25 things I love about my man:
1. morning wood
2. the chew lip that he doesn't even know he's doing
3. he can beatbox (for a white boy)
4. NAUGHTY THINGS
5. "drive like I'm not here"
6. duck butt
7. he's positive when I can't be...because of him, I was able to do amazing things with my body.
8. he's an amazing Daddy to my children (even when they're brats)
9. incredible work ethic
10. he researches everything (and since...)
11. I trust him (I can relax while)
12. he does all the legwork for major decisions
13. he's sexy on a bike
14. he's a sissy on slab
15. we push each other...sometimes into arguments, but mostly to push the limit
16. he let's me get away with exaggerating stories around other people.
17. one word: tent
18. he likes to drive like he's in a rally car (sometimes even making the noises)
19. he never complains about his role in this family
20. he tolerates my incessant bitching about my role
21. amazing sense of humor. the way he and I can laugh is legendary
22. the upper right corner of his mouth MEOW!!!
23. he's always whipping out his junk
24. he makes me feel warm (in every way), no matter how cold it is
25. he's my true partner...in everything
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
gotta start somewhere
in attempts to man our lil' creamy poof up, he and Daddy watched a monster truck competition tonight.
of course, when one of them crashed and Oqui yelled at the screen...
the Prof started pouting and cried a little.
baby steps.
of course, when one of them crashed and Oqui yelled at the screen...
the Prof started pouting and cried a little.
baby steps.
It's a girl!
my son...is a giant vagina.
I'm having trouble understanding how a person possessing a penis can be such a poodle.
we must take measures to allow the boy to grow into his testicles.
from now on I'm mixing his bottles with gunpowder and whiskey. for Valentine's day he's getting a weight bench, a porno and "peformance enhancing enzymes."
I aint raising no creampuff.
the whining must stop.
I'm having trouble understanding how a person possessing a penis can be such a poodle.
we must take measures to allow the boy to grow into his testicles.
from now on I'm mixing his bottles with gunpowder and whiskey. for Valentine's day he's getting a weight bench, a porno and "peformance enhancing enzymes."
I aint raising no creampuff.
the whining must stop.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
monday, monday
so here's how yesterday really went down.
woke up feeling O-tay. the prof was smiley, I had a to-do list, plopped the Prof on the bathroom floor (don't ask me why that's the one place where he'll lie contentedly for more than 3.83 minutes), grabbed the phone book and started making things happen.
made my eye doctor appt, did some research, was ticking things off my list and feeling fly.
tried giving him a bottle, and while he refused, nobody was hurt. oqui came home for lunch, chilling...tried the baba, again.
SUCCESS! homeboy took it like a champ. mouth wide open. perfect "latch". drained the measly ounce and a half in 15 seconds flat.
HOO0-FUCKING-RAH
then he realized it was empty and went ballistic. by the time I could heat more...forgeddaboutit.
do not ask me why...but that COMPLETELY set me off. I lost it. big big big big big big time. I got hysterical. the lights were on but nobody (reasonable) was home. TKO'd by a 12 pounder.
I felt like nothing could convince this child to do what I needed him to do unless he damn well pleased. I felt fucked.
I told oqui not to go back to work, that I shouldn't be alone with him because I didn't know if I could get myself together before he woke up. I was totally schitzing. et.cet.er.a.
he went back to work. I know he had to, but I was still completely fucking panicking.
they always tell you to ask for help if you need it...when I finally asked for help, he couldn't give it.
dambit.
I called my mom. she called my grandmother. my grandmother called me. I called her. they called the pentagon and so on and so on.
the prof woke up bitching and I tried to ignore him long enough to brush my teeth, pack his bag and get us both to gramma's before shit got ugly.
he was there all of two hours. long enough for me to get my eyes checked and my hair chopped.
btw...NEVER walk into a mall salon in a crazed mood and pick the first available stylist to cut your hair.
bad things happen...but that's another blog, entirely.
soooo...anyway, when I got back my grandparents had things relatively under control, he had taken some formula via bottle and I was ready to get home because my boobs were going to explode and I was starving.
then my mom came down. she REALLY thinks I need to stop nursing and was deadset on giving him a bottle. fortunately for me, he slept like a log the whole time she was here (trauma will do that to a little one) and no more artificial baby food found its way down his throat...willingly or otherwise.
I nursed him without incident all night...
then he started screaming again today.
so on we press. continuing our emotional roller coaster ride that is our nursing relationship.
he does ok. I feel great. he gets sick. I wanna cut my limbs off and beat myself to death with them.
this oughta be amusing for the next half a year or so...
woke up feeling O-tay. the prof was smiley, I had a to-do list, plopped the Prof on the bathroom floor (don't ask me why that's the one place where he'll lie contentedly for more than 3.83 minutes), grabbed the phone book and started making things happen.
made my eye doctor appt, did some research, was ticking things off my list and feeling fly.
tried giving him a bottle, and while he refused, nobody was hurt. oqui came home for lunch, chilling...tried the baba, again.
