Quiche

My quiche was fucking awesome. It was also fucking awesome as lunch today. Go me.

Ambition?

I just made a quiche. I've never made quiche before; in fact, I always thought I hated it until the summer of '99 when I finally tried it on one of my European adventures. But I decided the other day that I wanted quiche, and tonight I finally had a chance to make it. I made a cheese and bacon quiche with an arugula salad and grape vinaigrette. I tried the vinaigrette, and it's a little too vinegary, but not terrible. I'm interested in seeing how it works with the arugula. I'm waiting until Husband comes home from class to try the quiche. I hope it works out, because I do love me some quiche, and 10 p.m. is entirely too late to have to deal with a kitchen failure.

Baby No Sleep

Regardless of bedtime, my child will not sleep past 5 or 5:30. He's cheerful and ready to play, and I'm bitchy and fighting a massive headache.

Coming this holiday season: Teeth

Baby's been working on a tooth for a week now. This is exciting for me because now he occasionally accidentally bites. I didn't expect a bite from a baby to hurt, but it sort of did. I thought he'd be crankier, but he's really been very cheerful. He's usually very cheerful. He's done this whole week without Tylenol or Baby Orajel. I have the awesomest baby ever.*













*Now that I've written these words, they will come back to bite me in the ass and he will no longer be cheerful teething Baby, but will be angry teething Baby. For the next 17 years.

I still feel sick

What I ate yesterday:

Breakfast 1: Bowl of Fruity Pebbles
Breakfast 2: 3-egg omelet with cheese and scallions
1 piece of bacon
cheesy oven potatoes
1 can Cherry Coke
Lunch: 1 can of Spaghetti-os
1/4 bag of Tostidos
1 can Cherry Coke
Snack: 1/4 "medium" bag of M&Ms
Dinner: Turkey
Gravy
Oatmeal Roll
Stuffing with bacon
Dried Cherry/Cranberry Compote
Mashed Potatoes
Corn pudding
1 glass red zinfendel
Dessert: 2 bites apple pie
1 mug mulled red wine/apple cider

I make poor choices sometimes.

We're done

I didn't make it a year. Despite my bitching and moaning about nursing Baby, I really wanted to make it a year. I really wanted to do what's best for him because I am certain that there will be many times in his life that I don't do what's best for him. The no-turning back, no more discussions about this came on Thursday night while I was at cooking class. I ate some peanut brittle and that sealed the decision.
Husband and I had already made the decision earlier that day. I'd gone to my doctor because I had a cold that wasn't going away. She wanted to put me on antibiotics, and since we have some penicillin allergies in my family, I told her I didn't want penicillin. She prescribed something else and then told me that there wasn't enough information to know conclusively what the drug does during lactation. But, it's probably okay, she said. Here's the thing. Husband and I tend to be somewhat laid back people, but we don't do well with "it's probably okay," at least not when it comes to our child.
I'm a lot sadder about this than I expected to be. I've hated nursing, except when it allowed me to get away with reading or watching TV or playing online. But to know that it's never going to happen again is making me strangely sad. I'm not sure why. I've felt more bonded to Baby when we've played or when I rock him before bed or when we nap, rather than when he nursed. I'm going to chalk it all up to hormones.
I haven't had any alcohol yet, nor have I eaten any peanut butter, but the peanut brittle from cooking class is long gone.

The Promised Pictures

Here are the pictures from our hospital adventure two weeks ago.


Needing oxygen Baby



The Baby Cage


Subdued Baby in Hospital Gown


No Longer Subdued Baby Crawling Out of Hospital Gown





Standing Up Baby

I am awesome, or My Dumbassedness

The other night I had my semi-weekly diaper change scheduled. I stripped Baby down threw away his diaper, reached for the diapers on the shelf and found that Not Me hadn't replaced them, meaning I had a neck-ed Baby wiggling on a changing table and nothing to protect me from a potential stream of pee or explosion of poo. I stood Baby in his crib and prayed, please, God, don't let him pee, and sprinted into the other room, grabbed a handful of diapers and sprinted back into Baby's room.
Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, I breathed upon returning to a pee and poo free room. "Baby, why is your boy part wet?" I asked. Yes, I actually said boy part, and I know I should have used the proper terminology. "Maybe you're about to pee," I answered. "I better hurry." Then I noticed the floor about three feet away from Baby's crib. The wet floor. The wet, sticky floor. "Well, kiddo, that's quite the range you've got there. Please don't point that thing at me," I told Baby and sighed.
I diapered Baby and told him never to do something like that again. I wiped up the floor and stripped the sheet from his bed. Since it was close to bedtime, I had to remake the bed. I wiped the mattress and left Baby crawling on the floor while I sprinted to find a new sheet. I was gone approximately 30 seconds. This is what I found upon my return:



Those clothes on the floor? They weren't there when I left.

