Diaper Rash, A Literal Pain in the Butt

Remember that time I was all: "Swoooooon. Life is perfect. Life is awesome. Look! Over there! A unicorn just jumped over the most beautiful rainbow and now she is bringing me a winning lottery ticket!"

Well, if nothing else, parenthood is ever changing. And that unicorn? She just turned into a big, nasty, yeasty infection. White and red puss filled vestibules. On my child's hind parts. (Now that I think about it, this whole thing is probably exacerbated by the fact that Evie thinks it's cool to poop SIX TIMES A DAY. So Evie, if you're reading this: just stop that... and the agony will disappear) And, while none of this is particularly glorious to me, the poor baby is in a lot of pain.

Don't worry. I've been overmedicating her. It's any good mother's duty. And no, I am not interested in switching her to cloth diapers. I have already been told by several thousand and umpteen people that they are better for the environment! better for the baby! better for the budget! Well, I refuse to feel guilty about embracing some of life's little conveniences like, ya know, NOT having to wash crap out of a piece of cotton. And did you read that part where Evie poops SIX TIMES A DAY. Yeeeah.

So I'm opting for the easy way out: more medication. And you can say what you will about drug companies.... but those people are magical magic-making magicians! Nystatin is my new BFF. Right after I finish this post we are going to run upstairs, eat bonbons and watch Keeping Up with the Kardashians.

Why? Because in LESS THAN 12 HOURS it can turn an anguished, screaming child into this:

Nystatin, will you be my Valentine? Oh, and her socks in this video? Those socks are further proof that Ev is a genetic clone of her father. I really wish I had a picture to show you how inappropriately high he wears socks. With shorts.

(I'm gonna find a picture)

That big announcement: It's close. Really close. Like a few days away. I know, I said that like two weeks ago... but just keep yo' panties (or whatever you wear/ don't wear/ only wear on special occasions) on!

The Dry Heave is Not a New Dance Move

You know those questions that you don't ask because you don't want to know the answer?

I had one of those on Wednesday.

I was so desperate, in fact, not to know the answer that I carried the question around with me from 6:30am until 3:30pm.

It was the first day of school, and whereas I'm usually all "woohoo! yippie!", I was more like "I WISH FOR DEATH. AND SLEDGEHAMMERS."

I did not want the answer mostly because I knew what the answer would be.

Q: Why does my head feel like a rhino it sitting on top of it?

Q: Why am I expelling big, bloody, phlegm people from my mouth?

Q: Why am I lurching into the toilet between classes?

A: Because, my friend, you, after 19 consecutive happy-go-lucky first days of school filled with rainbows and butterflies and pink pony pee, have the flu.

**yes, Evie is vaccinated; no, obviously I was not. let the finger-pointing and name calling ensue**

So I am drinking Nyquil in such copious amounts that its legality is questionable. But it makes me feel so good...and it turns my dizzies from the imma-gonna-vomit-on-your-face kind to the feels-like-im-jumping-on-the-bed-but-im-not kind. And that is always a good thing. Real good.

Cough, Cough

Ugh... this was the worst Halloween ever.

Graham and I have both been feeling really crappy and, well, it seems as though we have been struck with a case of

THE SWINE FLU

(insert canned laughter here)

I am a big fan of the trendy-social-phenomena costume.

Plus I DESPISE sexy halloween. And what is less sexy than an infectious pig?

Boogie Nights (and mornings... and days...)

Evie has her first cold... and its a doozie. Now, before you go feeling all sorry for me and sending me chocolate (my favorite is hazelnut flavored) and flowers (gerber daisies, please) I should admit to you that there is a bright side to the situation. Remember back when I admitted my nose picking habit? Well, turns out that the joy I get from digging for my own gold TOTALLY translates to picking my kid's nose, too.

It's like a game: the deeper they are in there, the more points you get... plus special bonus awards for size and color. Give me one of those squeezy-bulbs over a video controller any day, thank you.