SUCCESS! homeboy took it like a champ. mouth wide open. perfect "latch". drained the measly ounce and a half in 15 seconds flat.
HOO0-FUCKING-RAH
then he realized it was empty and went ballistic. by the time I could heat more...forgeddaboutit.
do not ask me why...but that COMPLETELY set me off. I lost it. big big big big big big time. I got hysterical. the lights were on but nobody (reasonable) was home. TKO'd by a 12 pounder.
I felt like nothing could convince this child to do what I needed him to do unless he damn well pleased. I felt fucked.
I told oqui not to go back to work, that I shouldn't be alone with him because I didn't know if I could get myself together before he woke up. I was totally schitzing. et.cet.er.a.
he went back to work. I know he had to, but I was still completely fucking panicking.
they always tell you to ask for help if you need it...when I finally asked for help, he couldn't give it.
dambit.
I called my mom. she called my grandmother. my grandmother called me. I called her. they called the pentagon and so on and so on.
the prof woke up bitching and I tried to ignore him long enough to brush my teeth, pack his bag and get us both to gramma's before shit got ugly.
he was there all of two hours. long enough for me to get my eyes checked and my hair chopped.
btw...NEVER walk into a mall salon in a crazed mood and pick the first available stylist to cut your hair.
bad things happen...but that's another blog, entirely.
soooo...anyway, when I got back my grandparents had things relatively under control, he had taken some formula via bottle and I was ready to get home because my boobs were going to explode and I was starving.
then my mom came down. she REALLY thinks I need to stop nursing and was deadset on giving him a bottle. fortunately for me, he slept like a log the whole time she was here (trauma will do that to a little one) and no more artificial baby food found its way down his throat...willingly or otherwise.
I nursed him without incident all night...
then he started screaming again today.
so on we press. continuing our emotional roller coaster ride that is our nursing relationship.
he does ok. I feel great. he gets sick. I wanna cut my limbs off and beat myself to death with them.
this oughta be amusing for the next half a year or so...
Monday, January 26, 2009
sissy baby chicken
I...tried.
I dropped the Professor off at my Grandmother's with the guarantee, "I'll get him to take it. Just bring him over!"
he's broken many a-spirit. chewed up and spit out anyone who's gotten near him with a baba.
'til gramma. she got him to take about 4 ounces over the course of two hours...
but at a cost.
he was well beyond upset. looked a little defeated when I got there. shaky. shifty. generally untrusting.
my mom came down tonight with the same intent...to get him to take a bottle...until I refused. I just can't do it to my baby.
I googled "weaning and" and before I could finish my thought, google's populated list caught my eye.
over half a million sites dealing with "weaning and...depression" no shit. I'm depressed already.
because I'm not ready. thus and therefore I made a trip to the health food store for baby probiotics, a good vitamin for me...and every rice based product they stock.
this sucks.
why can't I just feed myself AND my baby?
I dropped the Professor off at my Grandmother's with the guarantee, "I'll get him to take it. Just bring him over!"
he's broken many a-spirit. chewed up and spit out anyone who's gotten near him with a baba.
'til gramma. she got him to take about 4 ounces over the course of two hours...
but at a cost.
he was well beyond upset. looked a little defeated when I got there. shaky. shifty. generally untrusting.
my mom came down tonight with the same intent...to get him to take a bottle...until I refused. I just can't do it to my baby.
I googled "weaning and" and before I could finish my thought, google's populated list caught my eye.
over half a million sites dealing with "weaning and...depression" no shit. I'm depressed already.
because I'm not ready. thus and therefore I made a trip to the health food store for baby probiotics, a good vitamin for me...and every rice based product they stock.
this sucks.
why can't I just feed myself AND my baby?
Sunday, January 25, 2009
decision made
I'm miserable. we're tired, picking on each other, I'm hungry and it's still winter.
so today we're making moves. it just kinda happened. no decision required, which is probably the only reason it's happening at all.
oqui started cleaning up what is supposed to be the nursery (but is really where the dogs have been sleeping) and pulled back the carpet.
I pulled it back a bit further and before we knew what hit us we were shopping for mobiles, monitors and new NURSERY carpet.
the Prof's moving out.
he's gonna sleep in his own big baby bed, in his own big baby room and oqui won't get the stink eye every time he coughs or his alarm goes off.
baby steps...but it should help.
there's no sugar-coating the fact that this is one difficult baby. noone ever signs up for that. you go into it expecting to be a little sleep deprived and have some bad days. we've been having a bad quarter.
he WILL grow out of this...until that day,though...
we're taking baby steps towards our own sanity. we need to focus just an eeensy weensy bit on ourselves, again, or we're going to end up incarcerated for hacking each other to death.
tonight - his own room.
as soon as he takes a bottle - the switch to formula.
he's been pooping green again. flipping out. screaming in pain every time he eats...
all because I had a quarter of a Nilla wafer (I'm not exaggerating) and some Italian dressing on my salad. who the hell would've thought that italian dressing had milk ingredients in it?
