Monday, April 12.
The date for Iris' VSD surgery. Open heart, baby. Across the state. Yowza.
*And gold star for anyone who can (without IMDB, cheaterpants) name the line from that movie.
Wednesday, March 31
Tuesday, March 30
By the numbers
Weight when born: 1 pound 8 ounces
Age: 23 weeks and 5 days
Doses of surfectant: 2
Blood transfusions given: 16
Transfusions for platelets: 11
Number of IVs: 9
Days spent in the hospital: 138 and counting
Surgeries/procedures: 6
Pokes in the heel for blood: once every 12 hrs for the past 138 days, at least
Weeks on the ventilator: 8
Weeks on the CPAP: 4
Medical personnel that see her daily or weekly: nurse, nurse practitioner, neonatologist, pediatric cardiologist, pediatric surgeon, pulmonologist, developmental pediatrician, dietician, occupational therapist, respiratory therapist, physical therapist
And I could go on and on and on.
Bottomline? Iris came out too early.
The other bottomline? She wouldn't have made it without the excellent care at our hospital and without the research the March of Dimes funds.
On April 24, T and I and Ezra and maybe even Iris will be walking with Team Iris. Our team is made up of friends, family and former co-workers. Team Iris has already raised over $600.
Know that the support you've given me since Iris was born has been unmeasureable. Many of you I don't know outside of the internets, but I cherish every comment and every kind word and many times wish I could've called you to tell you, "Thank you. Thank you for saying exactly what you did. I needed it."
If you would also like to support Team Iris, see the box below.
Thanks for everything you've given me these past 138 days.
Age: 23 weeks and 5 days
Doses of surfectant: 2
Blood transfusions given: 16
Transfusions for platelets: 11
Number of IVs: 9
Days spent in the hospital: 138 and counting
Surgeries/procedures: 6
Pokes in the heel for blood: once every 12 hrs for the past 138 days, at least
Weeks on the ventilator: 8
Weeks on the CPAP: 4
Medical personnel that see her daily or weekly: nurse, nurse practitioner, neonatologist, pediatric cardiologist, pediatric surgeon, pulmonologist, developmental pediatrician, dietician, occupational therapist, respiratory therapist, physical therapist
And I could go on and on and on.
Bottomline? Iris came out too early.
The other bottomline? She wouldn't have made it without the excellent care at our hospital and without the research the March of Dimes funds.
On April 24, T and I and Ezra and maybe even Iris will be walking with Team Iris. Our team is made up of friends, family and former co-workers. Team Iris has already raised over $600.
Know that the support you've given me since Iris was born has been unmeasureable. Many of you I don't know outside of the internets, but I cherish every comment and every kind word and many times wish I could've called you to tell you, "Thank you. Thank you for saying exactly what you did. I needed it."
If you would also like to support Team Iris, see the box below.
Thanks for everything you've given me these past 138 days.
Monday, March 29
Random useless tidbits
Iris has her days and nights mixed up. As a fiendish reader of baby sleeping books, this has me skerred. I'm working with her nurses to craft a schedule of sorts so that we can get this bebe crack a lackin' on playing during the day and sleeping at night. I know that this isn't the largest of worries given everything else that she's working with, but, dude--if anyone is going to expect me to remember big words of medical whatnot, then I need my sleep. And that means that this here baby needs to sleep at night once she's home.
****
The weather here this week is supposed to be ridiculous in nature. So fabulous, in fact, that I shaved my legs this morning in anticipation of skirts come Wednesday. Now, granted, my legs will be prickly by Wednesday morning but I'm a planner by nature.
****
Ezra and I took a two hour "buggy ride" on Saturday. At school, they have this nifty six passenger stroller called the Buggy, so at home he calls his stroller the Buggy hence the buggy ride.
I put him in that bad boy at 3:30pm and we didn't stop walking until we got back home at 5:45pm. We walked all over creation, counted dogs, looked at squirrels ("What a doin', Mama?"), ate a doughnut from the grocery store, stopped at the library and picked up pine cones. It was the best afternoon evah and I slept hard like a mutha.
****
I'm annoyed by people at work today.
****
Today at the hospital, they talked about...gulp...discharge-related things. (Me now knocking on hardwood materials all around creation). Things are still up in the air with her heart and their planning for her catheterization and the surgery itself, but the nurse practitioner's feeling was that they might as well get the other stuff out of the way. That way, if they decided to push out the need for her surgery, then possibly going home won't be slowed down by these other things that need to happen first.
Am preparing to be smacked with disappointment because that's kind of I roll nowadays. We shall see
****
I need a new swimsuit.
In move towards all things helpful, T took over the bulk of the laundry duty and in the same move, dried both a pair of my jeans (now being donated as they will only fit someone 20 pounds lighter and 4 inches shorter) aaaaand my swimsuit.
While lighter in the L B area, I am still tres squishy. Like being pregnant with two babies at once, even though it was cut short, did a NUMBAH on my midsection. No stretch marks, but that's the only thing it has going for it.
At any rate, my bikini days are dunzo and I need something that doesn't make me look 45 but keeps horrified glances to a minimum.
****
Let's say it hits 77 on Thursday. And Thursday is technically April. Is that too early to wear sandals?
****
It's lookin' as if Iris is not going to be home for Easter. As T put it, "I'm done with not having our daughter home for holidays." I think, though, that I still might buy her a new outfit to wear on Easter Sunday. Nothing frilly because we all know that yoga pants are more comfortable than wedding dresses--so in that vein, probably something loungey. Am still mulling over whether or not to get E a little tie. Last year he wore one (and threw up on it), and I'm kind of itching to put him in another one.
****
I love ham.
****
The weather here this week is supposed to be ridiculous in nature. So fabulous, in fact, that I shaved my legs this morning in anticipation of skirts come Wednesday. Now, granted, my legs will be prickly by Wednesday morning but I'm a planner by nature.
****
Ezra and I took a two hour "buggy ride" on Saturday. At school, they have this nifty six passenger stroller called the Buggy, so at home he calls his stroller the Buggy hence the buggy ride.
I put him in that bad boy at 3:30pm and we didn't stop walking until we got back home at 5:45pm. We walked all over creation, counted dogs, looked at squirrels ("What a doin', Mama?"), ate a doughnut from the grocery store, stopped at the library and picked up pine cones. It was the best afternoon evah and I slept hard like a mutha.
****
I'm annoyed by people at work today.
****
Today at the hospital, they talked about...gulp...discharge-related things. (Me now knocking on hardwood materials all around creation). Things are still up in the air with her heart and their planning for her catheterization and the surgery itself, but the nurse practitioner's feeling was that they might as well get the other stuff out of the way. That way, if they decided to push out the need for her surgery, then possibly going home won't be slowed down by these other things that need to happen first.
Am preparing to be smacked with disappointment because that's kind of I roll nowadays. We shall see
****
I need a new swimsuit.
In move towards all things helpful, T took over the bulk of the laundry duty and in the same move, dried both a pair of my jeans (now being donated as they will only fit someone 20 pounds lighter and 4 inches shorter) aaaaand my swimsuit.
While lighter in the L B area, I am still tres squishy. Like being pregnant with two babies at once, even though it was cut short, did a NUMBAH on my midsection. No stretch marks, but that's the only thing it has going for it.
At any rate, my bikini days are dunzo and I need something that doesn't make me look 45 but keeps horrified glances to a minimum.
****
Let's say it hits 77 on Thursday. And Thursday is technically April. Is that too early to wear sandals?
****
It's lookin' as if Iris is not going to be home for Easter. As T put it, "I'm done with not having our daughter home for holidays." I think, though, that I still might buy her a new outfit to wear on Easter Sunday. Nothing frilly because we all know that yoga pants are more comfortable than wedding dresses--so in that vein, probably something loungey. Am still mulling over whether or not to get E a little tie. Last year he wore one (and threw up on it), and I'm kind of itching to put him in another one.
****
I love ham.
Saturday, March 27
All up in your business
I absolutely love hearing about other people's marriages. Besides mostly being nosey, it's fascinating to hear how other people function, cope, remain sane, go insane and manage to mostly tolerate one another.
I try not to judge, but who are we kidding? It can be hard to not compare it all to what you've got going down in your own home.
When T and I first got married (7 years this May, folks, holy hell), I loved hearing the various ways couples managed their money and their accounts. So many different strokes for so many different folks. Kids? Again, lots of schools of thought. And so on and so on.
Taking this story nowhere in particular other than to say, that T/we recently bought a car and I've yet to drive it. At all. I didn't go with him when he picked it out. I didn't sign any papers. I was consulted on price and by "consulted" I mean it was me saying, "Dude, it so canNOT be over x dollar amount per month."
Does it bother me that I wasn't beside him like glue throughout the entire process? Meh. Not really. I like cars, but at this current time in our lives I was happy to let him alone and not be involved.
It is, however, a deviation from how we used to operate. In planning our wedding, T was involved in every detail. All of my appointments with Dr. EBFS? T was in there like swimwear--sometimes literally, sometimes figuratively. Picking out a house? If one of us didn't like it, it wasn't pursued.
