flip me over. I'm done on this side.

10pm last night: ready for bed. realized the grocery getter needs to be dropped off for (overdue) inspection. awesome.

10:10: look for the monkey to see if she can babysit the prof while we go. find her passed out on the couch. dead asleep.

10:12: get dressed. pack up the prof. not HATING my life, but certainly not LOVING it, either.

10:30: back from dropping off the car. monkey still asleep on couch. me: you need to go downstairs now. her: mmmmfffapahf me: come on. time to go to bed. her: I KNOOOOOW! (with a teenage attitude)

10:30: me: if you don't get your narrow ass off of this couch and down to bed I'm going to rip your face off and eat it in front of your friends! don't you DARE give me an attitude, girlfriend. I'll end you.

10:31: the monkey goes downstairs. I go upstairs to feed the prof and put him to bed.

10:32: my nipples are in excruciating pain. I hate the world and I'm seriously considering joining Al Queda so I can kill shit.

10:45: hear the monkey's music BLARING through three stories of house. proceed to go down there and threaten her life. find music source 6 inches from her head and her...still fast asleep. I hate her just a little.

10:50: sit on couch to relax before bed. eat bowl of rice cereal with rice milk. I hate rice.

11:00ish: Oqui is ready for bed. we go up. he's asleep before I finish peeing.

11:30: still trying to sleep. awesome.

11:50ish: fall asleep.

2:45am: prof wakes up. go in to feed him. remember that I'm in excruciating pain. make mental note to join the irish republican army, too.

3:30ish: back in bed. trying to fall asleep.

4:00: sleeping...until oqui starts yelling in his sleep. add to mental list that joining an ground combat unit of the american armed forces seems like a splendid idea.

4:30: oqui yelling in sleep

5:00: oqui yelling in sleep

5:14, 5:27, 5:32: oqui yelling in sleep

5:45: prof wakes up again. I hate my life.

6:15: done feeding the prof (nipples on fire), ready for sleep. prof reminds me (with an audible fart) that he has yet to figure out the whole toilet thing.

6:20: done changing the prof. REALLY ready for sleep. prof decides he'd rather hold conversation with his toes. great.

6:50: still playing with his toes.

6:57: I've had enough of this shit. unceremoniously plop the prof in the crib and decide its daddy's turn.

6:58: tell daddy its his turn. get attitude.

7:00: fuck it. I'm going back to sleep, let them figure it out for themselves.

7:03: oqui's alarm goes off for the 15th time in the last hour. I'm so beyond angry at this point, I decide it best to feign sleep lest I land myself in the slam for manslaughter.

7:20: oqui returns from his shower to start opening and slamming drawers and closets, banging the iron and ironing board around and just generally not giving a fuck that I've been up for almost two hours.

7:21-7:58: I seethe and fume.

8:00ish: I fall asleep, again.

8:45: phone rings.

8:46: phone beeps for voicemail.

9:14: phone rings again. I answer with every intent of ascertaining the caller's location so that when I wake up...I can go and kill them.

9:15: find out the grocery getter needs tires. me: didn't I get them last year? him: I dunno. me: whatever, just put the fucking things on.

9:15 and 40 seconds: hang up on him.

9:20: still not back to sleep. send oqui text. car needs tires. $550. ready tomorrow.

9:21: phone rings. oqui: bitch, bitch, bitch. moan. seethe. roar. me: I'm sleeping. oqui: check the file for tire receipts! I'm not buying more tires! blah, blah, blah. me: I'm still sleeping. oqui: bitch, bitch, bitch.

9:23: get out of bed (extremely angrified) to check file. no receipt OF COURSE because its in the fucking car.

9:25: baby wakes up from me digging in the files.

9:30: text to oqui. the exact wording escapes me, but it definitely conveyed the fact that I pretty much hate his ever loving guts, despise my life and want, very badly, to murder something...oh yeah...and that the receipt wasn't in the file.