I can't do it anymore. driving me batty. fucking up my chi. too much pressure. not enough strength (or will power, for that matter). I can't keep poisoning my baby.
I'm making it my sole mission in life to get this kid on the bottle...
then I'm having a brownie sundae and getting really REALLY really fucked up.
PS. will post pics (possibly naked) of the drunkeness. promise.
so today we're making moves. it just kinda happened. no decision required, which is probably the only reason it's happening at all.
oqui started cleaning up what is supposed to be the nursery (but is really where the dogs have been sleeping) and pulled back the carpet.
I pulled it back a bit further and before we knew what hit us we were shopping for mobiles, monitors and new NURSERY carpet.
the Prof's moving out.
he's gonna sleep in his own big baby bed, in his own big baby room and oqui won't get the stink eye every time he coughs or his alarm goes off.
baby steps...but it should help.
there's no sugar-coating the fact that this is one difficult baby. noone ever signs up for that. you go into it expecting to be a little sleep deprived and have some bad days. we've been having a bad quarter.
he WILL grow out of this...until that day,though...
we're taking baby steps towards our own sanity. we need to focus just an eeensy weensy bit on ourselves, again, or we're going to end up incarcerated for hacking each other to death.
tonight - his own room.
as soon as he takes a bottle - the switch to formula.
he's been pooping green again. flipping out. screaming in pain every time he eats...
all because I had a quarter of a Nilla wafer (I'm not exaggerating) and some Italian dressing on my salad. who the hell would've thought that italian dressing had milk ingredients in it?
I can't do it anymore. driving me batty. fucking up my chi. too much pressure. not enough strength (or will power, for that matter). I can't keep poisoning my baby.
I'm making it my sole mission in life to get this kid on the bottle...
then I'm having a brownie sundae and getting really REALLY really fucked up.
PS. will post pics (possibly naked) of the drunkeness. promise.
nope
I thought that going to the climbing gym yesterday might make me feel better.
nope.
the Prof screamed the first half hour (you should hear an infant's bellow echo through an old warehouse...its rather unnerving), refused to eat and generally flipped the fuck out.
then it was my turn.
I climbed like shit. worse now than when I first started. horrendous. weak. tired. sloppy. disgusting.
despite all that, after the Prof fell asleep, I still had a little fun...til oqui's mood when south then...well, fuck it. nobody can have fun while he's pissed.
I tried to ignore him. tried to ignore myself. tried to ignore rude bitches.
tried. tried. tried.
I'm just pretty much sick of everything at this point. I'd like to at least say that I'm angry about x, y or z...but I'm not.
I'm just generally disgusted and stopped giving a fuck.
with so many things in my life that I can not only not control...but barely even influence...
I'm just sick of trying.
nope.
the Prof screamed the first half hour (you should hear an infant's bellow echo through an old warehouse...its rather unnerving), refused to eat and generally flipped the fuck out.
then it was my turn.
I climbed like shit. worse now than when I first started. horrendous. weak. tired. sloppy. disgusting.
despite all that, after the Prof fell asleep, I still had a little fun...til oqui's mood when south then...well, fuck it. nobody can have fun while he's pissed.
I tried to ignore him. tried to ignore myself. tried to ignore rude bitches.
tried. tried. tried.
I'm just pretty much sick of everything at this point. I'd like to at least say that I'm angry about x, y or z...but I'm not.
I'm just generally disgusted and stopped giving a fuck.
with so many things in my life that I can not only not control...but barely even influence...
I'm just sick of trying.
Friday, January 23, 2009
paradigm shift
I'm not very particular. I am (despite my ranting and raving here...or perhaps BECAUSE of it) fairly easy-going. I'd say that I'm not too terribly tough to live with, either. I go with the flow, don't make a ton of demands and I don't make waves unless seriously provoked.
consider me provoked. I've reached my saturation point. having spent the last several lifetimes (I meant months) in this house, I'm beginning to (finally) get a little territorial.
AND RIGHTFULLY SO.
I take care of business in the house the VAST vast VAST majority of the time, and deserve a little respect of my "personal space"...which, unfortunately, is now the living room. this pisses me off in a lot of regards, but mainly because I used to define my personal space or sanctuary as a forest or mountain top...and have now been relegated to the confines of a house I don't even want...watching a television I can most certainly live without.
and that's where today's straw that broke my back comes into play. I use the TV and DVD player more like a stereo than anything else, and I tend to put Dido (I know. there's no accounting for taste) in when the Prof naps. Today I was zoning out in front of the TV praying that he was actually going to sleep and started doodling in the dust.
it turned into a full screen, somewhat intricate design. it was lame and pretty sissy-like...but it was mine. I needed to relax. I'm burnout. I need a break (more so than just saying "I need a break" can actually convey), and this was the first minorly creative effort I've put forth in a very long time.
it was goofy, but I was proud of it...
and oqui destroyed it within 2 minutes of coming home.
