girlfiend

I have mastitis. On the holiday weekend. I caught it early and it’s not as bad as it could be but it still sucks that I feel tired and run down and sore. I was hoping for a margarita and all I got was a breast infection. Awesome.

The Fiendling (who has recently added grinding and clicking his teeth to his list of ways to show mom he’s unhappy about his baby brother) is also sick. He has a runny nose, a slight cough and had an unfortunate diaper incident that led to an immediate bath and load of laundry. This morning, after waking up once in the middle of the night, he woke up just before five and couldn’t go back to sleep despite my best efforts. I hope he’s feeling better tomorrow. Though I appreciate how cuddly he is when he’s sick (and his brother isn’t around), I don’t appreciate the excess bodily fluids and the night waking.

Tomorrow is my neighborhood’s sad little Memorial Day parade then we’re going to a barbecue at my in-laws’ house. Hopefully we’ll find time to put the flowers and herbs we bought on Mother’s Day in pots. My garden has been seriously neglected.

I am tired and the baby who is peacefully sleeping beside me smells like spit up and cord stump and desperately needs a bath. I don’t want to wake him, but it’s inevitable.

After losing a cookie to the oven gods while taking a tray out, the oven has been setting off the smoke alarm every time I use it. Last night I brilliantly decided to run the cleaning cycle before putting the Fiendling to bed. The smoke alarm went off three times before Boyfiend stopped the cycle.  It’s never set the fire alarm off before. Boyfiend asked if I’ve ever run the cycle in the winter. I can’t remember but I’d rather not cause smoke damage so I won’t try again. Now I have to clean the stupid oven myself.

This morning the Fiendling woke up about 15 minutes before Boyfiend’s alarm was set to go off. I got out of bed to get him but he wanted nothing to do with me. Exhausted, and still have asleep, I closed the stair gates and got back into bed. Boyfiend got up a few minutes later- still 7 minutes before his alarm was set to go off- and I went back to sleep. He woke me up a few minutes before he left for work and brought me a cup of coffee. He left and I guess I dozed off again. When I awoke 2 or 3 minutes later to the sound of his car pulling out of the driveway I looked over and realized the Fiendling had dumped the coffee out in the bed. I leaped out of bed, pulled off the sheets and mattress pad and threw everything in the wash. The coffee had, of course, soaked through the supposedly stain proof, mattress protecting mattress pad and a huge coffee stain was on the pillow top. I tried to clean it with soap, water and a washcloth and it had no effect whatsoever. I moved on to oxyclean and a scrub brush and the stain got lighter, but not much. Then, since I’d had no coffee, I gave up.

Now we’re watching Curious George. He’s eating a waffle. I just finished my toast. The kitchen still reeks of smoke. I wanted to walk to get coffee before toddler gymnastics but it’s wintry mixing outside- I can’t tell from the window if it’s rain or ice.  Awesome.

My mom rented her apartment in the city to a pilot which means that when she’s in town she either has to stay with me or her sister. Last time she stayed with her sister. Last night she stayed with me and she’s here again tonight. I appreciate that she watches the baby while I go to the gym, but I wish she had a place of her own in the city.

I mean she makes me inexplicably angry. All of her mannerisms, her choice of language and the way she speaks, her negativity and irritating habits all just make me want to shake her. When she uses the phrase “wet my whistle” for wanting a drink, keppy(or would it be ceppy?) for head, soldiers for shoulders or nibbles for nipples I can barely contain my rage. I hate that she insists that toys and characters in books (who already have names) be renamed after the Fiendling and our family. Even more I hate that when the Fiendling calls one of his toys by his cousin’s name after her prodding she has to correct him and tell him, “No, your cousin’s hair is dark. This one is Grandmom. That one is your cousin.”

Anyway, she annoys me. And she always manages to fuck something up. I don’t know how or why or even remember if it was always this bad or if it just keeps getting worse, but it’s always something.  This time her stupid dog freaked out.