10:44: exhausted...with those floaty thingies on the periphery of my vision. hungry...still hating rice. still in excruciating, mind numbing pain. seriously considering packing a couple of pairs of clean undies and some contact solution and disappearing for a few days...or as long as it takes to get a little sleep...

and possibly some fucking respect for what I'm doing around here.




how long, exactly, does "never gonna happen" take?

I am sincerely hoping that these things:


work.

the prof can tolerate eggs!!!!

I'm not at all deterred by the fact that I can't.


that is all.

no modest mouse for a suki

the child...is seriously in love with the tata.

no bottles. no cups. no straws. no break.

oqui and the monday night old schoolers (including another Sukey, so I guess my title should've been "no modest mouse for THIS suki) are going to see modest mouse on saturday...and I can't go.

not that I want to go, I actually despise the music, but I'd like to be ABLE to go...

but unless the venue has a "mother's room" for pumping and we suddenly find a lactating babysitter...I'm shit outta luck.

in other news:

I'm currently on the fit diet. actually...that's the f-it diet.

fuck it.

I'm eating anything I want (as long as it doesn't contain gluten, dairy, nuts, soy or berries)...and seeing what shakes out.

so far, not too bad. we've had a few green poos and a bit of crying, but the Prof has also slept 8 hours straight the last two nights.

did I mention that I also lost 5 pounds? I hit the new mother lotto. I'm a bajillionaire.

apparently, all it took was a few (previously suspect) vegetables in my diet.

who'da thunk it?

vegetables make you healthy...and don't actually kill you (or your baby) instantly.

*le gasp*

giving this alot of thought

I can't seem to figure out what is actually making the Prof sick.

my list of inedibles is ridiculously long, even for this with ridiculously long lists of inedibles.

OBVIOUSLY I'm doing something wrong.

the concept is simple; eliminate all things from your diet that make the baby sick...

then, add things back in one at a time, figuring out what is tolerable and what isn't.

I've been going for two months...or more. who can tell time in turkey and rice?...and have only been able to successfully reintroduce a few things. so many variables.

this is hard.

It took me alot of time to figure out my vitamins, now we're figuring out his meds, and all of a sudden there's a skin rash that makes me think my dogs need a one way ticket to get-the-fuck-out-of-heres-ville.

I do think I might be onto something with gluten, though. alot of our prior failed experiments may've "failed" because of me being an idiot about gluten...apparently, its in EVERYTHING. now I know...kinda, and I'll try those, again.

I also found today that some babies (despite the pediatrician's most sincere assurance to the contrary) have reactions to their vitamins. breastfed babies are supposed to have a supplement for those vitamins that don't pass through the milk. what's a suki supposed to do about that???

so all in all I'm completely flabbergasted, still want ice cream and ate some canned corn to see what happens.

wish us luck.

my momma and the $85 mystery seed

I love my mom. she made me a super-special-stop-starving-and-barfing-on-gross-food-meal on saturday.


she spent thursday and friday researching and shopping and all day saturday cooking.


I felt human again...all on seven ingredients.


the menu included:
-organic gluten free roasted whole turkey (can you say leftovers?)
-mashed sweet potatoes with olive oil and sea salt
-baked apples and pears


and the piece de resistance...super yummy rice pudding.


it was like christmas (during which I couldn't eat any yummies), new years (during which I couldn't drink), valentine's day (no chocolate for me) and christmas again (what does a suki want? the gift of food) all rolled, baked, wrapped and stirred into one.


I think I gained five pounds and I don't give a surly rat's ass.


I just finished up my left-over turkey and will be done with the rice pudding in....(counting) three and a half bites.


how good to have a belly full on something that doesn't taste like horse piss.


amen, mother....


amen.

as for that mystery seed...apparently it snuck its way into our dishwasher's filter, causing Cap'n Ass Crack to come on out and "git 'er done."

$85 later he pulled up his pants (thank god) and produced the offending nougat. we can not for the life of us identify it.