I think he was stunned by how seriously upset about this I am. you just don't go kicking down other people's sand castles. it's inconsiderate, unfair and just plain ol' mean spirited.
he apologized several million times, all the while giggling. dismissing me. trivializing how trully disappointed I was.
if you don't actually feel remorse for something you've done...don't use the word sorry. it's just poor show.
and it isn't just sand castles. I'm coming to realize that, while loving this man to death, I don't always enjoy living with him. sharing living space with other people takes practice and effort. I'm well practiced and put forth a good effort.
I feel more and more often that he does not.
"why is there a wipe here???"
"NOW where are the clothes???"
"you're not watching THIS, are you?"
"why did you do this?"
"why don't you do that?"
I feel like because I'm no longer contributing financially to the household, that I've suddenly, somehow, lost my voting power. like he's opportunistically taking advantage of my sudden lack of perceived power. this, obviously, is not going to work for me.
this morning, he thought it would be clever to intentionally make noise while I was trying to put the Prof back to sleep. very funny. very funny, indeed.
so in turn...I waited until he was good and soaped up and turned off the bathroom light and flushed the toilet. after closing the lid, I even did a little victory dance on the pot.
it was my humorous attempt at a warning shot.
I'm done being the accomodating one. please, oh please, please heed the warning.
there is going to be a major paradigm shift around here one way or another.
either EVERYONE starts making compromises and allowances equally...
or teh suki is going to start voicing her opinions more and more frequently on the matter. I WILL BE CONSIDERED. MY CONCERNS WILL NOT BE IGNORED OR SUBJUGATED. MY SPACE, NEEDS AND DESIRES ARE NOT MEANINGLESS.
I'M FED UP.
...i'm half tempted to build a block tower in the living room. taunting him. BEGGING him to destroy it, so I can justifiably flip the fuck out.
consider me provoked. I've reached my saturation point. having spent the last several lifetimes (I meant months) in this house, I'm beginning to (finally) get a little territorial.
AND RIGHTFULLY SO.
I take care of business in the house the VAST vast VAST majority of the time, and deserve a little respect of my "personal space"...which, unfortunately, is now the living room. this pisses me off in a lot of regards, but mainly because I used to define my personal space or sanctuary as a forest or mountain top...and have now been relegated to the confines of a house I don't even want...watching a television I can most certainly live without.
and that's where today's straw that broke my back comes into play. I use the TV and DVD player more like a stereo than anything else, and I tend to put Dido (I know. there's no accounting for taste) in when the Prof naps. Today I was zoning out in front of the TV praying that he was actually going to sleep and started doodling in the dust.
it turned into a full screen, somewhat intricate design. it was lame and pretty sissy-like...but it was mine. I needed to relax. I'm burnout. I need a break (more so than just saying "I need a break" can actually convey), and this was the first minorly creative effort I've put forth in a very long time.
it was goofy, but I was proud of it...
and oqui destroyed it within 2 minutes of coming home.
I think he was stunned by how seriously upset about this I am. you just don't go kicking down other people's sand castles. it's inconsiderate, unfair and just plain ol' mean spirited.
he apologized several million times, all the while giggling. dismissing me. trivializing how trully disappointed I was.
if you don't actually feel remorse for something you've done...don't use the word sorry. it's just poor show.
and it isn't just sand castles. I'm coming to realize that, while loving this man to death, I don't always enjoy living with him. sharing living space with other people takes practice and effort. I'm well practiced and put forth a good effort.
I feel more and more often that he does not.
"why is there a wipe here???"
"NOW where are the clothes???"
"you're not watching THIS, are you?"
"why did you do this?"
"why don't you do that?"
I feel like because I'm no longer contributing financially to the household, that I've suddenly, somehow, lost my voting power. like he's opportunistically taking advantage of my sudden lack of perceived power. this, obviously, is not going to work for me.
this morning, he thought it would be clever to intentionally make noise while I was trying to put the Prof back to sleep. very funny. very funny, indeed.
so in turn...I waited until he was good and soaped up and turned off the bathroom light and flushed the toilet. after closing the lid, I even did a little victory dance on the pot.
it was my humorous attempt at a warning shot.
I'm done being the accomodating one. please, oh please, please heed the warning.
there is going to be a major paradigm shift around here one way or another.
either EVERYONE starts making compromises and allowances equally...
or teh suki is going to start voicing her opinions more and more frequently on the matter. I WILL BE CONSIDERED. MY CONCERNS WILL NOT BE IGNORED OR SUBJUGATED. MY SPACE, NEEDS AND DESIRES ARE NOT MEANINGLESS.