I made it to level 9

This Traveler IQ challenge is brought to you by the Web's Original Travel Blog

4.96

I mentioned on here the other day that I ran a race this past Saturday. What I didn't mention is that this was a major accomplishment for me. I can't run. I suck at running. I can run 6/10 of a mile before I have to walk, and usually when I run I want to vomit. I also hadn't been able to exercise for about a month due to me being sick and Baby being sick so much. I was really nervous.
For the week leading up to the event, I was worried that I wouldn't be able to do the race, that my cold would just kick my ass too much. When my cold (found out today NOT a cold but bronchitis, awesome) got slightly better I worried that I would come in last or that everyone else would be skinnier than me. I worried that I would vomit on the course or that I'd be kicked out of the race for illegally using my ipod.
None of those worries were founded. I got to the race on Saturday morning and saw some people wearing jeans. When I saw that I felt better. I felt less better when the race began and the people wearing jeans passed me.
I run for the endorphins. I exorcise the demons that haunt my head all the time. The first mile or so was spent getting rid of the demons. I thought about people who've hurt me and prayed for them and prayed that I would stop thinking of them someday. I thought about things that have hurt me and prayed that I would stop thinking of them someday. I thanked God for Husband and Baby and that's when I knew I was set to get this thing done.
I wanted to quit several times, but each time I wanted to quit I thought of how Husband and Baby would be waiting for me when I finished. I thought maybe Husband would be proud of me for doing this and how I'd get to hold my sweet baby very soon. I couldn't wait. I thought of how I was doing this for Baby-to model an active, semi-healthy lifestyle that involves exercise and taking care of myself. I thought of how it was okay that I was doing this alone-I do most things alone these days (these days being the last 3 1/2 years)-because even though I was alone, I was still doing something. And I'd see Husband and Baby very soon. I passed a makeshift pet-a-pet zoo towards the end of the course, I thought that I would take Baby to see the animals and I would take a picture of Baby fascinated with the animals. I couldn't wait. I crossed the finish line and saw my mother with no Husband and no Baby. They weren't there. They hadn't come to see me. I was crushed and told my mother I was fine, in the curt tone I reserve only for people who know me really well.
Husband told me that he'd felt sick and thought it best to stay home. He said it was okay that he stayed home because I'd been saying all week that he didn't have to come. Clearly, he's never met a girl before.
I have a souvenir medal and my race number. I got an email today with a link to pictures of me on the course. You can see me in all my fat dorkdom. My favorites are the ones where I can see me crossing the finish line and someone else crossing the finish line after me. I didn't come in last! Go me. My dad, who's in Africa still, sent me flowers. I love getting flowers, so I was excited.
I think doing races might be addicting. My uncle's girlfriend said she does them because it helps motivate her to exercise if she's got something to train for. Baby and I are planning on doing a 10k up in NoVa in December. This time I might try to coordinate my headband better.

Mmmmm...4 lbs of bacon...