I'm hoping it's of this planet and not some sort of pod thingy...

and that Cap'n 'Crack doesn't have to visit us, again, for a while.

it's rather unnerving when he knows my appliances so well that his first statement upon opening the cabinet is, "oh. I see you got a new garbage disposal."

fuck. me.

I haven't had a vegetable since sunday. before that it was a month.

I'm weak, tired, miserable and FUCKING HUNGRY.

the kid is not much better off.

we switched his meds, which, besides tasting like horse piss and being majorly traumatic to administer, don't start working for almost two weeks. so that's one possible reason he's sick as shit.

the others include:
-he's incapable of eating or tolerating ANYTHING
-he's sick in a transient fashion. (like his father)
-he's still reacting to my rogue vegetable experiment
-his reflux is peaking

either way. this blows and quite frankly...

I'm feeling rather persecuted.

!!!!!I WANT FOOD NOWWWWWW!!!!!!

ok. so, uhm...yeah

just got a call about teaching GED classes at night.

two hours per class, two classes per week. the hourly rate is reasonable...

but, but, but...

can I actually commit to leaving my house, the Prof and more importantly MY PAJAMAS twice a week?

yeah. I can. even though oqui obviously has a very low opinion of the work (you need to write a resume for that? they're GED classes...who cares? etc)...I think its kind of noble.

I'm realistic about the fact that a GED isn't going to get someone their dream job, but if you've been trying and CAN'T pass that test...imagine how important a goal it is for you.

I hope that the classes are small and that I can help each personally individually...

or at least try.

porta-baby

the Prof had a busy weekend (and subsequently...so did we).

we went shopping friday night.
saw the cranial sacral therapist saturday morning.
went to a cocktail party saturday night.
and went to the climbing gym and grocery shopping on sunday.

he did really well until that last bit. there are limits to his patience and tolerance...and it appears that he just isn't going to tolerate a climbing gym.

ha! figures...that's the one place I want to hit most often.

I'm weak and found climbing waaaaaaaaay harder than I remember. harder than I can even imagine remembering. harder than when I first started, even.

I'm chalking it up to nursing hormones, lack o' sleep and an awful diet.

I hereby give myself one whole year to regain my former strength. I initially gave myself 4 months (2 of them recovery and 2 to start whooping ass, again)...but it just aint working out that way.

the Prof says no. I have no choice but to oblige. it's not entirely his fault, though. I'm incapable of focusing on more than one major life "thing" at a time...and since baby comes first, training and "going hard" will have to go later.

I can't focus on pushing the envelope when my boobs are leaking and the baby's whining. when I climbed before, I put my whole entire being into it. I climbed until I ached...and I did it frequently (funny that I was still just average at it any way, huh?). I was happy when it was a lifestyle for me, but I'm not feeling it so much as an afterthought...hence the year.

I figure in a year, he'll be slightly less demanding of my energies and I can finally take a day here and there to go get bloodied up. I used to define my life through climbing. I didn't go to school because it would cut into my climbing time. I wouldn't commit to family functions because if the weather was good I was going to be out of town. I was happy with those trips being my central focus.

I miss it, but its worth the sacrifice (at least at this very moment, while he's napping)...

but I'm not gonna lie...I feel a little empty without pursuing a physical passion (not sex, you fiends). martial arts, skiing, figure skating, climbing, and to a lesser extent, riding have all played major roles in my physical and emotional well-being in the past. not having a life sport is kind of a drag.

I could take some lame ass kickboxing classes or join a faggy gym...but fitness alone isn't what I'm trying to get out of this. I always found "hitting the gym" a poor excuse for "honing my skills." I want to train for the sake of getting better at something, attaining a physical goal...

not just to tighten up my ass and loosen up my jeans.

so, I guess I'll just have to keep eating rice and turkey, being pudgier than I'm comfortable and wait out the winter...and the baby.

I can always get back into those 3's, and more importantly, get my muskles back, later.