I'M FED UP.
...i'm half tempted to build a block tower in the living room. taunting him. BEGGING him to destroy it, so I can justifiably flip the fuck out.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
it might be time
the food insensitivity thing is getting out of control.
he's puking and going nuts.
I'm improperly nourished.
appointment at 6 tonight to discuss options. I can NOT wait another 4 weeks to see a specialist.
I just can't...
he's puking and going nuts.
I'm improperly nourished.
appointment at 6 tonight to discuss options. I can NOT wait another 4 weeks to see a specialist.
I just can't...
scalpal!
the Prof says:
Bro, I can kinda understand the glove thing...but what's up with the headlamp, yo?
Bro, I can kinda understand the glove thing...but what's up with the headlamp, yo?
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
4 weeks
its going to take 4 weeks to get into the pediatric gastroenterologist's office, and we're seeing a nurse practitioner when we get there.
4 weeks of not having any more information (and eating like an ethiopian) is gonna kill me, but I'm glad we're seeing an NP. She'll probably have more time to tell me what I want to know.
we're not going for surgery, procedures or treatment. I just need information...and lots of it.
like:
-is this normal??? or even likely? how can one body be sensitive to 8 bazillion things?
-how long can I expect it to last?
-should I stop nursing? I've read that continued, even minute and accidental exposure to the allergens can cause problems for the Prof later...is this true or relevent?
-what should I eat? when can I introduce new foods?
-what's the mechanism behind his discomfort?
-what happens if (ha! if? I mean WHEN) I slip up? how much will do it? how do I make him feel better?
-why me? why him? why us????
ok, so she probably won't be able to answer the last one other than "genetics" but I'm gonna throw it out there, anyway.
after all...I'm hungry, dammit.
4 weeks of not having any more information (and eating like an ethiopian) is gonna kill me, but I'm glad we're seeing an NP. She'll probably have more time to tell me what I want to know.
we're not going for surgery, procedures or treatment. I just need information...and lots of it.
like:
-is this normal??? or even likely? how can one body be sensitive to 8 bazillion things?
-how long can I expect it to last?
-should I stop nursing? I've read that continued, even minute and accidental exposure to the allergens can cause problems for the Prof later...is this true or relevent?
-what should I eat? when can I introduce new foods?
-what's the mechanism behind his discomfort?
-what happens if (ha! if? I mean WHEN) I slip up? how much will do it? how do I make him feel better?
-why me? why him? why us????
ok, so she probably won't be able to answer the last one other than "genetics" but I'm gonna throw it out there, anyway.
after all...I'm hungry, dammit.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
gn-bn-gn
good news:
alot of the Prof's "food intolerance" symptoms may be related to teething and NOT to Mommy have a plate of nachos. 'cept for the cheese. he and dairy DEFINITELYDONOT get along. mayhaps I can have a slice of bread with strawberry jam, though???
bad news:
he's still so lil' and new to the whole arms and legs thing, that he can't always get his fist in his mouth to gnaw on. it more often makes it only as far as the nose.
good news:
baby orajel works.
------
good news: Daddy and the Prof are getting a bath together.
bad news: Its because we have to go to a party in about an hour.
good news: I can leave early with the "I'm hungry" excuse.
------
good news: I have a car.
bad news: It won't start.
good news: "Oqui!!! Can you run to the store for me???"
------
good news: my boobs don't hurt too much these days
bad news: they still hurt at night
good news: I'm looking pretty fly in sweaters
------
good news: I think I can eat Life cereal
bad news: I'm out of rice milk
good news: see: "Oqui!!! Can you run to the store for me???"
alot of the Prof's "food intolerance" symptoms may be related to teething and NOT to Mommy have a plate of nachos. 'cept for the cheese. he and dairy DEFINITELYDONOT get along. mayhaps I can have a slice of bread with strawberry jam, though???
bad news:
he's still so lil' and new to the whole arms and legs thing, that he can't always get his fist in his mouth to gnaw on. it more often makes it only as far as the nose.
good news:
baby orajel works.
------
good news: Daddy and the Prof are getting a bath together.
bad news: Its because we have to go to a party in about an hour.
good news: I can leave early with the "I'm hungry" excuse.
------
good news: I have a car.
bad news: It won't start.
good news: "Oqui!!! Can you run to the store for me???"
------
good news: my boobs don't hurt too much these days
bad news: they still hurt at night
good news: I'm looking pretty fly in sweaters
------
good news: I think I can eat Life cereal
bad news: I'm out of rice milk
good news: see: "Oqui!!! Can you run to the store for me???"
Friday, January 16, 2009
chug, chug, chug
did anyone ever mention that caring for an infant is monotonous? boring? mind numbingly dull?
well, it is.
he's cute and all. he even smiles about an hour or so a day...its the other 23 that are driving me apeshit.
the only thing breaking up the drudgery (did I mention my car won't start so I'm REALLY stuck?) is not knowing whether or not he'll make up miserable.