A few months ago I made another babystep into adulthood and joined Costco. I reasoned that it would be cheaper to buy diapers, formula, and 15 gallon vats of olive oil. The first time I went to Costco, Baby and I strolled around the store for 90 minutes, both of us equally mesmerized by the sheer volume of people and bulk products. We came out of that trip $96 poorer, having acquired a 19 pack of dry erase markers, a 100 calorie bulk snack pack, 3,000 Clorox wipes, and 6 boxes of gallon sized freezer bags.
We ran out of formula last night, and I have promised my students a goldfish (the snack that smiles back) party, so I knew it was time for another trip to Costco. I loaded a fussy Baby into the car and drove the 15 minutes past Target, Sam's Club, and Wal-Mart. I circled the parking lot, finally finding a space next to the cart return. As a parent with an infant, a spot next to the cart return is more important to me than a close spot.
I forgot to switch cars with Husband, so I was stuck in my we don't need to get a family friendly car, Husband, it'll be like six years before we have a kid Honda Civic coupe. My first trip to Costco was also in this car and it took some Tetris-like maneuvering to get everything to fit. I was pissed that I'd managed to come to Costco in this car once again. One of the problems with my super fun Civic coupe is that it's a two door. In order to get Baby in or out of the car I have to fold the seat forward, push it all the way up, and yank really hard on the release button on the carseat. At this point, the carseat doesn't budge, and I repeat the process, only this time I brace my foot against the door jamb and pull again, or push, if I'm trying to get him in. Then I find myself actually hunching in the car in a space that's not big enough for both me and a babyseat. I brace myself against the back of the passenger seat and yank until the carseat comes flying at me and hits me on the head. True story. I go through this every day when I come home from picking Baby up from daycare. So I was not thrilled to have to repeat the process, this time with a 400 pack of Gatorade or something like that.
I snagged a cart from the convenient cart return and headed inside. Baby was fussing and squirming, so I started singing him songs like this one, which I made up while he was in the hospital. I made it up because he had this thing on his toe which turned it red. The tune is the same as Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer:
Baby, the red toed baby,
Had a very shiny toe.
And if you ever saw it,
You would even say it glowed (like a light bulb)
All of the other babies
Used to laugh and call him names (like Toe-noccio).
They never let poor Baby,
Join in any baby games (like Monopoly).
Then one foggy Christmas Eve
Santa came to say (ho, ho, ho)
"Baby, with your toe so bright,
Won't you guide my sleigh tonight?"
Then how the babies loved him,
As they shouted out with glee (Yippie!)
Baby, the red toed baby,
You'll go down in his-tor-y (like Colombus!)

My song held Baby long enough for me to find the baby formula-not the kind we normally use, but if we're getting an extra 12 ounces for $5 more, he can switch-and throw it in the cart.
Diapers were more of a struggle for me. They had Huggies, which we use, but they had snug fit, not natural fit, and I wasn't sure my Civic had room for 300+ diapers in it. I decided I'd think about it while I found my other purchases.
Husband had asked for snacks, so I wandered through the snack food aisle. I had no direction and a Baby to distract, so it wasn't my most focused snack search. I came up empty handed and before I knew better, I was in the kitchenware section.
I love kitchenwares-overly specific gadgets, storage units, canisters. I really wanted some canisters, but I didn't see any. My kitchen isn't really big enough for canisters anyway. I almost bought a 48 piece set of food storage containers for when I actually get around to making homemade baby food. I talked myself down from that ledge and stumbled upon a selection of tea kettles. I love me a hot cuppa, and I haven't had one since before I got knocked up. I recently decided to part with my beloved electric kettle, and I haven't really felt like I should spend the money on a new stovetop one. But here I was, in Costco, staring at $18 tea kettles. I surveyed the selection. Two colors, blue and red. I chose red and picked one up. Then, I noticed a little sticker on the box: sell by Nov. 11. The tea kettle was expired! Fuck that, I thought. I'm not buying an expired tea kettle. I put it back for some other sucker to purchase and found one that did not have an expiration date sticker on it.
Focus, I told Baby. We've got to focus. We beelined for the food section, determined to find Husband some snacks and Baby some baby food. I wandered through that fucking food section 10 times. I disgustedly looked at a 4lb pack of bacon. Who would eat that? Who would be able to eat bacon after seeing it in 4lb form? I thought. Oh yeah, Husband would. Maybe I should get him 96 mini cream puffs. He likes mini cream puffs. I like mini cream puffs, too. Oooooh, maybe they have mini quiches, and instead of making home made mac and cheese for dinner, I can make mini quiches. Oh, yum.
At the end of this stream of consciousness, I found myself needing to calm an exceedingly fussy Baby and staring at The Cheesecake Factory section. This section sold frozen Cheesecake Factory cheesecakes. The box informed me that each cheesecake weighed 3.5 lbs. I asked myself, do I really need 3.5 lbs of cheesecake? I answered myself, why yes, I do need 3.5 lbs of cheesecake.
I didn't get the cheesecake. At that point Baby only wanted to be held, and I discovered that holding a baby while pushing a shopping cart leads to other Costco shoppers seeing my cha-chas, as the weight of Baby and no hands free equals low cut shirt becoming even lower cut. Good times were had by all.
I made one last frantic search for baby food. Nothing. I sprinted up to the register and put my one can of formula and one tea kettle on the belt. I asked the cashier if they sold baby food, and she directed me towards Sam's Club, right down the road. Maybe next year. I'm not shelling out another $50 just so I can get a three gallon container of mushed up green beans.
After I got home and put Baby to bed, I turned on the stove and placed my new kettle on top. 30 minutes later, my kitchen smelled like gas mixed with homemade mac and cheese and the water still hadn't boiled. I'm still waiting for the water to boil...