All of the togetherness on those decisions helped our partnership feel more...partner-y. So does this car thing mean our partnership is changing? Maybe, but it doesn't feel like for the bad. We've been together over 10 years and I know things will continue to evolve. Does this mean that I feel comfortable making solo decisions all the time or that T will just have at it? No, because part of what I love about T and I together is that almost everything (minus expensive new driving machine, it seems) is done with the other person consulted.
It'll be interesting to see where we are 10 years from now.
I try not to judge, but who are we kidding? It can be hard to not compare it all to what you've got going down in your own home.
When T and I first got married (7 years this May, folks, holy hell), I loved hearing the various ways couples managed their money and their accounts. So many different strokes for so many different folks. Kids? Again, lots of schools of thought. And so on and so on.
Taking this story nowhere in particular other than to say, that T/we recently bought a car and I've yet to drive it. At all. I didn't go with him when he picked it out. I didn't sign any papers. I was consulted on price and by "consulted" I mean it was me saying, "Dude, it so canNOT be over x dollar amount per month."
Does it bother me that I wasn't beside him like glue throughout the entire process? Meh. Not really. I like cars, but at this current time in our lives I was happy to let him alone and not be involved.
It is, however, a deviation from how we used to operate. In planning our wedding, T was involved in every detail. All of my appointments with Dr. EBFS? T was in there like swimwear--sometimes literally, sometimes figuratively. Picking out a house? If one of us didn't like it, it wasn't pursued.
All of the togetherness on those decisions helped our partnership feel more...partner-y. So does this car thing mean our partnership is changing? Maybe, but it doesn't feel like for the bad. We've been together over 10 years and I know things will continue to evolve. Does this mean that I feel comfortable making solo decisions all the time or that T will just have at it? No, because part of what I love about T and I together is that almost everything (minus expensive new driving machine, it seems) is done with the other person consulted.
It'll be interesting to see where we are 10 years from now.
Friday, March 26
Yiddiyup
Ezra's newest thing is to watch ponies/horses on YouTube and shout "Yiddiyup!" or his version of "Giddy up!" T even had him watching a John Wayne movie one Sunday afternoon in hopes of showing him how people ride horses.
At any rate, here is a round-up of how Iris is faring and it only seemed appropriate to yell "Giddy up!" as well.
Iris' eyeballs:
The ROP is regressing. It's Stage 1 in her right eye and Stage 2 in her left eye. She'll be in the clear by 44 weeks.
Bottomline: She won't need laser eye surgery. Holla! At least that's one surgery we can avoid.
Iris' lungs:
They're there and they're still a little cranky. It's taken her almost a week to get even close square one after being intubated/on the ventilator for her surgery last week. She's on the CPAP now and should be back on the cannula sometime today. The neonatologists think that the surgery and halted eating probably caused her lung disease to flare up a bit hence the set back.
Her CO2 concentrations swing up (68, 69) and then swing down (59, 63). Fabulous CO2s for a baby Iris' age would be in the 30s or 40s. Horrible CO2s are anything above 70. Iris' normal is in the low 60s. This number is higher for her due to the lung disease as well as the VSD shunting blood to her lungs and causing a bit of damage. The neonatologists' expectations are such that they don't expect Iris to ever have CO2s in the 40s--she'd need to be on the ventilator to maintain that. So, anywhere in the 50s and 60s are good enough for them.
Bottomline: She'll probably come home on oxygen. My feeling on this?--whatevs. It would be unrealistic to expect anything else.
Iris' guts:
Holy moses, her guts. Well, as of the surgery last week she now has a G-tube and this is helping things immensely. Mainly, she no longer has a tube in her mouth. She's no longer on compressed or even drip feedings, and instead getting all of her food dropped in her tummy all at once.
I had/still have mixed feelings about the G-tube. It's invasive. It's obvious. It makes her more complicated. On the other hand, it allows her to progress in other ways. Developmentally, she can still practice with a bottle and work with occupational therapy. Since being off the compressed or drip feedings, Iris now gets hungry and is on a schedule of sorts. By feeling hunger, it keeps her interested in her pacifier which will be a huge thing in helping her possibly keep some oral aversions at bay. If we can get Iris through all of this preemie business and still have her okay with having things in her mouth (food, pacifiers, bottles, anything) in addition to swallowing and being okay with various textures--it will be a huge, huge deal. It's still hard for me to view something that I took as second nature for Ezra to be instead a major obstacle for Iris.
Bottomline: She's 6 lbs 3 oz, she's thriving, she loves her pacifier (like, A LOT), she's getting the nutrition she needs.
Iris' ticker:
The girl and her heart. Lemme sit down a minute.
Is she having a heart catheterization done next week? Possibly. It'll depend on whether or not the surgeons at Big University Hospital Across the State feel it's needed.
Will she have her VSD repair surgery here in town? Possibly. It'll depend on what we want, what the surgeons in town and out of town think, what her neonatologists think and what her cardiologist thinks.
Will she have her VSD repair before she's discharged from the hospital? Possibly. It'll depend on what the heart cath shows and what all of the doctors think.
Bottomline: As Type A as I am, I really, really can't even think too far in advance on this one. It makes me panicky and hyperventilate-y. It's just so much and literally all of it is sketchy.
Iris' liver:
At one point being put through the ringer, her liver is now doing just fine. Her bilirubin levels are at 4 and 2.5 (direct and indirect) and ideally should be 0. At their highest? 28.7. Yowza. She's on a drug to help this number continue to drop and once it's resolved, she'll be off that med.
Bottomline: Almost a non-issue.
Iris' melon:
She's been known to get BIG hair after a bath and other than that, her brain and head are absolutely perfect. No bleeds.
Bottomline: This is the biggest blessing of all.
At any rate, here is a round-up of how Iris is faring and it only seemed appropriate to yell "Giddy up!" as well.
Iris' eyeballs:
The ROP is regressing. It's Stage 1 in her right eye and Stage 2 in her left eye. She'll be in the clear by 44 weeks.
Bottomline: She won't need laser eye surgery. Holla! At least that's one surgery we can avoid.
Iris' lungs:
They're there and they're still a little cranky. It's taken her almost a week to get even close square one after being intubated/on the ventilator for her surgery last week. She's on the CPAP now and should be back on the cannula sometime today. The neonatologists think that the surgery and halted eating probably caused her lung disease to flare up a bit hence the set back.
Her CO2 concentrations swing up (68, 69) and then swing down (59, 63). Fabulous CO2s for a baby Iris' age would be in the 30s or 40s. Horrible CO2s are anything above 70. Iris' normal is in the low 60s. This number is higher for her due to the lung disease as well as the VSD shunting blood to her lungs and causing a bit of damage. The neonatologists' expectations are such that they don't expect Iris to ever have CO2s in the 40s--she'd need to be on the ventilator to maintain that. So, anywhere in the 50s and 60s are good enough for them.
Bottomline: She'll probably come home on oxygen. My feeling on this?--whatevs. It would be unrealistic to expect anything else.
Iris' guts:
Holy moses, her guts. Well, as of the surgery last week she now has a G-tube and this is helping things immensely. Mainly, she no longer has a tube in her mouth. She's no longer on compressed or even drip feedings, and instead getting all of her food dropped in her tummy all at once.
I had/still have mixed feelings about the G-tube. It's invasive. It's obvious. It makes her more complicated. On the other hand, it allows her to progress in other ways. Developmentally, she can still practice with a bottle and work with occupational therapy. Since being off the compressed or drip feedings, Iris now gets hungry and is on a schedule of sorts. By feeling hunger, it keeps her interested in her pacifier which will be a huge thing in helping her possibly keep some oral aversions at bay. If we can get Iris through all of this preemie business and still have her okay with having things in her mouth (food, pacifiers, bottles, anything) in addition to swallowing and being okay with various textures--it will be a huge, huge deal. It's still hard for me to view something that I took as second nature for Ezra to be instead a major obstacle for Iris.
Bottomline: She's 6 lbs 3 oz, she's thriving, she loves her pacifier (like, A LOT), she's getting the nutrition she needs.
Iris' ticker:
The girl and her heart. Lemme sit down a minute.
Is she having a heart catheterization done next week? Possibly. It'll depend on whether or not the surgeons at Big University Hospital Across the State feel it's needed.
Will she have her VSD repair surgery here in town? Possibly. It'll depend on what we want, what the surgeons in town and out of town think, what her neonatologists think and what her cardiologist thinks.
Will she have her VSD repair before she's discharged from the hospital? Possibly. It'll depend on what the heart cath shows and what all of the doctors think.
Bottomline: As Type A as I am, I really, really can't even think too far in advance on this one. It makes me panicky and hyperventilate-y. It's just so much and literally all of it is sketchy.
Iris' liver:
At one point being put through the ringer, her liver is now doing just fine. Her bilirubin levels are at 4 and 2.5 (direct and indirect) and ideally should be 0. At their highest? 28.7. Yowza. She's on a drug to help this number continue to drop and once it's resolved, she'll be off that med.