...who knows, maybe the lil' booger will LOOOOOVE going to the crags?

multi-blog

many an update to make...so little desire to be sassy (not because I'm in a bad mood, quite the opposite. I'm in a pretty durn good mood and want to run some errands).

the Prof saw the GI doc this week. mixed feelings there. she wants to "scope him." both ends. he would need to be sedated for this, and I'm not particularly cozy with that. the whole procedure is aimed at confirming that he suffers from food allergies.

duh, bitch. you don't need to knock my kid out and stick something up his ass to verify that one...

but she insists that she does. I was adamantly opposed. now I'm kind of on the fence. her most convincing argument is that he doesn't look like an allergic baby. he's thriving, and they're usually scrawny and sickly.

score one for my god-awful diet.

instead of scheduling a medical procedure, I've scheduled him for cranial sacral therapy and some energy work. let's see where some wise old women can get us, first.

in other news:

-I got clipless pedals and cleats. now all I need are some shoes that don't make me want to stab myself, either because they hurt like the dickens, they're ugly as sin or they cost 3 million dollars.

yes, those high-end cycling shoes are very impressive, but I'll be lucky to get out once a week for the next 10 or 12 years of my life and $300 (on clearance) isn't in my galaxy...let alone my price range.

do you have anything in a Ked or Bobo?

-I've gained 5 pounds eating nothing but rice, turkey and apple sauce. I'm going to shoot somebody if this trend continues...

-we went out to eat last night. I spent 30 minutes with the kitchen manager trying to figure out what I might be able to eat that wouldn't send the Prof into seizures and ended up with a salad with vinegar and oil, sliced turkey breast, plain baked potato and some bacon bits.

no sooner did I get the last bite of food in my mouth then I felt deathly ill. my body has forgotten how to eat food.

as oqui said last night...as we introduce foods to the Prof, we'll be reintroducing them to me.

mmmmm...beef baby food.

- the Prof is sleeping fairly well, again.

I'd like to thank the inclined crib wedge, air vent sleep positioner, wear a blanket sleeper and oqui's white noise machine.

5 hours a stretch. yes, please and thank you kindly.

- I've been watching the food network like its my job. I should probably quit.

making moves

last night the Prof slept in his big boy room.

for many years, I would find myself crying for a week in late August - early September. I got lonely when the Monkey went back to school. after spending our entire summer together, the house was decidedly empty without her incessant bugging and nagging (not to mention our daily dance routines to Saturday Night Fever).

she's been getting more independant every day and it seems like I've hardly seen her at all the last few summers. I really like when she ran track. she came home everyday ready to eat and ready to chat. she was busy, yet focused. now, she just kinda drifts along, mostly with a host of obnoxious cohorts.

I occassionally catch the gossip, but rarely have any quality time.

one baby growing too fast.

now, the Prof is moving out on us.

Friday night creepy carpet guy came over to install the Prof's carpet and scratch the shit out of his freshly painted wordwork. yesterday oqui asked me, "are you sure you want me to finish the nursery? are you ready for this?" My response was (I've just now noticed my seemingly random punctuation habits), "hell yes! get the booger out of here."

I was so busy convincing myself that him moving into his own room was no big deal, that I almost missed oqui's moistened eyes. apparently, oqui didn't mind the midnight waking as much as I thought...we love our lil' lump.

so, I was forewarned. I knew it was coming...

but, you know. then it happened. I actually had to leave him all alone in that big, cold, lonely crib and go to "my" room to sleep.

I snuggled into oqui and cried a little.

then we had sex.

I'm thinking this might work out after all...

a mile in my slipper socks

12 easy steps to living it up suki-style.

1. set an alarm every two hours. wake up or stop whatever you're doing and have someone yell at you for 20 minutes.

2. eat nothing but chicken, rice products, applesauce and salt for two months. do so while cooking foods that you can't (but want to) eat for the other members of your family.

3. don't exercise for a year and gain ten pounds.

4. cut off your hair and throw out all of your clothing except for your 3 least comfortable pairs of pants.

5. lose all motivation, creative, physical and otherwise. don't care that its probably hormonal or just sleep dep. feel bad about it, anyway.