The Race

I ran (walked) an 8K today. I will tell more about it when I am not on a painfully slow computer.

Quittin' Time?

People with boy parts of feel like what is coming next might be TMI, you've been warned...

So I haven't nursed Baby in two days. Two days ago, I did my semi-weekly diaper changing and noticed red spots that looked an awful lot like the red spots he had when we got thrush. No fucking way I'm doing this again, I thought, and decided to give him a bottle. When Husband came home from class I told him about the rash and my decision to withhold the boob until after his doctor's appointment the next day. Husband agreed that was sound logic and supported my decision. We discussed whether or not we might be over the whole breastfeeding thing. The pediatrician confirmed the thrush, and I am taking aggressive measures to combat it. I'm not nursing Baby until the rash in his diaper region is cleared up.
The problem lies in that if I don't nurse, my milk might dry up, and we won't make it to the year-mark.
Cause it's me, I'm very conflicted over this. We're supposed to go a year, which means I've got about 4 1/2 months left. It's the best thing for him, and I very much want to do what is best for him. I keep telling myself that. On the other hand, I'm tired of wrestling him every time I try to nurse him. He takes his bottles really well now and just doesn't seem interested in nursing. The pediatrician says it's cause he's not feeling good rather than him trying to wean himself. The hospital said he is trying to wean himself.
To be perfectly honest, I'm kind of over the whole breastfeeding thing. To be even more honest, I've been over it from the beginning. Breastfeeding has been a lot easier for me than it has been for a lot of people, but it's never been something I've enjoyed. I don't feel like I really bonded with Baby because of this. I've bonded with him more by holding him or napping with him or playing with him. And I'm dying for a glass of wine and peanut butter crackers. Not at the same time. I'd love for someone else to occasionally put him to bed.
So Husband and I decided we are going to wait until the thrush clears up and see what happens. If I dry up, I dry up. I'll be gleefully drowning my sorrows in a bottle of pinot grigio.

Willpower

I spent some time in Walgreen's today picking up Baby's latest prescription. I wandered to the pharmacy counter by way of the hair color aisle and was struck with a very strong urge to color my hair red. I haven't colored my hair red since December of 2002, when an aunt of mine, someone I'm no longer associated with, did it for me one Christmas. I haven't colored my hair in general since right before I got married, and I swore I'd never color my hair from a box again.
But there I was, holding the box of Garnier in one hand, a squirmy Baby in the other arm, trying to stifle the urge to become a redhead sometime tonight. I wasn't even going to tell anyone. I was just going to do it.
I'm not sure where the urge came from. I think it was part boredom, part a rebellious streak I've found myself having since Baby was born. The rebellious streak manifests itself in really small ways. When someone has to yield to me at a yield sign, I yell "YIELD, MOTHERFUCKER." I get the urge to take something-like a pack of gum-from a store (I never do). Tonight I had to grab my bag from the car, and as I walked to the street, I thought, I could just leave. Leave and not come back for awhile. It didn't matter that Husband was waiting on me to help give Baby his nebulizer treatment and put him to bed. It didn't matter that I didn't have my wallet, ID, or phone. I had the keys and 1/2 a tank of gas. I could have just left. So I think that's where the urge to dye my hair red came from.
I didn't purchase the hair color just then. I figured that I'd need to come back to actually pick up the prescription, so I could just get it then, along with baby Tylenol, baby Florastor, and various other baby things. I also wondered a little about the dangers of the chemicals, especially while breastfeeding. I knew I had to make a stop at the fundamentalist Christian grocery store, and I thought maybe I'd look in their organic section to see if they had something henna based. I also thought I could duck into the organic natural food market across the street from Walgreen's to see what they had.
The whole time I was debating this, Baby fussed and squirmed in my arms. Eventually I put the box of Garnier down and headed to the pharmacy counter. I dropped off the prescription, wrestled a socksless Baby into his carseat and wondered why I hadn't just walked the 1/2 block to the grocery store. Once in the grocery store, I headed straight for the organic hair color aisle, scrutinized the four choices, sang "Disco Inferno" to a screaming Baby, and decided to focus on my actual task-buying groceries for dinner. I left the grocery store without any red hair dye and headed back to Walgreens.
Back at Walgreens I meandered through the hair care aisle. I checked the warning and cautions and walked to the pharmacy counter with "Pomegranate" in my hand. I thought about $9.99 price tag and felt guilty. I bitch and moan all the time about our lack of money and how we really can't afford for me to spend $9.99 on something so vain. I told myself it's just $10, so why not. My superego and my id argued back and forth about the expense and the vanity and the innate selfishness in this desire. I really really really wanted to color my hair.
My hair is still dishwater brown. Instead of paying $10 for hair coloring, I got a temporary fix by purchasing a tube of Carmex, which I hadn't done since early college. I still want to color my hair, but I can hold out a little longer.