Bottomline: Almost a non-issue.
Iris' melon:
She's been known to get BIG hair after a bath and other than that, her brain and head are absolutely perfect. No bleeds.
Bottomline: This is the biggest blessing of all.
A conversation with the neonatologist yesterday framed it like this:
Step one: Let's see what her blood gasses are tonight and tomorrow morning and then possibly put her back on the nasal cannula of oxygen.
Step two: Let's see what is ultimately decided on proceeding with the heart catheterization. If she does have the heart cath done next week, she'll be put back on the ventilator for the procedure itself but will conceivably need a number of days, even a week to get back to square one which is the nasal cannula.
Step three: T and I will be meeting with Iris' main cardiologist next week to talk about timing and location of surgery.
Step four: Unless her heart surgery is scheduled right away (two weeks or less) based on what the heart cath shows, Iris only needs to be stable on her nasal cannula for a week or so before coming home. Their expectations for her CO2 levels are moderate because of her tricky lungs and heart. They don't expect her to worsen or need more support if she can maintain things for at least a week.
So there you have it. Lots of unknowns and some talk of coming home.
Two days ago I had my face in hands and was so utterly despondent, today?--a bit peppier. Tomorrow?--who the hell knows.
Thursday, March 25
I'm tired
I've said this before and it completely sucks that I keep feeling saying it, but I'm tired. I'm tired of always feeling like the hours of our day are sitting on a rug just waiting for it all to get ripped out from underneath us.
This past month has quite possible been the hardest month since Iris was first admitted. Knowing that she's full-term but still in the hospital tears at T and I. It seems, for some reason, to feel especially cruel. Such frustration I've never felt. As I told T last night, I want to know when the continuum will end; where will our stop be? When do we get to get off the hellish ride?
The tears I have now are ones of exhaustion and frustration rather than anger and fear.
Some people have said, "It must be a comfort/distraction to have Ezra right now. He's at such a great age." It is true that the sight of him makes my heart want to burst with adoration, but he is not a distraction. For that would be like assuming a hungry person is comforted by their refrigerator when in reality it can be a reminder of what's missing from the picture.
The good thing is that tomorrow is a new day. Not necessarily better, but at least new.
This past month has quite possible been the hardest month since Iris was first admitted. Knowing that she's full-term but still in the hospital tears at T and I. It seems, for some reason, to feel especially cruel. Such frustration I've never felt. As I told T last night, I want to know when the continuum will end; where will our stop be? When do we get to get off the hellish ride?
The tears I have now are ones of exhaustion and frustration rather than anger and fear.
Some people have said, "It must be a comfort/distraction to have Ezra right now. He's at such a great age." It is true that the sight of him makes my heart want to burst with adoration, but he is not a distraction. For that would be like assuming a hungry person is comforted by their refrigerator when in reality it can be a reminder of what's missing from the picture.
The good thing is that tomorrow is a new day. Not necessarily better, but at least new.
Wednesday, March 24
TMI + PSA
While I'm willing to share quite a bit here, some things remain sacred. Our first names (in case we ever need to find different jobs), where I work (in case Workplace becomes a super sleuth and finds this here blog) and where we live (because the majority of you are super lovely and I wouldn't mind hanging out with you, but I'm sure there's a Creepy Pete lurking somewhere. There always is).
But this I have to share. (TMI approaching...)
Dude, I totally got my period. I'm pumping/nursing and I shouldn't have. But I did. I was shocked. I feel robbed. I feel as if my body is staging a coup against my better intentions.
Color me sucka punched when I finally discovered what-was-what downstairs. Of course, I immediately called T who was all, "Well, at least you're not pregnant."
"Can you EEEEVEN imagine?" I shrieked into the phone. "In all honesty, I don't know whether I'd cry hysterically or laugh maniacally! Probably both!"
"But then we wouldn't have to take all the fertility drugs?"
"Who's this 'we,' mister man? Plus how about we get one baby out of the hospital first? Oh my LORD. What would people say?"
(End scene.)
I still stand by that too. What do you even dooooo with that news? "Gosh, I must have gotten that stomach bug floating around because I'm so barfy." Except that in my other pregnancies I never was barfy. A little bit of dizziness, perhaps, and a crazy voracious appetite for anything that's standing still but that's about it. Oh my heavens--I can't even rely on the barfy.
At any rate, I definitely feel as if my uterus and I are strangers. When I nursed Ezra, my cycle didn't start back up until two months after he was weaned. But this? What am I supposed to do about this?
After calling T, I immediately called Red Door to warn her what could be lurking around the corner for her. She mildly laughed it off. I shook my finger Of Warning.
I called my OB too. Hoping she would shed some light and maybe tell me it was a practical joke. "That uterus! Such a prankster!" she might say.
But no.
"Many moons ago, there was this nurse at Local Hospital who nursed her first child and didn't have her cycle start until a year after weaning. With her second child it started while she was still nursing, but would come and go. With her third, it came and stayed. You just never know. Your body changes as you get older and as you have more children."
Balls.
So, needless to say, I'm sleeping with a knitting needle tucked under my pillow to defend myself against any individuals, T mainly, with impure intentions. Let's spring Iris out of the hospital before we add more to the K family.
Just sayin'.
But this I have to share. (TMI approaching...)
Dude, I totally got my period. I'm pumping/nursing and I shouldn't have. But I did. I was shocked. I feel robbed. I feel as if my body is staging a coup against my better intentions.
Color me sucka punched when I finally discovered what-was-what downstairs. Of course, I immediately called T who was all, "Well, at least you're not pregnant."
"Can you EEEEVEN imagine?" I shrieked into the phone. "In all honesty, I don't know whether I'd cry hysterically or laugh maniacally! Probably both!"
"But then we wouldn't have to take all the fertility drugs?"
"Who's this 'we,' mister man? Plus how about we get one baby out of the hospital first? Oh my LORD. What would people say?"
(End scene.)
I still stand by that too. What do you even dooooo with that news? "Gosh, I must have gotten that stomach bug floating around because I'm so barfy." Except that in my other pregnancies I never was barfy. A little bit of dizziness, perhaps, and a crazy voracious appetite for anything that's standing still but that's about it. Oh my heavens--I can't even rely on the barfy.
At any rate, I definitely feel as if my uterus and I are strangers. When I nursed Ezra, my cycle didn't start back up until two months after he was weaned. But this? What am I supposed to do about this?
After calling T, I immediately called Red Door to warn her what could be lurking around the corner for her. She mildly laughed it off. I shook my finger Of Warning.
I called my OB too. Hoping she would shed some light and maybe tell me it was a practical joke. "That uterus! Such a prankster!" she might say.
But no.
"Many moons ago, there was this nurse at Local Hospital who nursed her first child and didn't have her cycle start until a year after weaning. With her second child it started while she was still nursing, but would come and go. With her third, it came and stayed. You just never know. Your body changes as you get older and as you have more children."
Balls.
So, needless to say, I'm sleeping with a knitting needle tucked under my pillow to defend myself against any individuals, T mainly, with impure intentions. Let's spring Iris out of the hospital before we add more to the K family.
Just sayin'.
Tuesday, March 23
Why I Could Never Be on Survivor
- I don't like being sweaty
- I don't like being dirty
- I like showers
- I don't like eating bugs
- I love cheese
- I don't like sleeping outside
- I'm not super competitive
- I would loathe being in a swimsuit on national television
- I am hairy and can not be without access to tweezers, wax or trimming devices
- I turn mean when I am hungry
- I would miss my family
- I am out of personal leave time at work
- My hair is very sad and limp when without styling aids or products
- I don't like having sand in my bathing suit
- I am currently very pale and would sunburn
- Jeff Probst kind of creeps me out
- I have stretchmarks on my hips
- I would never be able to decide whether to wear my glasses or wear my contacts
Monday, March 22
Love/hate and undecided
As I was eating my chinese chopped salad at my desk this afternoon, I realized that I am undecided about edamame. Besides wanting to call it "Ellie Mae," edamame looks an awful like a lima bean (but doesn't taste like one), comes in a shell like a pea (that you shouldn't eat) and is supposedly good for you (unlike most of the other foods I eat). Do you eat edamame?
Anyway...
Love: Easter ham
Hate: I have spilled stuff on myself no less than 5 times today. Orange juice, water, soup, water, water. It seems I'm eating with the skill of a 22 month old.
Love: In the past week I have attempted three new recipes in the crockpot. So far we're kind of 0 for 3. Maybe more like 1/2 for 3. T is a champ, though, and is willing to keep trying. I'm bummed. They looked good on paper, but once executed? Urgh.
Hate: Can Iris just come home already?
Love: The ridiculous snow that came down on Saturday melted by 3pm on Sunday
Hate: This tired, tired limbo I'm in at work. I'm perpetually caught up and hesitant to start anything new or commit to projects. Am so, so bored.
Love: Ready to bail at a moment's (or day's) notice
Hate: This headache that seems to have sprouted up in the past hour
Love: I have sort of decided to fore go my winter coats. I am actively chucking winter to the side. Coats are a hassle when getting Ezra out the door. Coats are a hassle at the hospital. Coats are a hassle on warm afternoons.
