Friday, October 30, 2009
Trev had to perform an intervention this morning. Mac and I are out of sorts with each other. After 10 minutes of him puking all over me and screaming in my face, I handed him over to his dad, the other option being to throw him out into the snow (you know, just to cool off. I wouldn't have left him out there, people. Well, for long).
I think the problem is that he's only sleeping in two hour chunks at night, which means I'm also only sleeping in two hour chunks, and this during a week when school couldn't be heavier. Maybe he's picking up on my stress vibes? I dunno.
Thankfully Trevor had the week off, cuz otherwise he'd be coming home to a screaming child and a sobbing wife. As it is, he's rocking a balancing act that involves cooking, house cleaning, office management, dog walking, baby rocking and garbage hauling.
And there's a lot of garbage to haul. Did I mention my dad is gutting our basement? The house was sold with "a finished basement", which I guess technically it was, if illegal, leaking, moldy, and nowhere-close-to-code counts as "finished". Dad's taken it down to the concrete foundation. And therein lies the beauty; our house was built in 1946 and there are just a few small hairline-style cracks in on only one wall of the original foundation. It's reassurance of exactly why we bought it.
(By the way, Dad, I had a dream that I came down the stairs and you were taking a sledge hammer to the floor. "I just can't help it!" you said)
I don't know what we'd do without Dad. If it weren't for him, Trevor would be coming home to a screaming child, a sobbing wife AND a drafty, nicotine-stained pink living room. Can anyone say murder-suicide?
And there's no way we could have done any of this ourselves. Trevor and I almost divorced over the simple painting of our bedroom (I'm sure you didn't know it at the time, honey, but it's true, we almost did). In the last year, Dad's managed to plumb and install our washer/dryer off of the kitchen, re-insulate the living room and restore the original hardwood floors. He also redid all of the duct work in the house, re-shingled the addition, and, oh yeah, built and insulated a garage.
So I guess what this post proves is that I have some really handy men in my life. Yeah, I'm pretty damn lucky.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
WORKING: Oh cool.
WORKING: Third degree burns. It goes all the way down into the basal layer, the dermis, where the neurons are. That must be why it hurts so much.
TREV: I don't even want to think about that.
* * *
WORKING: Yay! Blood clotting!
WORKING: I always wanted to know how it worked.
TREV: That's nice.
* * *
WORKING: So that's what a pressure ulcer looks like. Wow, it's kind of gross.
Trev and I don't watch sports, really. Good television shows are kind of our version of sports (we keep score with hits and misses, analyze scripts and dialogue, make bets about the characters, etc.). We've really resisted the pull towards the green 'n white mania that pervades this town.
If only we could say the same for our kid. Mac sure likes himself some football. We found out by accident one weekend in Saskatoon when he contentedly watched hours of it with Grandpa A.. I thought it was cute, but waved it off as pure coincidence. Later, when he was having a screaming fit, I took him into an electronics store and into the HD section where an NFL game was playing. He quieted immediately.
And right now he is watching the Rider game and actually talking, gurgling and cooing, at the TV. He loses interest during commercials, and then is riveted again during play. He actually yells when the crowd cheers. This happens every single time. I've tried other shows, he doesn't care. I've tried hockey, he doesn't care. He only wants to watch football. He doesn't want to be held or amused or fed or talked to, he just wants to watch the game.
It's so creepy.
* * *
TREV: Whenever someone's babysitting, they just have to plop him down in front of the game.
WORKING: No kidding. We should record it for them to play when he's fussy....
WORKING: HIT RECORD!!!!
Friday, October 23, 2009
Overheard: Daddy Talk (The Puke Edition)
"Oh dude! You got it everywhere! You're making a mess. Why don't we just roll around in our own filth? You puke, I'll puke, and mommy can clean us up."
I'd write more often, but there's nothing that won't completely bore you away. My days seem to be the same juggling act. I alternate between cleaning and studying, all the while counting down the minutes until the next nap, whereupon I can indulge in such luxuries as going to the bathroom or eating.
Oh, and I'm getting over a wicked chest cold. That's the best moment ever, when you just get the baby to sleep but you feel that tickle in your lungs and you know that the cough will wake him up but you have to wait until he's REALLY asleep before you can put him down so you stand there, frantically rocking back and forth, breath held, eyes watering, lungs screaming, willing yourself to hold it in. I have yet to be successful.
You know how it's sometimes interesting on your birthday to look back at "what was popular then"? In my case, the Blue Jays were created mere days after I was born. The Winter Olympics were in Innsbruck, Austria. The Ramones released their self-titled debut album with the classic "Blitzkrieg Bop", etc.. But is all that what I was really experiencing at the time? Probably not. I have a feeling these facts were completely irrelevant to my actual life.