Little-bit is no child of mine. I mean, she looooovves her baths. She just might be the cleanest newborn on the planet (side note: that may be the last time I get to refer to her as a "newborn" on the blog... since, as of Wednesday, my big THREE-MONTH-OLD will officially be considered a full blown infant. Just rip my heart out and put it through a meat-grinder, why don't you?! This growing-up-too-fast crap is way hard.)

There she is, that little Benedict Arnold... just lovin' that bath. I will do my best to change that. I can just see Evie and me in ten years, sitting on the couch all sweaty from a family run (we will not take a shower for at least 48 hours afterward) picking our noses and letting the dog lick our faces. Ahh... bliss.

An Inconvenient Tooth

When I was in high school my dentist told me that I did not have any wisdom teeth. His fancy x-ray machine told him so. So for the next seven years (literally... seven years) I walked around all: "I'm more evolved than you, and you, and you and especially you... sucka!"

Then, because my body was apparently on "growing-foreign-bodies" overdrive, in addition to sprouting a baby I sprouted two wisdom teeth. Since I couldn't have surgery while pregnant, I just ignored the little mouth-invaders. Now I am not pregnant anymore... but I have had enough doctor-involving predicaments to last me the next five KABAJILLION years.

What are the chances of the whole "extra-teeth-that-you-don't-need-that-can-and-probably-will-reverse-what-four-years-of-braces-corrected" situation going away on its' own? Not good? Crap... I guess I am going to have to do something about this.

This post is hyphen-happy. s-o-r-r-y. -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-...

Two Month Checkup

My child; my little, tiny, six-pound-peanut of a newborn is ten weeks old today... and I am racking my brain trying to figure out who is sitting on the fast-forward button of my life's remote. And how can I get them to stop?

Evie's two-month checkup was yesterday. I have never wanted to physically harm someone so much as I did when that nurse (who I am sure is an otherwise completely pleasant human-being) plunged three needles into my angel's leg. I'll be honest: I cried significantly more than Evie did. She is the bravest little girl in the whole world... which just reminds me, yet again, of how BIG she is getting.

When she came home from the hospital, Evie was 6 pounds... now she is 10 (which puts here in the 28th percentile for weight). She has slept completely through the night for the past five nights in a row, for which my pediatrician tells me I should be counting my lucky stars. Every night and twice on Sundays. I totally am.

Annnnd I am headed back to work today. Completely bitter-sweet because, on the one hand, I am really excited about having an excuse to shower and get dressed and get out of the house to talk to people who can say more than "coo" and "urgggle" (even though those are the sweetest words I have ever heard). On the other hand, though, what if I miss something?!? I mean... not to over-exaggerate here, but if I am not there for the first time she rolls over or sits up by herself the world will completely implode on itself... and that will be absolutely no good for the environment.

Can you believe how much she has changed?!

Evie on the way home from the hospital. 6 pounds, 19 inches long.

Evie on her 10-week-birthday. 10 pounds, 22 inches long.

IUDidn't

**Warning: If you do not want to know some fairly intimate details about my life then do not read this post...k thanks**

Yesterday morning I had an appointment to have a Mirena put it. I had done a lot of research about which type of birth control to use after Evie was born because, well, for those of you who didn't hear me WAILING this from the roof-tops 11 months ago, I was using birth control when I got pregnant. I was never one of those "take it at the same time every day" type of people...and apparently the consequence of that is HAVING A CHILD THAT YOU DID NOT PLAN FOR.

(Evie, if you are reading this eons from now I want you to know something: we are so blessed to have you and you are the best surprise we have ever gotten...that, and at one point in time I was a pretty cool person, so even though you probably think my music, clothes and everything else about me is lame and embarassing...just know it could be worse)

Soooo...I go in to the Doctor yesterday and I am getting prepped and ready. Now, I know that this procedure is not supposed to be painless...I mean...let's be honest...you are having something shoved through your cervix and into your Uterus...so the chances of you being all "Please sir, may I have another" are slim to none. Long story short: there was pain. And bleeding. Lots of bleeding. I left with a NeuvaRing...not a Mirena. Apparently I am completely Gynecologically challenged; anything that can go wrong at the OB-GYN will go wrong so long as I am involved. Apparently my cervix did not dialate enough during labor (since I had a c-section) and the Mirena was absolutely not going to fit.