Hate: This active decision making has kind of made for some chilly mornings. Whatever. I just turn heat in my car on super high.
Love: For Easter, I'm thinking of hiding little plastic eggs around the house for Ezra to find. We'll see what he thinks of this. Fabulous activity that is repeated over and over and over? Ignored and thought stupid? We shall see.
Hate: I am undecided on telling Ezra about the Easter Bunny. In person, like Santa, the Easter Bunny is more than a little creepy. And coming into the house while he's asleep?--kind of messed up.
Love: Picking up pants from the tailor's and having them fit infinitely better
Hate: This tailor doesn't take credit cards and I just used the last check. Balls.
Love: The spell check wanted to change "edamame" to "edema." Yuck.
What are you loving and hating?
Anyway...
Love: Easter ham
Hate: I have spilled stuff on myself no less than 5 times today. Orange juice, water, soup, water, water. It seems I'm eating with the skill of a 22 month old.
Love: In the past week I have attempted three new recipes in the crockpot. So far we're kind of 0 for 3. Maybe more like 1/2 for 3. T is a champ, though, and is willing to keep trying. I'm bummed. They looked good on paper, but once executed? Urgh.
Hate: Can Iris just come home already?
Love: The ridiculous snow that came down on Saturday melted by 3pm on Sunday
Hate: This tired, tired limbo I'm in at work. I'm perpetually caught up and hesitant to start anything new or commit to projects. Am so, so bored.
Love: Ready to bail at a moment's (or day's) notice
Hate: This headache that seems to have sprouted up in the past hour
Love: I have sort of decided to fore go my winter coats. I am actively chucking winter to the side. Coats are a hassle when getting Ezra out the door. Coats are a hassle at the hospital. Coats are a hassle on warm afternoons.
Hate: This active decision making has kind of made for some chilly mornings. Whatever. I just turn heat in my car on super high.
Love: For Easter, I'm thinking of hiding little plastic eggs around the house for Ezra to find. We'll see what he thinks of this. Fabulous activity that is repeated over and over and over? Ignored and thought stupid? We shall see.
Hate: I am undecided on telling Ezra about the Easter Bunny. In person, like Santa, the Easter Bunny is more than a little creepy. And coming into the house while he's asleep?--kind of messed up.
Love: Picking up pants from the tailor's and having them fit infinitely better
Hate: This tailor doesn't take credit cards and I just used the last check. Balls.
Love: The spell check wanted to change "edamame" to "edema." Yuck.
What are you loving and hating?
Saturday, March 20
S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y Night
Okay, so not really Saturday night--more like Saturday day.
Wtf, mate on the snow. I get that it's March which is also known as the Month That Weather Scorns, but really? Snow? Whatevs. Ezra's crestfallen face says it all. Actually, I think I was trying to coax him off the bed and into a dry diaper. T always gets put-out that Ezra stands and sits on T's pillow with his soggy diaper, but leaves mine alone. Heh.
Breakfast. And about to give the paparazzi the stiff arm. Take note Kate Gosselin.
On our way to Gymboree. And again with the foul face. As his publicist, I see that I have some coaching to do on smiling with his eyes a la Tyra.
At the end of Gymboree and clearly tuckered out. And eyeballing that little girl's swag.
As I prepared lunch (Mama! New-new! Hock dog! translation: Mama, noodles and hot dog!), Ezra played on the sunporch. Not two seconds later as I was back in the kitchen, Ezra dumped these legos out--which makes such a ginormous racket--it scared him and he came running into the kitchen crying. Poor buddy. (Heh.)
After nap and T is back from the hospital. I'm in the other room and I hear Ezra yelling, "Esercise! ESERCIIIISE!" This is what I see. Good lord.
T. Less about exercise and more about playing possum.
Ezra playing with a deflated ball that T has yet to pump up. It's part pink yarmulke and part pink cervical cap.
Make your pizza night. Ezra loves sauce and kept yelling, "SAUCE! SAUCE!"
Please note the nudie spot on the pizza. Ezra grabbed a ginormous chunk of cheese and stuffed it in his maw.
Again. In the same spot.
Lounging with T on our bed, watching some tv before bedtime. As active as he is during the day, he pretty much goes completely limp at the end of it.
Iris relaxing. They've taken her off the ventilator which she needed just for the surgery. Her blood gasses haven't been spectacular, but the doctor and T and I suspect that is largely due to her fighting and hating the ventilator so, so much. The CPAP is on stand-by should she need it, but for now she's just using the nasal cannula for a bit of oxygen. The incisions all look really good and they should start back up on feedings in the next day or so. Since they fiddled with her intestines and stomach during the surgery, they needed to give them a few days post surgery to heal and start moving again.
Not pictured:
Wtf, mate on the snow. I get that it's March which is also known as the Month That Weather Scorns, but really? Snow? Whatevs. Ezra's crestfallen face says it all. Actually, I think I was trying to coax him off the bed and into a dry diaper. T always gets put-out that Ezra stands and sits on T's pillow with his soggy diaper, but leaves mine alone. Heh.
Breakfast. And about to give the paparazzi the stiff arm. Take note Kate Gosselin.
On our way to Gymboree. And again with the foul face. As his publicist, I see that I have some coaching to do on smiling with his eyes a la Tyra.
At the end of Gymboree and clearly tuckered out. And eyeballing that little girl's swag.
As I prepared lunch (Mama! New-new! Hock dog! translation: Mama, noodles and hot dog!), Ezra played on the sunporch. Not two seconds later as I was back in the kitchen, Ezra dumped these legos out--which makes such a ginormous racket--it scared him and he came running into the kitchen crying. Poor buddy. (Heh.)
After nap and T is back from the hospital. I'm in the other room and I hear Ezra yelling, "Esercise! ESERCIIIISE!" This is what I see. Good lord.
T. Less about exercise and more about playing possum.
Ezra playing with a deflated ball that T has yet to pump up. It's part pink yarmulke and part pink cervical cap.
Make your pizza night. Ezra loves sauce and kept yelling, "SAUCE! SAUCE!"
Please note the nudie spot on the pizza. Ezra grabbed a ginormous chunk of cheese and stuffed it in his maw.
Again. In the same spot.
Lounging with T on our bed, watching some tv before bedtime. As active as he is during the day, he pretty much goes completely limp at the end of it.
Iris relaxing. They've taken her off the ventilator which she needed just for the surgery. Her blood gasses haven't been spectacular, but the doctor and T and I suspect that is largely due to her fighting and hating the ventilator so, so much. The CPAP is on stand-by should she need it, but for now she's just using the nasal cannula for a bit of oxygen. The incisions all look really good and they should start back up on feedings in the next day or so. Since they fiddled with her intestines and stomach during the surgery, they needed to give them a few days post surgery to heal and start moving again.
Not pictured:
- Me going for a two mile run and heavy breathing like a mutha.
- Getting a pedicure with Red Door. We are now always getting a clear overcoat of sparkly glitter on our toes. T called it "stripperific." We call ter-rific.
- T and Ezra going to the grocery store and using a list that involved buying tampons. Truly New Age men, they are.
- Going to Starbuck's with Ezra and having him shout out "Mama coffee!" while we were in line. He knows what's what.
- Spending a bit of time with my parents before Gymboree.
- Enjoying the day.
Friday, March 19
General bad assery
Baby Iris is chillin' like a villain after her surgery. In fact, she was awake and looking around during my visit with her today--this was after a mega dose of morphine and valium. T suspects she is like me in that she requires an inordinate amount of pains meds for them to actually knock her out.
The surgery went exactly as planned and as Red Door texted me later in the day, "New and improved guts!" Shoot, the pediatric surgeon even through in an appendectomy for good measure. Holla.
Our hope is that she comes off the ventilator either today or tomorrow once her body relaxes from all of the procedures.
Next up? A heart catheterization next week Thursday. Some people have weekly dinner dates, some even have weekly meetings. We in the K household like weekly, invasive procedures done at the expense of our HMO.
****
I have lost some weight Maybe 8 pounds? I think it was part Two Week Sinus Infection and part WTF, Why Is Our Baby Still in the Hospital that caused my appetite and eating habits to reset themselves. Hey! Maybe it also coincided with daylight savings time. Who the hell knows. The point being is that now all of my clothes fit. All of them. It is marvelous to finally be able to fit into everything I own. As a result, I've been making even smarter choices about what I eat. I don't want to go down the road of snug pants ever again.
Now don't get it twisted (ed. note: Has anyone but me been watching RuPaul's Drag Race? My lands--it's fabulous)--I am not fit. Some may argue that it's all about personal goals and priorities when it comes to fitting in workouts, and that may be. But in time I'll start back up with that and I hope to eventually reclaim the title Tight as a Tiger.
Just kidding. I never had that title.
****
Back to Iris. My co-worker Fanny said this about Iris' surgery, "Just think when she's older and on the beach. She's going to look all bad ass with all of her scars."