I <3 boo boo belly, colic and food sensitivities for adding that little something extra...
the element of pain to our misery.
when is winter over?????
well, it is.
he's cute and all. he even smiles about an hour or so a day...its the other 23 that are driving me apeshit.
the only thing breaking up the drudgery (did I mention my car won't start so I'm REALLY stuck?) is not knowing whether or not he'll make up miserable.
I <3 boo boo belly, colic and food sensitivities for adding that little something extra...
the element of pain to our misery.
when is winter over?????
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Dear The Baby's Belly,
I want eggs. I want a whole grain english muffin with peanut butter, and I want a large glass of milk on the side.
Any chance you can give me and the Prof a break and let a few foreign proteins slide by without incident???
I'll make it worth your while. I'll get you some fancy shmancy lil bitty infant probiotics and fill you with warm allergen free milk (I think) in exchange for:
-no gas
-no vomitting (particularly down my blouse)
-no screaming, fussing or fit pitching
and please dear lord...
-no more explos-poos.
Let a Suki know your thoughts. If you're down...I can have an omelette with my name on it done in 28.94 seconds.
Teh Suki
Any chance you can give me and the Prof a break and let a few foreign proteins slide by without incident???
I'll make it worth your while. I'll get you some fancy shmancy lil bitty infant probiotics and fill you with warm allergen free milk (I think) in exchange for:
-no gas
-no vomitting (particularly down my blouse)
-no screaming, fussing or fit pitching
and please dear lord...
-no more explos-poos.
Let a Suki know your thoughts. If you're down...I can have an omelette with my name on it done in 28.94 seconds.
Teh Suki
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
like father like son
they're both miserable grouchy lil' sumna sumthings.
and while I can (mostly) tolerate a fit from an infant...I'm not even gonna try to restrain myself when the elder brat starts pitching one.
game on.
if I hear "you better stop it, or I'm heading out the door" whispered to my infant son one more time I'll not only pack the offending whisperer's bag...
but make sure to pack the lil' one's, too. I'm a kind and benevolent Suki, but...
and while I can (mostly) tolerate a fit from an infant...I'm not even gonna try to restrain myself when the elder brat starts pitching one.
game on.
if I hear "you better stop it, or I'm heading out the door" whispered to my infant son one more time I'll not only pack the offending whisperer's bag...
but make sure to pack the lil' one's, too. I'm a kind and benevolent Suki, but...
!!!THERE IS NO ESCAPE, O'PAH!!!
this child's grouchy, grumpy, miserable boo-boo face is genetic...and it ain't (does "ain't" even HAVE a proper spelling? I use an apostrophe like it's actually called for and shit) from me.
BOTH of you best chill your shit, slow your rolls and act your ages.
on second thought...forget your ages. please act according to the following prescribed course of behaviour as set forth by the Suk:
-wake up smiling
-be pleasant when presented with a meal
-poo like a man (ie. without all the crying and whining)
-appreciate what you've got
-don't demand more than your fair share of cuddling (note: fair shares differ amongst family members)
-do not complain unnecessarily
-go to sleep smiling
if after 3 days of strict compliance with teh Suk's magic cure for bitchiness, you find you are not getting desirable results please schedule an appointment in our office.
...then, I'll pack your bagzes.
Friday, January 9, 2009
fuck skinny jeans
soy sauce is definitely off the list.
that is, of course, unless you're into 8 hour crying jags and baby vomit.
this is wearing thin. incredibly thin. super mega ultra thin.
(its also sounding remarkably like a feminine napkin for some reason???)
I'm not sure whether its more accurate to say that my exhaustion is compounded by hunger, or that my starvation is compounded by lack of sleep.
either way, I feel like emotional shit every time I fuck up, slip a no-no past my lips and the kid suffers.
and here's the icing on this here slice of forbidden cake. I'm starving AND fat.
I'm still about 10 lbs up from where I want to be and eating almost nothing. whoever said that nursing makes you lose weight apparently did NOT have my body chemistry.
I swear to all things unholy that my body is PURPOSELY retaining some chub so I can feed this kid. somebody lied to teh suki.
teh suki is not pleased.
I'm currently wearing a size 10 (I'm 5'3" peeps. size ten is HUGE in my world) jean held up by a length of christmas ribbon.
I have no clothing (and if my phone doesn't stop ringing I'm going to flip my shit) that fit. I'm soliciting donations from sistas with weight issues to get me over what I'm hoping is a temporary hump.
maybe once I'm not too tired to move (this is literally the case some days) I can start, well...
moving, again.
I dare not even dream of climbing, riding, skiing or otherwise enjoying myself. the Prof can't be left with anyone for more than 2 hours, and my boobs hurt too much to well....move.
but on the up side of things...at least the house is (as usual) super duper trashed and we have a funeral to attend.