So I thought I'd give Mac a little instructional. Mac, when you look back to the year and time of your birth, the summer of 2009, I want you to play the song "I Got A Feeling" by the Black Eyed Peas. I had it on my iPod's Labour Playlist, so it played over and over. Then I was so traumatized by said experience that for months I couldn't listen to it, only by then of course it was being played everywhere. Oprah even did this big flash mob thing to it (flash mobs are very big, by the way). But yesterday you watched me leap and dance inelegantly (but with energy) around the kitchen to it, proving that I am indeed much improved. So there you go, the soundtrack to your infancy, even if it is "so yesterday" already.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Macklin was sitting on Trev's lap when suddenly he pulled his pacifier out of his mouth and... wait for it... put it back in.
Wow, you're saying. And CNN's chasing Balloon Boy around?
Well, it was a big deal to us. He did it multiple times. And he was so nonchalant about it, like he's been doing it for years. He didn't even take his eyes off of The Amazing Race. And today he was going crazy with the verbal exclamations. Our little boy's growing up!
In other news, Trevor took Mac duty for the day and aside from brief breaks to feed, I plowed through two week's worth of homework for two separate courses. I can now dedicate the rest of the week to the woefully behind Anatomy / Physiology. This makes me exceedingly thankful (but still terrified).
Also, we had our family thanksgiving yesterday. It was wonderful. Good weekend.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Dear Mac: Three Months Old
A.k.a. MonkeyDoodle, MackieDoodle, MonkeyButt, PumpkinFace, Booger, etc..
Today you laughed at me for the very first time. I was ‘scaring’ you in a boo-like fashion, really close to your face, and you were loving it with your big, wide, toothless grins. Then you laughed. A very definite open mouthed, “aha”! I did it again just to confirm, then I texted your father to boast. Naturally you haven’t done it since.
Here’s what three months looks like:
Okay, enough baby worship for now. Daddy’s got you (you're watching the Daily Show with him), so I have a precious few minutes to get some homework done. Ha! You just puked on him! And he has to change you again, after five minutes in that sleeper. I find that very amusing. Welcome to my life, husband dear.
- You watch everything. You stare when the dog or cat walks by. You stare at Grandpa with his goatee and the same eyes as you. You stare at Auntie Mari's big smile. You lock eyes so easily with your Dad and your Grandma A., telling them such stories. You search for me across rooms. You love faces.
- You’re not that into things, though. I put rattles and plastic rings into your hands and you'll wave ‘em around in the air but you really don’t care.
- You have my unfortunate skin. You rub your face, it develops mean, red streaks across it. Your diapers leave raw looking imprints. You have hives up your arm.
- You discovered your thumb this week. I’m torn. I sucked my thumb and it was my bestest friend for many years. Plus, it’s just so darn cute when you do it. And if you have my overbite, you’re going to need braces anyway. But a pacifier is so much easier to wean. I dunno.
- I was singing very badly and very loudly the other day and you started yelling right along with me. Either you were begging me to shut up, or we just had our first duet. I believe it was the latter.
- Some of my favourite sensations are when you play with the hair at the back of my neck. And during our naps, when your toes kneed into my thigh, and your hand traces patterns on my bare stomach.
- You have an angry streak. Oooh, can you get red, screaming mad! We introduced you to your cousin, Carter, last weekend. He let out these delicate little baby cries. You opened your mouth and… well, we had to leave. Ha!
- You still love, love, love naked time. You’ve pooped and peed on everything but I don’t really care because it gives me something to post about on Facebook. When I give you naked tummy time, you lift yourself onto your elbows, head up, looking around. Your legs kick behind you like you’re a minute away from figuring out how to crawl. I wonder...?
- You’re still a champion puker. People say, “oh yeah, my kid was a puker.” Then they watch you for a few minutes and get this sort of alarmed look on their faces and say, “wow. He really does puke a lot, doesn’t he?” It scares me sometimes, because I’m on medication that could be causing it. But you’re also developing satisfyingly plump rolls all over your body, so I’m trying not to worry.
- People comment most on your big, blue eyes. I do love them so.
Thursday, October 08, 2009
The White Stuff
I just shot breast milk up my baby's nose. For realz, yo.
Okay, you're probably sick (maybe literally) of all things breast milk, but it really is a fascinating substance. I read somewhere that breast milk enzymes are good for breaking down mucus. Mackie-mac has been pretty stuffed up, and any of you who've witnessed your baby struggle to breathe know that you'll pretty much try anything.
So here is my recipe for unplugging a stuffy baby nose, completely successful on three occasions (NOTE: I am not an expert. I'm just a Nursing student and I haven't even gotten to anatomy of the nostril in class, so obviously take your physician's advice over mine. Even that random guy on the street is probably more qualified):
1. Start filling the tub with water, or run the shower, as hot as possible, and close the bathroom door so that it'll create a steam room.