I told Fanny this wasn't so much the goal for our daughter, but she might be onto something.
****
My friends reassured me that I wasn't going to be a bourgeois douchebag for signing Ezra up for Gymboree and I appreciated that. However, at this point I don't care if taking him made me a douche the size of John Mayer: Gymboree is fan freakin' fantastic.
I love that we go together, just he and I. I love that the minute I mention it after breakfast on Saturday morning, he goes spastic with excitement. "Imboreeee!" he shouts. I love that it's only 45 minutes but gives us a 3 hour nap. I love that we can do this for him.
****
I adore this age of Ezra's. Not too tantrumy. Slow yet articulate mastery of the English language. Tiny enough to pick up and physically remove should it be required. Liberal with the hugs.
He has also recently developed...personal space. If T or I are too close, he tells us, "Back." while throwing up his hand like a traffic cop.
He is making the connection between a crapton of things and it absolutely astounds me. My dad has labeled him a genius. My mom, ever the social worker, then tells my dad that Ezra is being "age appropriate."
Counting 1-10 while playing with individual things. Yelling "It's sunny!" when the sun is in his face in the car. Recognizing which road we're on and asking if we're going to grandma's, the library, to get gas, swimming, shopping, to get pizza or to Brady's house depending on the route. Being able to answer what he'd like for dinner or what he'd like to watch on tv. Repeating "I yuv uuuu." when we tell him "I love you."
It's fabulous.
****
The new show "Justified" with Timothy Olyphant? Straight up vigilante justice, yo. I so recommend.
Anything you've got going on that is bad ass?
The surgery went exactly as planned and as Red Door texted me later in the day, "New and improved guts!" Shoot, the pediatric surgeon even through in an appendectomy for good measure. Holla.
Our hope is that she comes off the ventilator either today or tomorrow once her body relaxes from all of the procedures.
Next up? A heart catheterization next week Thursday. Some people have weekly dinner dates, some even have weekly meetings. We in the K household like weekly, invasive procedures done at the expense of our HMO.
****
I have lost some weight Maybe 8 pounds? I think it was part Two Week Sinus Infection and part WTF, Why Is Our Baby Still in the Hospital that caused my appetite and eating habits to reset themselves. Hey! Maybe it also coincided with daylight savings time. Who the hell knows. The point being is that now all of my clothes fit. All of them. It is marvelous to finally be able to fit into everything I own. As a result, I've been making even smarter choices about what I eat. I don't want to go down the road of snug pants ever again.
Now don't get it twisted (ed. note: Has anyone but me been watching RuPaul's Drag Race? My lands--it's fabulous)--I am not fit. Some may argue that it's all about personal goals and priorities when it comes to fitting in workouts, and that may be. But in time I'll start back up with that and I hope to eventually reclaim the title Tight as a Tiger.
Just kidding. I never had that title.
****
Back to Iris. My co-worker Fanny said this about Iris' surgery, "Just think when she's older and on the beach. She's going to look all bad ass with all of her scars."
I told Fanny this wasn't so much the goal for our daughter, but she might be onto something.
****
My friends reassured me that I wasn't going to be a bourgeois douchebag for signing Ezra up for Gymboree and I appreciated that. However, at this point I don't care if taking him made me a douche the size of John Mayer: Gymboree is fan freakin' fantastic.
I love that we go together, just he and I. I love that the minute I mention it after breakfast on Saturday morning, he goes spastic with excitement. "Imboreeee!" he shouts. I love that it's only 45 minutes but gives us a 3 hour nap. I love that we can do this for him.
****
I adore this age of Ezra's. Not too tantrumy. Slow yet articulate mastery of the English language. Tiny enough to pick up and physically remove should it be required. Liberal with the hugs.
He has also recently developed...personal space. If T or I are too close, he tells us, "Back." while throwing up his hand like a traffic cop.
He is making the connection between a crapton of things and it absolutely astounds me. My dad has labeled him a genius. My mom, ever the social worker, then tells my dad that Ezra is being "age appropriate."
Counting 1-10 while playing with individual things. Yelling "It's sunny!" when the sun is in his face in the car. Recognizing which road we're on and asking if we're going to grandma's, the library, to get gas, swimming, shopping, to get pizza or to Brady's house depending on the route. Being able to answer what he'd like for dinner or what he'd like to watch on tv. Repeating "I yuv uuuu." when we tell him "I love you."
It's fabulous.
****
The new show "Justified" with Timothy Olyphant? Straight up vigilante justice, yo. I so recommend.
Anything you've got going on that is bad ass?
Thursday, March 18
One fell swoop
Simply put, Iris is having a buttload of procedures done today.
For weeks T and I bemoaned the awful holding pattern we were in with Iris and her feedings. Her feedings and their complexity is the only thing keeping her in the hospital as everything else can be handled and peeked at on an outpatient basis. Getting the neonatologists, pediatric surgeons and pediatric cardiologists to get together and discuss was like playing that horrible game of Telephone and hearing things change down the path while also simultaneously herding cats. T ranted and shook his fist in the air. I heavily sighed and stopped eating (in other news: I lost five pounds!).
At any rate, after all this frustration suddenly the surgeons came to us and were all, "Like, we're sooo sorry that it's taken this long to come to you with a plan but we're a lot like feral cats and hard to get in one spot long enough to talk. But, like, we think Iris should tooootally have surgery. Tomorrow. And we're going to do five procedures while she's out. Sign here."
(cough)
In all fairness, nothing they mentioned was a surprise to T and I. It all had been mentioned before. But it's looking as if things in the NICU go from 0-60 in 4.5 seconds. After four and a half months, I'm onto you, NICU!
Anyway, here is the work Iris is having done:
For weeks T and I bemoaned the awful holding pattern we were in with Iris and her feedings. Her feedings and their complexity is the only thing keeping her in the hospital as everything else can be handled and peeked at on an outpatient basis. Getting the neonatologists, pediatric surgeons and pediatric cardiologists to get together and discuss was like playing that horrible game of Telephone and hearing things change down the path while also simultaneously herding cats. T ranted and shook his fist in the air. I heavily sighed and stopped eating (in other news: I lost five pounds!).
At any rate, after all this frustration suddenly the surgeons came to us and were all, "Like, we're sooo sorry that it's taken this long to come to you with a plan but we're a lot like feral cats and hard to get in one spot long enough to talk. But, like, we think Iris should tooootally have surgery. Tomorrow. And we're going to do five procedures while she's out. Sign here."
(cough)
In all fairness, nothing they mentioned was a surprise to T and I. It all had been mentioned before. But it's looking as if things in the NICU go from 0-60 in 4.5 seconds. After four and a half months, I'm onto you, NICU!
Anyway, here is the work Iris is having done:
- A hernia repair on her right groin area
- A preventive repair on her left side to keep it from occurring there
- A Ladd's procedure to help with her malrotation
- A Nissen fundoplication to eliminate her reflux which isn't severe but does cause her to cough and be on slower feedings to keep things from "rising up"
- Putting in a G-tube so that her feedings can be handled through that because taking a bottle and even gavaging isn't an option until after her heart surgery and, dude, we can't bust out of the hospital on her current drip feedings
So, if you could send some prayers, good thoughts, chants, shout-outs to J.C., whatever--we would love them today.
Gracias.
Wednesday, March 17
I (heart) you
Awhile ago I read an article on Shaun White that mentioned he had two heart surgeries before the age of one and, as a result, his mother was fearful when he started stunts and flipping and whatnot at the age of 7. He had Tetrology of Fallot which is not one heart malformation but four; all rolled neatly under one name. One of the malformations in Tetrology of Fallot is a VSD which Iris has.
I think what struck me in the article is that the mention of the surgeries was not in bold, was not in all caps and did not convey the emotional disarray one feels when their baby needs open heart surgery. From the writer's point of view, the fact that White needed surgery is but one of many things that makes him who he is. Just a tidbit.
I am able to look at my life as it is currently in both Big Picture View and Magnifying Glass View. Big Picture View tells me that we will heal. That we will take family vacations. That a better, more stable norm awaits us. That we might have more children. That one day I won't be going to the hospital. That Iris won't remember any of this. That it will just be a tidbit of hers.
But the Magnifying Glass View is much, much harder to wrestle with. The countless doctors that we talk to each day. The sight of other healthy babies being harder than I thought it would be. The medical details I'm forced to remember because they're important. Constantly thinking to the future and wondering what obstacles it holds. Wondering if Iris will ever be where the doctors feel she should be.
Part of me looks forward to the day that these past months--possibly turning into years--are but a side mention in our daughter's life. The other part of me is mildly okay in knowing that this is turning us into people who value something different all together. I have no bloody idea what that "something" is, but it's out there. I can feel it.
I think what struck me in the article is that the mention of the surgeries was not in bold, was not in all caps and did not convey the emotional disarray one feels when their baby needs open heart surgery. From the writer's point of view, the fact that White needed surgery is but one of many things that makes him who he is. Just a tidbit.
