs floating about the house – knock on wood.

I stayed home with Aitch yesterday, but today I figured I’d return the favor to the daycare and sent her on her way. She’s on antibiotics for yet another ear infection and bronchitis.

Needles to say, we are off the hook for Thanksgiving dinner at our house Thursday. (whoot!) It looks like it just might be the four of us hanging out together with Doodicus holding down the fort while the rest of us alternate between warming up the throne or getting some much needed beauty rest.

Maybe with this long weekend, I’ll be able to get to those questions, specifically the one about my art degree which will require photographic proof. My computer + pictures = frustrated Yo-yo, so try to be optimistic, OK?

* Extra brownie points if you know who sung this?