6. stop drinking alcohol.

7. stop having sex.

8. once or twice a week give someone you love rat poison to eat.

9. quit your job and stop calling your friends because you have nothing positive to talk about.

10. see how long it takes for all of your friends to stop calling you.

11. make someone else you love feel rejected and frustrated.

12. have 3 months of nausea, three months of fatigue, three months of stretching and discomfort, then 3 months of breast pain.

et VOILA! chances are after 3 or 4 days...

your attitude will suck worse than mine, but on the bright side...

at least we'd have something to talk about then.

Professor StinkBottom: 2, Parents: 0

fuck it.

weaning this child is just not working. NOT WORKING AT ALL.

fuckitfuckitfuckitfuckitfuckitfuckitfuckit

he's stopped sleeping through the night, waking every two hours...or worse: MORE FREQUENTLY. how do you wake up more often than that??? it takes an hour to get up, get fed and get back to sleep...

how?on?earth?can?you?expect?me?to?keep?waking?up?and?not?go?fucking?bananas???

last night was sheer unadulterated torture. we went to sleep around 11 and he got up at 1 smiling, giggling, wide ass awake. we admired the moon for a bit. ok, I admired the moon, he mostly contemplated his left fist and worked up a poo...which soon worked its way out of his diaper.

then...he started screaming sometime around 3, and well, quite frankly, I don't remember much else after that. it totally blew ass.

was it because we left him with aunties Debbie and Mary and they gave him a bottle? was it simply because we left him? did the formula make him hate the world? or does he just hate the world for sport?

last night he scared me. not because I thought something was wrong with him (I know something is wrong with him)...but because the way he was screaming made me feel like he was atune to some danger or evil that I couldn't sense. he was warning screaming and I couldn't figure out whether to pick up a mojo stick or which way to run. I was too scared to be alone downstairs with him (wailing his head off). the dogs told me to go fuck myself and hid under a bed.

what kind of juju was working up in this piece last night???

we are now oh-for-six-thousand on attempts to wean him. he hates us.

fuck it.

I want to nurse him. he wants to nurse. problem (sorta) solved.

I'm sick to shit of rice and chicken, but he's obviously not willing to give up his food of choice just so that I can have mine.

awesome. now, not only can I not leave him with a sitter for more than two hours, I get the added stress of wondering if my next bite of food will send him into anaphylaxis.

the pediatricians think I'm a whack job. FUCK THEM. if they are so keen on bending infants to their will...let them bend their own. I'm not a big fan of fighting with my 3 month old.

all told this is looking like 2 years gone. outta my life forever. totally stripped of the foods, activities, sports, sleep, etc that I thrive on. I don't even feel like getting freaky.

I suppose it doesn't make much difference...

I didn't have a real job and was a pretty sucky athlete, anyway.

oqui dokie

I'm done with the crying...now I really just want the lil' bammer to take a bottle.

he chewed up and spit out his poor poppa today. oqui has had to bear the brunt of the bottle-giving attempts (I say attempts because it doesn't work for shit) and now the kid gives him a dirty look and the booboo lip every time he gets near him.

if that isn't enough (and it is. oqui's a wee lil' bit heartbroken about it)...the kid pulled a major cockblock this afternoon, as well.

nursing makes you anti-horny. very very much so. don't get me wrong, I'll cuddle like a motherfucker, but I am absolutely disinclined to perform any acts involving genitals, psuedogenitals or even sensitive skin. I'm estrogen deprived and asexual (not to mention a lil' bit chubby), so when I finally caved this afternoon, only to be interrupted...well...

the 'pah just can't win for trying.

he passed out, probably from crying (Daddy, not the mini-devil) on the couch around 8:30 and since I was in bed 'til noon (the lil' sucker woke me up FOUR times to nurse last "night")...its nowhere nears sleepy time for meh.

I'm bored...almost bored enough to consider having sex.


nah. not that bored...


I've got the innerwebs.