I am able to look at my life as it is currently in both Big Picture View and Magnifying Glass View. Big Picture View tells me that we will heal. That we will take family vacations. That a better, more stable norm awaits us. That we might have more children. That one day I won't be going to the hospital. That Iris won't remember any of this. That it will just be a tidbit of hers.
But the Magnifying Glass View is much, much harder to wrestle with. The countless doctors that we talk to each day. The sight of other healthy babies being harder than I thought it would be. The medical details I'm forced to remember because they're important. Constantly thinking to the future and wondering what obstacles it holds. Wondering if Iris will ever be where the doctors feel she should be.
Part of me looks forward to the day that these past months--possibly turning into years--are but a side mention in our daughter's life. The other part of me is mildly okay in knowing that this is turning us into people who value something different all together. I have no bloody idea what that "something" is, but it's out there. I can feel it.
Friday, March 12
Gabba
Yo Gabba Gabba is kind of odd. I just don't get it at all. It's not like how I feel about Dora the Explorer which is a wretch-over-the-side-of-the-bed kind of a experience if I have to hear that damn map sing "I'm the map!" one more time.
Yo Gabba Gabba is a more "Should I be high or just more hip?" kind of viewing experience. Plus it's hard to really viscerally hate a show that will feature Weird Al. Anyway, Ezra loves it and asks for it ("O Gabba?") after bath time.
While I don't generally enjoy watching it, I do dig this song and have been known to swing my hands and sing "Pick it up, pick it up, pick it up, pick it up!"
Yo Gabba Gabba is a more "Should I be high or just more hip?" kind of viewing experience. Plus it's hard to really viscerally hate a show that will feature Weird Al. Anyway, Ezra loves it and asks for it ("O Gabba?") after bath time.
While I don't generally enjoy watching it, I do dig this song and have been known to swing my hands and sing "Pick it up, pick it up, pick it up, pick it up!"
Thursday, March 11
99
I saw this on Serenity Now's blog and in lieu of anything interesting to say today, I give you:
99 Things I May or May Not Have Done in My 34 Years
(Things I HAVE done are in bold.)
1. Started your own blog
2. Slept under the stars
3. Played in a band
4. Visited Hawaii
5. Watched a meteor shower
6. Given more than you can afford to charity
7. Been to Disneyland
8. Climbed a mountain
9. Held a praying mantis
10. Sang a solo
11. Bungee jumped
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched a lightening storm at sea
14. Taught yourself an art from scratch
15. Adopted a child
16. Had food poisoning
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty
18. Grown your own vegetables
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France
20. Slept on an overnight train
21. Had a pillow fight
22. Hitch hiked
23. Taken a sick day when you're not ill
24. Built a snow fort
25. Held a lamb
26. Gone skinny dipping
27. Run a marathon
28. Ridden in a gondola
29. Seen a total eclipse
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset
31. Hit a home run
32. Been on a cruise
33. Seen Niagra Falls in person
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors
35. Seen an Amish community
36. Taught yourself a new language
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39. Gone rock climbing
40. Seen Michelangelo's David
41. Sung Karaoke
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight
46. Been inside an ambulance
47. Had your portrait painted
48. Gone deep sea fishing
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling
52. Kissed in the rain
53. Played in the mud
54. Gone to a drive-in theater
55. Been in a movie
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business
58. Taken a martial arts class
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies
62. Gone whale watching
63. Got flowers for no reason
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. Gone sky diving
66. Visited a Nazi concentration camp
67. Bounced a check
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten Caviar
72. Pieced a quilt
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been fired from a job
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London
77. Broken a bone
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person
80. Published a book
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a brand new car
83. Walked in Jerusalum
84. Had your picture in the newspaper
85. Read the entire Bible
86. Visited the White House
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating (only if a fish counts!)
88. Had chickenpox
89. Saved someone's life
90. Sat on a jury
91. Met someone famous
92. Joined a book club
93. Lost a loved one
94. Had a baby
95. Seen the Alamo in person
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97. Been involved in a law suit
98. Owned a cell phone
99. Been stung by a bee
99 Things I May or May Not Have Done in My 34 Years
(Things I HAVE done are in bold.)
1. Started your own blog
2. Slept under the stars
3. Played in a band
4. Visited Hawaii
5. Watched a meteor shower
6. Given more than you can afford to charity
7. Been to Disneyland
8. Climbed a mountain
9. Held a praying mantis
10. Sang a solo
11. Bungee jumped
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched a lightening storm at sea
14. Taught yourself an art from scratch
15. Adopted a child
16. Had food poisoning
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty
18. Grown your own vegetables
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France
20. Slept on an overnight train
21. Had a pillow fight
22. Hitch hiked
23. Taken a sick day when you're not ill
24. Built a snow fort
25. Held a lamb
26. Gone skinny dipping
27. Run a marathon
28. Ridden in a gondola
29. Seen a total eclipse
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset
31. Hit a home run
32. Been on a cruise
33. Seen Niagra Falls in person
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors
35. Seen an Amish community
36. Taught yourself a new language
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39. Gone rock climbing
40. Seen Michelangelo's David
41. Sung Karaoke
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight
46. Been inside an ambulance
47. Had your portrait painted
48. Gone deep sea fishing
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling
52. Kissed in the rain
53. Played in the mud
54. Gone to a drive-in theater
55. Been in a movie
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business
58. Taken a martial arts class
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies
62. Gone whale watching
63. Got flowers for no reason
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. Gone sky diving
66. Visited a Nazi concentration camp
67. Bounced a check
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten Caviar
72. Pieced a quilt
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been fired from a job
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London
77. Broken a bone
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person
80. Published a book
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a brand new car
83. Walked in Jerusalum
84. Had your picture in the newspaper
85. Read the entire Bible
86. Visited the White House
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating (only if a fish counts!)
88. Had chickenpox
89. Saved someone's life
90. Sat on a jury
91. Met someone famous
92. Joined a book club
93. Lost a loved one
94. Had a baby
95. Seen the Alamo in person
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97. Been involved in a law suit
98. Owned a cell phone
99. Been stung by a bee
Wednesday, March 10
Our Monday night
I tweeted about this, but I really don't understand Laughing Cow cheese. For one I think it tastes like booty. Happy, laughing commercial women aside--that product is not tasty. T and I talked about it the other night after an ad ran on the tv.
Me: What the hell is that stuff? Is it cheese? They call it cheese, but I've never seen cheese spread like that.
T: It's cheese by that Philadelphia company.
Me: You mean cream cheese? That so is not cream cheese. They're putting it on crackers not bread AND they're eating it right out of the package.
T: Right.
Me: Do you eat cream cheese right out of the package?
T: No.
Me: Then it's not cream cheese.
T: It is. It spreads.
Me: It looks like butter.
T: But it's called cheese.
Me: I get it. It's weird. I think I had it once and it tasted horrible and weird and unidentifiable.
T: They say it's low-cal.
And so on and so on.
Conversations like this are a staple in our home and it makes me worried for Ezra and Iris as we grow older. As it can only mean phone calls over speaker phone sharing news about our new davenport and how I have to keep reminding their father to take his pills. Bleak, I tell you.
Anyway, a new fangled excitement in our home is that Ezra can now take baths on his own. That's right minus a parent. In a tub. By himself. Floating about and getting clean. For about the previous 21 months, T was climbing in there with him all hippie-parent-commune-style. Ezra felt all unsteady, had slippery biscuits and basically would wig out. We have a super deep tub, so I think even being lowered d.o.w.n. into it freaked him out. But now! He floats around while I putter about in the bathroom and wonder where all my Vicodin went.
Well, on Monday night, I had the tub running, stripped him down to his diaper and was collecting his jammies and lotion in his room when he got up from reading his books, ran into the bathroom, slammed the door...and turned the lock. !!! I freaked the eff out. It was as if he knew how the lock worked, had done all of his investigative work and he was just biding his time until T was out of town and I didn't have pants on.
Argh.
I did the requisite hands-fanning-face-dropping-f-bombs-and-dancing-from-foot-to-foot wigging out. Simultaneously I wondered: Should I call my dad? Wait! My dad's in Florida! Crap! Should I call T? Should I call 911? Should I try to bust down this solid wood, 85 year old door? Should I cry? Will he lick the toilet brush since I can't see him? What if he tries to get in the tub? What if the tub overflows? OH MY GOOOODDD.
I'm yelling at him through the door, "Baby! Ezra! Turn the lock, honey! Just turn it like you did before!"
I could hear him fiddling with it and our jenky doorknobs and I'm turning the doorknob in the hopes I can open the door at the exact moment he's turning the lock the correct way. There was also intermittent hands-fanning-face-and-swearing.
After what seemed like eternity but really was probably two minutes, Ezra turned the lock and I flung open the door.
And there he stood. Nudie (he'd ripped his own diaper off), smiling, "Mama!"
I was kind of hyperventilating and sprouting new gray hairs and totally getting how women with children die sooner than those that don't. Lord.
Me: What the hell is that stuff? Is it cheese? They call it cheese, but I've never seen cheese spread like that.
T: It's cheese by that Philadelphia company.