2. Express some breast milk into a bottle or container. Prepare a dropper for 'nasal insertion'.
3. Recline the baby and pop a drop or two of the breast milk in each nostril. Mac choked a little; I just sat him up and he cleared it (course, he also gave me a look that expressed his feelings quite clearly).
4. Sit in the bathroom, door closed, and nurse the baby for a few minutes. The sucking action helps clear the sinuses from the other direction.
5. Squeeze the nostrils (gently) from sinuses down. You should be squishing out some sizable boogers by now. Use your finger nail, a bit of toilet paper or a q-tip to scoop it out (feel free to get creative here).
6. Hang out in the bathroom until breathing clears.
Wednesday, October 07, 2009
Grace in a Husband
Sometimes it's hard to remember. It's hard to remember when we're so tired we don't even say goodnight. When Mac is screaming, the cat is puking and the dog is limping. When the lawn needs mowing, but the dishes are so stacked up and there's more pet hair than carpet and no time in the day so we get to chose our battle. When the car starts making that sound again. When we don't know if there'll be another gig and the bank account is dwindling.
At these times, it's hard to remember that moment eight years ago when our eyes locked across the room at a party and I felt that kind of electric shock that I thought was only a myth. Your eyes twinkled and danced and we held an entire conversation in just one glance.
It's hard to remember that a year later, I had to pinch myself because we were actually together. I sang it over and over in my mind, Trevor and Working, Working and Trevor! It's hard to remember the gut-wrenching pain I felt when we broke up for that one whole day. It's hard to remember that moment when time stopped and we looked deep into each other's eyes and for a second and an eternity, let the world fall away with two words each, "I do."
And yet, as I write this, it all comes back so easily. It's not hard to remember at all. I love you, my darling. Happy anniversary. Leftover stew for supper?
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
1. Boobs leak, particularly at night, and especially if you forget to insert those absorbant pads.
2. Breast milk stains.
3. Laundering can't always get out those stains.
4. The stains show up really well on solid colours, like black.
5. The worst time to remember all of this this is when you're standing in the middle of a packed CrossFit class, and you look down....
6. Never fear; if you turn your shirt backwards, you'll just look like you just have weird back sweat. And that's considerably better.
* * *
In other news, today is the day that Mac had his first taste of solid food. He licked my apple. He liked it. He is currently watching sports highlights (don't ask).
Monday, October 05, 2009
Trevor thumbs through the Jehovah's Witness material some women dropped off earlier.
WORKING: If you become a JW, we might have to get divorced.
TREV: Is that what I have to do?
Sunday, October 04, 2009
There is something so frustrating about having been in bed so long and slept so little, especially on the weekend. Mac-attack seems to have a bad case of reflux or something. He writhes in his sleep, clearly in pain, then he wakes up and projectile pukes. It happens less when he has the pacifier in his mouth, so I spend most of the night in a half-sleep, fumbling for the 'sucky', popping it back in his mouth. Wash, rinse, repeat. They say baby puke is less of a medical problem and more of a laundry problem, but I don't know....
PSYCH NURSE: How are you doing this week?
ME: I'm fine. Better than fine, actually. Pretty good.
PSYCH NURSE: That's good. Any thoughts of self-harm or harm to others?
ME: Not at all. But I do have one question.
PSYCH NURSE: What's that?
ME: Well, it's about my baby and his vomiting....
PSYCH NURSE: Oh right. I did ask Dr. Psych about that and he doesn't think it's the medication.
ME: Okay. But it's just that he's still vomiting. A lot. And it started when I started the medication. And it increased in correspondence with the increase in the medication.
PSYCH NURSE: Uh huh?
ME: And it makes me very nauseous and it passes through breast milk...
PSYCH NURSE: Yeah?
ME: Ergo, it just seems logical that it might be my medication?
PSYCH NURSE: Nope. Dr. Psych says it's not.
ME: Alrighty then.
* * *
WORKING: (To Kiwi-the-cat) Hey, skinny! Isn't he getting skinny, now?
TREV: Yeah. Kiwi, why do you always have dried food on your nose? Better than dried shit, I guess. Isn't it weird how concerned he gets when Mac cries, now?
WORKING: Yeah. Did you see him last night? He leapt right off the bed to go see what you were doing to him.
TREV: And just when I was changing Mac on the change table, Kiwi was doing that standing-on-two-legs and reaching thing, trying to see what's going on. He's very concerned.
WORKING: Maybe Mac's cry has changed?
TREV: Or Kiwi's realized he's a person and not just some sort of bug.
Saturday, October 03, 2009
Working and Trev are sitting in a theater waiting for the movie to start. They are both exhausted.
TREV: (leans over and rests his head on her shoulder) Hmmm. You smell like Value Village.
WORKING: Are you trying to be romantic?
TREV: Your skin is lovely and white, like old gum.
TREV: Your eyes sparkle like the water in the toilet?
WORKING: It's been awhile, hasn't it?
Labels: marital conversations