I really want some damn chocolate...or a nap.
that is, of course, unless you're into 8 hour crying jags and baby vomit.
this is wearing thin. incredibly thin. super mega ultra thin.
(its also sounding remarkably like a feminine napkin for some reason???)
I'm not sure whether its more accurate to say that my exhaustion is compounded by hunger, or that my starvation is compounded by lack of sleep.
either way, I feel like emotional shit every time I fuck up, slip a no-no past my lips and the kid suffers.
and here's the icing on this here slice of forbidden cake. I'm starving AND fat.
I'm still about 10 lbs up from where I want to be and eating almost nothing. whoever said that nursing makes you lose weight apparently did NOT have my body chemistry.
I swear to all things unholy that my body is PURPOSELY retaining some chub so I can feed this kid. somebody lied to teh suki.
teh suki is not pleased.
I'm currently wearing a size 10 (I'm 5'3" peeps. size ten is HUGE in my world) jean held up by a length of christmas ribbon.
I have no clothing (and if my phone doesn't stop ringing I'm going to flip my shit) that fit. I'm soliciting donations from sistas with weight issues to get me over what I'm hoping is a temporary hump.
maybe once I'm not too tired to move (this is literally the case some days) I can start, well...
moving, again.
I dare not even dream of climbing, riding, skiing or otherwise enjoying myself. the Prof can't be left with anyone for more than 2 hours, and my boobs hurt too much to well....move.
but on the up side of things...at least the house is (as usual) super duper trashed and we have a funeral to attend.
I really want some damn chocolate...or a nap.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
to his credit...
the lil' booger did MUCH better today.
only fussed for a total of 4 hours (give or take a migraine). we even got him all doodied up and went out for dinner.
yes. DINNER.
I'm hoping that nothing I ate sends him back into a tissy tomorrow.
to his discredit, however, he aint NOTHING like my friend's baby. he's 5 weeks older than the Prof, smiled, giggled and cooed the entire 3 hours and spontaneously napped, all while never leaving his carseat.
I had to walk the floor with the booger for about a quarter mile or so and had to nurse him twice (even after nursing 3 times in the hour before we left).
he's got his appetite back...and damn is he cute.
snuggly wuggly wuggly.
I hope he keeps getting better. another appointment with the know nothing doctors tomorrow. I tried to resist. they insisted. I finally caved because I'm curious about his weight.
not a chance in hell they're giving him any vaccinations, though. I'll have no way of gauging whether or not he's fussing from food or from attenuated viruses.
and I REALLY wanna know how those chicken wings went over.
only fussed for a total of 4 hours (give or take a migraine). we even got him all doodied up and went out for dinner.
yes. DINNER.
I'm hoping that nothing I ate sends him back into a tissy tomorrow.
to his discredit, however, he aint NOTHING like my friend's baby. he's 5 weeks older than the Prof, smiled, giggled and cooed the entire 3 hours and spontaneously napped, all while never leaving his carseat.
I had to walk the floor with the booger for about a quarter mile or so and had to nurse him twice (even after nursing 3 times in the hour before we left).
he's got his appetite back...and damn is he cute.
snuggly wuggly wuggly.
I hope he keeps getting better. another appointment with the know nothing doctors tomorrow. I tried to resist. they insisted. I finally caved because I'm curious about his weight.
not a chance in hell they're giving him any vaccinations, though. I'll have no way of gauging whether or not he's fussing from food or from attenuated viruses.
and I REALLY wanna know how those chicken wings went over.
yesterday
oqui's grandpa died.
the prof screamed for 14 hours.
I realized I've completely fucked my life. fucked it good.
and alligators chased me all night.
today:
-I put on real clothing.
-am attempting to get out of the house
-am trying not to get too tweaked.
colic.sucks.harder.than.anything.on.the.planet.
I'm not sure I can even go to the funeral because nobody on the planet would be able to tolerate the Professor's antics.
I've got tons of helpful and knowledgable aunts, but none of whom I would want to burden with six hours of blood curdling screams.
the kid won't take a bottle. he won't take a nap. and he won't shut the fuck up.
this has got to end soon.
one way or another *insert smiley picture of yet another bottlefed baby*
...it must end.
the prof screamed for 14 hours.
I realized I've completely fucked my life. fucked it good.
and alligators chased me all night.
today:
-I put on real clothing.
-am attempting to get out of the house
-am trying not to get too tweaked.
colic.sucks.harder.than.anything.on.the.planet.
I'm not sure I can even go to the funeral because nobody on the planet would be able to tolerate the Professor's antics.