Me: You mean cream cheese? That so is not cream cheese. They're putting it on crackers not bread AND they're eating it right out of the package.
T: Right.
Me: Do you eat cream cheese right out of the package?
T: No.
Me: Then it's not cream cheese.
T: It is. It spreads.
Me: It looks like butter.
T: But it's called cheese.
Me: I get it. It's weird. I think I had it once and it tasted horrible and weird and unidentifiable.
T: They say it's low-cal.
And so on and so on.
Conversations like this are a staple in our home and it makes me worried for Ezra and Iris as we grow older. As it can only mean phone calls over speaker phone sharing news about our new davenport and how I have to keep reminding their father to take his pills. Bleak, I tell you.
Anyway, a new fangled excitement in our home is that Ezra can now take baths on his own. That's right minus a parent. In a tub. By himself. Floating about and getting clean. For about the previous 21 months, T was climbing in there with him all hippie-parent-commune-style. Ezra felt all unsteady, had slippery biscuits and basically would wig out. We have a super deep tub, so I think even being lowered d.o.w.n. into it freaked him out. But now! He floats around while I putter about in the bathroom and wonder where all my Vicodin went.
Well, on Monday night, I had the tub running, stripped him down to his diaper and was collecting his jammies and lotion in his room when he got up from reading his books, ran into the bathroom, slammed the door...and turned the lock. !!! I freaked the eff out. It was as if he knew how the lock worked, had done all of his investigative work and he was just biding his time until T was out of town and I didn't have pants on.
Argh.
I did the requisite hands-fanning-face-dropping-f-bombs-and-dancing-from-foot-to-foot wigging out. Simultaneously I wondered: Should I call my dad? Wait! My dad's in Florida! Crap! Should I call T? Should I call 911? Should I try to bust down this solid wood, 85 year old door? Should I cry? Will he lick the toilet brush since I can't see him? What if he tries to get in the tub? What if the tub overflows? OH MY GOOOODDD.
I'm yelling at him through the door, "Baby! Ezra! Turn the lock, honey! Just turn it like you did before!"
I could hear him fiddling with it and our jenky doorknobs and I'm turning the doorknob in the hopes I can open the door at the exact moment he's turning the lock the correct way. There was also intermittent hands-fanning-face-and-swearing.
After what seemed like eternity but really was probably two minutes, Ezra turned the lock and I flung open the door.
And there he stood. Nudie (he'd ripped his own diaper off), smiling, "Mama!"
I was kind of hyperventilating and sprouting new gray hairs and totally getting how women with children die sooner than those that don't. Lord.
Tuesday, March 9
Boo hiss
We're on Day 117. Iris has been in the hospital one hundred seventeen days. Almost four months. That is an effing long time.
In January, I struck up a conversation with a mom who was just getting ready to pack up her baby and head out. They'd been in the NICU for 150 days. At the time, I grew bug-eyed at that. Thinking, "Balls! That's practically five months!" Yeah, well, that might be our story too.
Today I am chewing on my shoulder. I am so frustrated and twitchy with the holding pattern we're in that I am frustrated and snarly with T. I just...can't staaaand it anymore.
Part of the problem is that it's today and sometimes I have days like this. Part of the problem is that we're past Iris's due date and, hell if it isn't a kick in the nads to have her still there. On some days, the mere ticking of time closer to that March 6 date was the only thing that kept me going. Part of the problem is that she's almost four months old and I fear for her development to have her still at the hospital. I know it's where she needs to be right now, but I feel massive concern that not being at home will be detrimental for how she relates to people and processes stimulation later on.
I don't know.
But then I hear my brain murmuring, "It could be worse." And it could.
One of Iris's neighbors was born full-term and is five months old. She has seizures and last week a new diagnosis that made the mom cry while at her baby's bedside.
This man also has a loved one in the hospital. And even though I don't know them, it is hard for me to read their story and not know a little of bit of their sadness.
I think of children in Haiti. I think of people I see in the local news who have unexpectedly died in car accidents and left families behind. I think of those who have been unemployed for months and months. I think of Marie Osmond, for pete's sake, and the loss of her son.
All of this not necessarily intended to make me feel better at the expense of others--but perhaps to add some perspective on the future of our situation. Iris will be discharged someday. When she's 3 1/2 and acting sassy and needing a time-out, then I'll think back to these particularly hard days as a distant memory.
I hope, at any rate.
In January, I struck up a conversation with a mom who was just getting ready to pack up her baby and head out. They'd been in the NICU for 150 days. At the time, I grew bug-eyed at that. Thinking, "Balls! That's practically five months!" Yeah, well, that might be our story too.
Today I am chewing on my shoulder. I am so frustrated and twitchy with the holding pattern we're in that I am frustrated and snarly with T. I just...can't staaaand it anymore.
Part of the problem is that it's today and sometimes I have days like this. Part of the problem is that we're past Iris's due date and, hell if it isn't a kick in the nads to have her still there. On some days, the mere ticking of time closer to that March 6 date was the only thing that kept me going. Part of the problem is that she's almost four months old and I fear for her development to have her still at the hospital. I know it's where she needs to be right now, but I feel massive concern that not being at home will be detrimental for how she relates to people and processes stimulation later on.
I don't know.
But then I hear my brain murmuring, "It could be worse." And it could.
One of Iris's neighbors was born full-term and is five months old. She has seizures and last week a new diagnosis that made the mom cry while at her baby's bedside.
This man also has a loved one in the hospital. And even though I don't know them, it is hard for me to read their story and not know a little of bit of their sadness.
I think of children in Haiti. I think of people I see in the local news who have unexpectedly died in car accidents and left families behind. I think of those who have been unemployed for months and months. I think of Marie Osmond, for pete's sake, and the loss of her son.
All of this not necessarily intended to make me feel better at the expense of others--but perhaps to add some perspective on the future of our situation. Iris will be discharged someday. When she's 3 1/2 and acting sassy and needing a time-out, then I'll think back to these particularly hard days as a distant memory.
I hope, at any rate.
Monday, March 8
Well then
Before bringing a talking toddler into the gym locker room, the only cringe-worthy moments experienced where those when I had to avert my eyes away from some woman putting on lotion with one foot on the bench and one foot on the floor, Captain Morgan-style, but nudie. Gives new meaning to practicing the gynecological arts.
Anyway, Ezra and I went swimming Sunday morning and he was a Chatty Cathy in the locker room.
Instance #1:
A nice mom and her super cute baby were getting changed on the floor. This baby was cuh-rute. Super round melon. Big bright eyes. Doing that happy baby kicking-thing. But I think due to the round, bald head--Ezra was all pointing of the fingers and said, "Caillou?" Because, yeah, the baby kind of looked like this guy.
One of Ezra's favorite cartoons. Heh.
Instance #2:
As we were walking out hand in hand, a woman was changing a few rows over. She didn't have any pants on and, again with the pointy fingers, Ezra shouted, "Biscuits!"
I snorted and hustled him out of there.
I kind of have nervous tummy now upon entering the locker room. Children of the opposite sex are welcome in there as long as they're under 4, but I'm thinking a better barometer would be Level of Embarrassment Caused to Parents.
Anyway, Ezra and I went swimming Sunday morning and he was a Chatty Cathy in the locker room.
Instance #1:
A nice mom and her super cute baby were getting changed on the floor. This baby was cuh-rute. Super round melon. Big bright eyes. Doing that happy baby kicking-thing. But I think due to the round, bald head--Ezra was all pointing of the fingers and said, "Caillou?" Because, yeah, the baby kind of looked like this guy.
One of Ezra's favorite cartoons. Heh.
Instance #2:
As we were walking out hand in hand, a woman was changing a few rows over. She didn't have any pants on and, again with the pointy fingers, Ezra shouted, "Biscuits!"
I snorted and hustled him out of there.
I kind of have nervous tummy now upon entering the locker room. Children of the opposite sex are welcome in there as long as they're under 4, but I'm thinking a better barometer would be Level of Embarrassment Caused to Parents.
Sunday, March 7
Saturday, March 6
Due
Today is my due date.
Was my due date? Hmm.
Using either past or present tense, doesn't change the fact was the day that Noah and Iris were slated to arrive. I'm not sure how I feel about this.
On one hand, it's mostly just a craptastic reminder that Iris is still in the hospital and that Noah isn't around. On the other hand, I didn't honestly expect to make it until my due date given that I was pregnant with dos bebes. It carried less importance than when I was pregnant with Ezra.
All week I've been mulling over how I'll feel today and trying to prepare--morose? weepy? normal? Best case scenario is that Iris would've been home by this date; a date that's been sort of a beacon of hope since the crap hit the fan on November 12, but...she's not. And I don't feel anymore sad today about her absence at home than I do on any other day.
So, I guess it's just another day.
Was my due date? Hmm.
Using either past or present tense, doesn't change the fact was the day that Noah and Iris were slated to arrive. I'm not sure how I feel about this.
On one hand, it's mostly just a craptastic reminder that Iris is still in the hospital and that Noah isn't around. On the other hand, I didn't honestly expect to make it until my due date given that I was pregnant with dos bebes. It carried less importance than when I was pregnant with Ezra.