So instead of worrying about birth control every 5 years, I will be worrying about it every 3 weeks...which still beats the heck out of worrying about it every day.

At the end of the day, though, everything happens for a reason...and the result of my not-so-100%-effective-birth-control is pretty freakin' cute. And cuddly. And I am crazy in love with her.

Who wouldn't be?!

Is anyone out there on the ring? How do you like it?

It's Baaaaaccckk...

First of all, I would like to point out that it is July...not April...so no-one can accuse me of pulling an April Fools joke. I wish that I was joking. I do.

I have been having achy flu-like pains for about 5 days now...and I thought that maybe I was coming down with some kind of cold/sinus/junk. When I woke up Saturday morning with a 103.8 fever and a large, painful mass in my right breast I knew that it wasn't the cold/sinus/junk...it was the devil. The devil has taken up residence in my right boob and he is never going to leave. never.

I called my doctor to tell her that my mastitis was back, and right after I convinced her that I was not kidding she says to me words that you never, ever want a doctor to say to you: "No-one in our practice has ever seen a case of mastitis as virulent as yours. We are seriously considering writing a paper about you for a medical journal". Great. Awesome. Can we get to the part where you prescribe me some medicine so that my publication-worthy-ailment GOES AWAY?!

"Oh. About that. If it is the same strain of infection that you had last time (which it probably is) than there is a good chance that it will not respond to antibiotics." I am crying at this point. Sobbing, really. Feeling as sorry for myself as sorry can be. It is not a proud moment. She says that she will call me in a prescription for Bactrum (which made me feel better last time) but that my infection has probably cultivated a resistance to that, too...my instructions are to call her back in 48 hours if the infection has not gotten better...at which point my options are to wait it out and hope it goes away on its own, or wait it out until it gets bad enough to require surgery. Either way: waiting...it...out... In pain. For a long time. With a 103.8 fever. Sounds great, thanks...I'll take the crappiest option in the world.

So here I am, 72 hours into my antibiotic (which is not working) and I haven't called yet because I do not really want to know what my OB-GYN is going to tell me. I mean, I know what she is going to tell me...but I do not want to hear it. I so badly do not want to hear it that I might just superglue a pair of earmuffs to my head.

So...here's where you come in cyber-friends...please please pray that this infection somehow resolves itself on its own (preferably sooner rather than later) and that no surgery is required (although I have half a mind to cut my boob off myself...If my boob were a person I would never speak to it again after this ordeal).

I will end this post on a good note: my beautiful, smooshy, cabbage-patch-doll of a daughter is a smiling machine.

I mean really...she is so adorable that it hurts (almost as much as having Satan himself in my mammary).

Spring Fever

literally...

I woke up yesterday feeling less than ideal, but I went to school and got through classes. By this morning things had gotten progressively worse, so I decided to go to the walk-in-clinic and see if there was anything serious going on. After 45 minutes of waiting, a quick throat swab and 15 more minutes of waiting I got my answer: STREP THROAT.

I blame Connecticut (insert our daily Communication lesson: this is known as an external attribution - when something bad happens to you, you blame it on the environment...). It is almost April here, and yet between the gale force winds and measly 38 degrees it might as well be the DEAD OF WINTER.

Adding to my misery: I am 30 weeks pregnant and therefore cannot have any of the antibiotics or shots typically used to treat strep throat. What CAN I have, you might ask. Tylenol. And throat lozenges that do not contain eucalyptus. Awesome. I should be better in no time. Not.

This has been a particularly negative post, so I will end it with a knock-knock joke...they make everything slightly more cheery:Knock Knock. Who's there? Norma Lee. Norma Lee who? Normalee I don't go around knocking on doors, but would you like to buy an encyclopedia?

Ha. Ha. Ha.