I'm not sure why it's funny, but it is...

Husband has made this the background of his mac.

Our Hospital Adventure

We spent the better part of the last few days in the hospital. What began as a phone call to the after hours pediatrician ended four days later with Husband, me, and Baby ready to gauge each other's eyes out after being trapped in a hospital room waaaaaaaaaaaaay too long.
On Saturday evening, Baby spiked a very high fever. On the advice of my mother in law, via Jen, I called the pediatrician. She said to go to the ER. I didn't freak out or anything, and Husband and I both figured the doctor would see Baby, give him some antibiotics, and send us on our way. That was our naive thinking at 7:30 pm. At 12:30 am (really 1:30 am, but the clocks had been set back) I was being vomited on while in an elevator going to the 6th floor of the hospital-the pediatric wing.
The nurse made up beds for us-chairs that unfolded, a sheet, a crappy pillow and blanket, and examined Baby. She took his blood pressure and temperature and attached something to his toe that monitored the amount of oxygen he was taking in. She put him on oxygen. Husband found us food from the wing's freezer, and we inhaled Healthy Choice dinners. Eventually we all fell into a restless sleep.
We spent Sunday in the hospital. Husband left at dawn to take a shower and returned at lunchtime. I spent the morning reading and holding a sleeping Baby. After lunch, I left to shower and purchase jeans, since the ones I was wearing were covered in vomit and other Baby goo and pretty much had to be destroyed.
We got a roommate Sunday night. She was a two year old who also had RSV and apparently liked to shriek and cry. She and her mother got to the hospital just as Husband and I were finishing our dinner of crappy Chinese food. Baby and two-year old stared and stared at each other. The two-year old seemed very interested in Baby, and he seemed interested in her. Husband left me and went home to sleep. I lay in bed and cried.
The hospital's rule for going home was that Baby had to be off of the oxygen for 24 hours before we could go home. We hoped that he'd make it through Sunday night without needing the oxygen, but on Monday morning, the nurse woke me, apologized, and said we'd have to stay another night. Husband showed up, and I left to shower and pick up some stuff from work. We spent another mind-numbing day in the hospital. Husband got to leave because he had class. Our roommate got released; her mom sprinted out of the hotel room. We encouraged Baby over and over to stay off of the oxygen that night. Husband woke me around 1 am, telling me he had to go home since we were getting a new roommate. He left, and I called him to tell him I thought he should stay in the lobby with the other dads. He disagreed. I lay in my bed and cried. The roommate, a three month old baby, had a mama who looked to be about 19. She was MIA most of the night while her child cried and cried and my child then cried and cried, and I got a few 45 minute stretches that night.
Baby made it through the night, and we made it home yesterday morning. I am exhausted. Baby is cranky, sleepier than usual, not eating, but other than that, back to normal. Let's not let this happen again.

Yippie!

We are home with a much better, although somewhat sleepy/cranky Baby. I will give a full update tomorrow, I hope.

I've failed...

I didn't get to post yesterday. I will not post again today. I don't actually know when I will get to post again, but it's unlikely that it will happen before my kid leaves the hospital.

30 Days of Thanks

I joined a group called 30 Days of Thanks. It's purpose is to post something you're thankful for each day this month. I missed yesterday. I guess I'll go with the obvious today-Husband and Baby.
I also decided to try this with my students. We are writing our names and something we are thankful for on die-cut leaves each day this month. They seemed into it, so I guess I'm thankful for that as well.

And I've posted

We are now the proud owners of a nebulizer.

I swear, it's not a cop out!

Baby is sick again. I've been projectile vomited on twice in the last hour and in between had to listen to his tortured cries as Husband and I gave him a nebulizer treatment. I have 20 spelling tests to grade, 20 reading quizzes to grade, 20 dictations to grade, and 2 story questions to grade. I've not yet eaten dinner, and I inhaled lunch. At noon. I've eaten a twizzlers and half of a fun size hershey bar. My hand still hurts like a bitch. I can't type on here tonight.