All week I've been mulling over how I'll feel today and trying to prepare--morose? weepy? normal? Best case scenario is that Iris would've been home by this date; a date that's been sort of a beacon of hope since the crap hit the fan on November 12, but...she's not. And I don't feel anymore sad today about her absence at home than I do on any other day.
So, I guess it's just another day.
Friday, March 5
Chillin' like a villain
There have been lots of random tidbits happening as of late. Like how I was carrying Ezra down the stairs the other day and he clapped me on the back and said, "My honey." That Iris is finally back to where she was two weeks ago with her oxygen needs and working on taking a bottle and this makes me want to weep with relief. And how I've managed to contract some sort of wicked cold that can only be blamed on Ezra sneezing in my open mouth earlier this week. That Iris has decided to have a witching hour of feistiness from 2:00am to 5:00am each morning which is fun and games for the nurses being paid to care for her, but she had better get than nonsense out of her system before she comes home. Also, that one of Ezra's ear tubes is plugged and that if the current treatment of flushing it with hydrogen peroxide each night doesn't clear it out then it will need to be replaced. Balls.
What else.
Oh. That I've been craving pasta like it's my job and I can not get enough of these noodles. That I literally wanted to consume my daughter (with a side of noodles) when I saw her this morning because of how ridiculously precious she is. And how I've been feeling horribly preoccupied in my brain and the realization that this is causing me to miss valuable moments with Ezra and that I want him all to myself, all the time. Also, T and I are going on a daydate tomorrow afternoon and I am giddy with excitement. Oh! and that our local theater is rerunning Gone With The Wind at the end of April and I don't care if I've got Iris wrapped to my chest in a Moby Wrap--she and I will be there to see it on the big screen.
Anything else...
Iris is now 5 lbs 6 oz and Ezra has grown out of the pajamas that I bought him last Saturday. Honestly. They're too small. So either I got pimped on Carters 2T jammies or feel free to come to my son's bedside and watch him grow at warp speed in the nighttime. That I actually told my husband I might "kick his ass" he was irritating me so much. He laughed. I wasn't kidding. Also, it was sunny almost the entire week here where I live and that is enough to make Midwestern folks lose their damn minds.
I think that's about it.
What else.
Oh. That I've been craving pasta like it's my job and I can not get enough of these noodles. That I literally wanted to consume my daughter (with a side of noodles) when I saw her this morning because of how ridiculously precious she is. And how I've been feeling horribly preoccupied in my brain and the realization that this is causing me to miss valuable moments with Ezra and that I want him all to myself, all the time. Also, T and I are going on a daydate tomorrow afternoon and I am giddy with excitement. Oh! and that our local theater is rerunning Gone With The Wind at the end of April and I don't care if I've got Iris wrapped to my chest in a Moby Wrap--she and I will be there to see it on the big screen.
Anything else...
Iris is now 5 lbs 6 oz and Ezra has grown out of the pajamas that I bought him last Saturday. Honestly. They're too small. So either I got pimped on Carters 2T jammies or feel free to come to my son's bedside and watch him grow at warp speed in the nighttime. That I actually told my husband I might "kick his ass" he was irritating me so much. He laughed. I wasn't kidding. Also, it was sunny almost the entire week here where I live and that is enough to make Midwestern folks lose their damn minds.
I think that's about it.
Wednesday, March 3
A tissue for my issue: vol. 1
In my personal life, I do not cherish, enjoy or like to receive advice. Just ask T. I tend to get...oh, I don't know...surly and maybe a tidgy mean if he even suggests a morsel of "Hey, why don't you try..." I like to consider it being self-assured, but T often whispers of Raging Stubborness. Or just Raging. Whatever. I just don't like being offered help when I am not asking for it. Incidentally, the best phrase ever is "ass-vice." Heh.
Anyway, I can--when needed--actually ask for help and advice, and I think I need some from you for I have two issues.
Issue #1
What's what: I fear that I am not feeding my son new things and therefore failing to expand his horizons. This fear is actually pretty well-founded because lately I've been weinie-ing out and keep giving him the tried-and-trues. I'd love to start giving him new things to see what he likes and doesn't like before he hits the ridiculous stage of only eating crackers, lunch meat and frosting.
Background details: He loves anything covered in a red sauce (raviolis, lasagna, pizza), anything covered in cheese (pasta, vegetables) and anything he can "dip."
What I need from you: New tried-and-trues that either you love or that your kids love.
Requirements: Quick--we don't get home until 5:45 and I try to feed Ezra by 6:00pm. Not too tough to chew--he still struggles with some of the tougher meats (pork chops, steak, grilled chicken). Mask the veggies--he isn't a fan so much otherwise.
Issue #2
What's what: My pants. They are ill-fitting. They seem like a good idea either in the store or in the morning and by mid-day I am mad at myself for wearing them. I don't want to be called out by Stacy and Clinton.
Background details: I am pear shaped and a bit squishy due to having a few children.
What I need from you: Good pants recommendations--stores, cuts, tailoring tricks, whatever.
Requirements: Minimal. Mainly just don't recommend diet and exercise for while I know that would help, the heart of the matter is that I'm shaped like a Weeble and need pants to help balance out my wider hips and in turn not make me look wide all over.
Thoughts?
Anyway, I can--when needed--actually ask for help and advice, and I think I need some from you for I have two issues.
Issue #1
What's what: I fear that I am not feeding my son new things and therefore failing to expand his horizons. This fear is actually pretty well-founded because lately I've been weinie-ing out and keep giving him the tried-and-trues. I'd love to start giving him new things to see what he likes and doesn't like before he hits the ridiculous stage of only eating crackers, lunch meat and frosting.
Background details: He loves anything covered in a red sauce (raviolis, lasagna, pizza), anything covered in cheese (pasta, vegetables) and anything he can "dip."
What I need from you: New tried-and-trues that either you love or that your kids love.
Requirements: Quick--we don't get home until 5:45 and I try to feed Ezra by 6:00pm. Not too tough to chew--he still struggles with some of the tougher meats (pork chops, steak, grilled chicken). Mask the veggies--he isn't a fan so much otherwise.
Issue #2
What's what: My pants. They are ill-fitting. They seem like a good idea either in the store or in the morning and by mid-day I am mad at myself for wearing them. I don't want to be called out by Stacy and Clinton.
Background details: I am pear shaped and a bit squishy due to having a few children.
What I need from you: Good pants recommendations--stores, cuts, tailoring tricks, whatever.
Requirements: Minimal. Mainly just don't recommend diet and exercise for while I know that would help, the heart of the matter is that I'm shaped like a Weeble and need pants to help balance out my wider hips and in turn not make me look wide all over.
Thoughts?
Tuesday, March 2
I wish
From Ezra's daycare sheet:
"Ezra was tired, but held himself together pretty well. He played with the housekeeping toys, stirring and pouring food and drinks. He said, 'Daddy work.' I said, 'Your Daddy is at work?' He nodded 'yes.' I asked 'Where's Mommy?' He answered, 'At a movie.' "
"Ezra was tired, but held himself together pretty well. He played with the housekeeping toys, stirring and pouring food and drinks. He said, 'Daddy work.' I said, 'Your Daddy is at work?' He nodded 'yes.' I asked 'Where's Mommy?' He answered, 'At a movie.' "
Monday, March 1
Weekendy whatnot
Where oh where to begin.
- Ezra has started to say "I tall!" when standing on our bed. Not that we encourage standing on our bed, but I am a fan of the sentences.
- Iris developed a fever early Sunday morning and was one crank.kay baby the entire day. They tested for lots of whatnot but nothing has come back showing any signs that she has an infection. As of this morning, her fever has already disappeared. Maybe she'll be like her brother and only run fevers for 24 hours.
- Ezra and I went swimming Saturday afternoon and in a fit of flailing ("I simming! I simming!") he grabbed my clavicle like a handle of some sorts. It hurt like a mutha.
- I had my hair subtly highlighted so that it no longer looks like a brown cap.
- I ignored the garland hanging outside for yet another 48 hours.
- My friend A came over and upon spotting her in her fuzzy, animal printed coat, Ezra called out "Baby bear!" Heh.
- I got together with my book club and, lo, there was actual discussion of the book.
- I discovered that if I spray my shine spray on the roots of my hair before I blow dry it, I no longer have fly-aways. (It's the small things, people.)
- T yanked the baby monitor out of the wall and almost threw it away. It only needs a new battery.
- I had to talk my son down off the edge of the cliff upon taking the car through the car wash.
- T and I decided that we should be grilling more meats.
What else...
- I decided to start going to a class on Saturdays and class on Sundays at our gym. Step=Saturdays, Spinning=Sundays. Of course, this will be implemented neeeext weekend.
- I drank a little too much Dr. Pepper and not enough water.
- T accused me of throwing away his beloved Indian takeout leftovers. I turned a bit shrill and told him to look CLOSER.
- I did not go to Target. This is kind of a big deal, really.
What went down during your weekend?
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