I've got tons of helpful and knowledgable aunts, but none of whom I would want to burden with six hours of blood curdling screams.
the kid won't take a bottle. he won't take a nap. and he won't shut the fuck up.
this has got to end soon.
one way or another *insert smiley picture of yet another bottlefed baby*
...it must end.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
and you don't quit...and you don't stop.
day 2 o' da plummage.
to wake up 2 days in a row with hair this fierce...why, I must be the luckiest girl in the whole world.
I'm throwing down my chips and lettin' all ride. Let's see if I can't crack the one week mark with this bitch.
this plume is diehard. everlast. cryptonite. not even a baseball cap can stop this mofo. (I know because I wore one yesterday)
the only thing that might tame this bitch is a good bit of water streaming over my head, and since I don't plan on bathing (and fortunately for the rest of the world, leaving the house) in the foreseeable future...
we are a go for take-off.
the only hazard is that all of the prof's stuffed birds are trying to hump my head.
risk I'm willing to take.
between this hair, my tail feather and my hip hop (bounce it out!) cardio burn video...
no male is safe...
of any specie.
Monday, January 5, 2009
best hair of '09
so I'm sleeping last night. getting my snooze on. catching some Z's...
when the damnedest thing happens.
I started to dream! Now, I've had very few run ins with REM sleep, lately, so I'm a bit out of practice. Like my dream...was too realistic.
I was just going about my bidness in the house, doing normal, mundane, totally undreamworthy things, but noticing some weirdnesses.
for instance; I don't have cats. The lil'-black-cats -formerly-belonging-to-Suki-but-now-residing-with-her-mother were all up in my grill. I was petting them and could feel their fur.
that was my first clue that I was asleep.
then scary stuffs started happening. walls fading and disappearing. floors eating stuff.
this is me starting to think its time to wake up.
then I find myself in the bedroom checking on the prof, and instead of hearing a music box in his cradle I hear "kill mommy. kill mommy. kill mommy..." chanting.
game over. I'm waking my ass up.
I get up, go downstairs, get myself a drink, check for cats (there were none), make sure the prof hasn't grown horns (not yet) and go back to bed...
only to find myself sleeping.
FUCK!!!!!!
I could not under any circumstances wake up. I tried sitting up. stuck.
I tried moving my arms. trapped.
I attempted to scream for oqui. nothing doing.
at some point I'm guessing I either woke up or starting talking in my sleep, cause this morning oqui asked me what the hell I was talking about...and this man is NOT easy to communicate with at night.
I love him to death, but he's a grade A motherfucker when he's sleeping. he swats, bitches, shoves and ignores like its his full-time job (a fact I have come to accept (maybe) and have decided not to gut him for)...
so if I managed to break his armor...shit must've really been hitting the fan in my altered-reality-psuedo-sleep-coma.
I hope I really WAS sleeping...and the prof really ISN'T plotting my death.
cause...that would suck.
but at least I got to wake up with hair like this.
total.fucking.rock.star.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Friday, January 2, 2009
ringing in the new year
buzzers. beepers. monitors. paging and intercoms.
we spent new year's eve in the ER with the Prof.
vomitting, fever, general pissed-off-edness.
long story short...
the kid's allergic to me.
ok, not ME, exactly...but something in my milk. fortunately for us, we had absolutely the best pediatric resident on the planet.
he's about 4'11", speaks in a heavy duty asian-like accent, has a smile bigger than a clown...and is my new favorite person on the planet, because...
he just happened to have gone through the same thing with his wife and daughter recently, and actually knew what he was talking about.
his demeanor was such that I actually CONSIDERED switching to formula, based on his experience. any other doctor who would have suggested it, might've been instantly stabbed.
but, coming from this funny little man, I'll consider it should shit really hit the fan.
he had oqui come back into the ER the next day to give him some info he had at home...and a can of his own $50 formula.
this stuff is like rocket science. list of unpronouncable ingredients 5 inches long. I've been staring at it, holding it, contemplating it for the last 60 hours.
its a last resort. I DO NOT want to go there (besides, we couldn't afford $600/month for it, anyway)...
but the next time I accidentally put something in my mouth that's gonna make the prof's intestines bleed for 5 days...I know I have a supplement while I pump.
speaking of pumping...I'm disappointed that every hard fought ounce of expressed milk in my freezer is now completely worthless to us. he can't drink it.
this whole thing has been kicking the shit outta my lilly white ass. all the pain (just because I promised on here never to complain about breastfeeding, again...doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt like hades). all the fussing. lack of freedom. restriction. self-doubt.
all for the lil' man. breast is best. breast is best. breast is best. breast is best.
we know it in our bodies, souls and spirits...so when our child gets ill from our breast:
it's a little heartbreaking.
doubt, questions, guilt.
what if I'm doing this for MY OWN good? what if I'VE got something to prove?
what if not being exposed to my allergens really IS best for him?
so I continue to nurse, surviving on chicken, rice and apples...and hope that the Prof is really gaining some benefit from this.
...all the while, I'm staring at that can.
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