The last time he was here he growled at the Fiendling then ran away the next day. After Boyfiend found him and my mom retrieved him my mother decided that even though he was a skittish rescue dog who had run away twice and growled at her grandson he was fine and didn’t need any further training. Why did she make the decision not to hire a dog trainer? The dog started to follow her around the house, she no longer had to carry him from room to room. The dog is still terrified of everyone but her. He won’t even eat or drink like an animal, she has to hold the bowl for him while he sits on the sofa.  So crazy.

Last night when she arrived the dog growled at the Fiendling again. Later in the evening he growled at him some more. Today my mom went to the dentist while I took the Fiendling out for a nap. When I got back the dog was just sitting on the sofa. I sat with him for a while until the Fiendling woke up. When I brought the still sleepy, cuddly Fiendling inside the dog growled again. The Fiendling waved at him from across the room. The dog snapped at him. I decided the dog shouldn’t be in the room with all of the toys so I went to move him off of the couch. The stupid dog bit me (he didn’t break the skin). He growled each time I approached him so I just ignored him and kept the Fiendling away. Boyfiend got home not too long after. I explained the predicament. Boyfiend made a move to remove the dog from the couch and the dog snapped even more angrily than before and ran out of the room.

I like dogs, but I don’t like this one. I didn’t like him the first time he growled at my kid and I like him even less now. My mother (and her sister and my cousin) all have this bad habit of dragging their dogs everywhere they go. Uninvited. After she leaves tomorrow my mother’s dog is not allowed in my house.  If she’s staying here she’ll have to find another place for her dog to stay.

The Fiendling’s been going through yet another fucking sleep regression where he won’t go to sleep and he wakes in the night and every time he falls asleep on me or Boyfiend he wakes up as soon as we try to put him down, either on the crib or on our bed. How does anyone ever have more than one kid? Seriously, this is awful. I know there’s an 18 month sleep regression, but he’s 19 and a half months old and the last sleep regression, the 16 month sleep regression no one told me about, lasted more than month.

For the past hour and a half I’ve been trying to get him to sleep and all I want to do is go back to Boyfiend’s birthday party, which was supposed to be a happy hour because I didn’t want to feel bad when I had to go at 8 to put the Fiendling to bed. I knew we couldn’t have a party here because of the stupid sleep thing, so Mix had it at his house and now everyone’s there having fun and I’m here listening to the Fiendling cry. He’s been asleep, snoring even, three times already.

On top of it, there are ants in my kitchen. We went to the pumpkin patch this morning for a hayride and lunch and I got rear-ended on the way home. The Fiendling fell asleep in the car but woke up as soon as the car stopped 25 minutes later and of course, because of this stupid 19 and half month sleep regression he wouldn’t go back to sleep. So I tried to make icing for the birthday cake (I’m not currently enjoying at the party) with a fussy, tired toddler climbing on the fucking window sills. I had chocolate and butter melting in the double boiler when he took off upstairs. I was too far gone to stop what I was doing so I had to wait about three minutes to finish stirring and take it off the heat. When I got upstairs he’d figured out how to unlatch the laptop and had ripped off three keys. One, the up arrow, is still missing. When I got downstairs I realized the kitchen sink was covered in ants. I think they’re coming in through the window.

I called Boyfiend because I was downstairs, didn’t want to go upstairs to get on the up arrow-less laptop to see if it was baking powder or baking soda that’s supposed to keep them out. I got an answer, baking soda, and poured it all over the cracks of the window, killed every ant in sight, washed my hands and the surfaces thoroughly and iced the cake which was a whole other nightmare with a still miserable tired kid.

Hours later, the ants are back in full force. The baking soda didn’t do shit. They’re everywhere. On the stove, in the sink, everywhere, and I’m so grossed out. Of course we don’t have any chemicals in the house because of the fucking environment and baby-proofing, but I did manage to find a small bit of Fantastik near the cat litter so I sprayed the shit out of every ant in sight, hoping any new ones would see their kin dying painfully in a puddle of all-purpose spray.

I suppose it’s time to try to get the Fiendling to sleep again. Wish me luck.

I keep getting email forwards (that I first saw back in 1998) from a woman who I don’t know very well but like very much. I want to tell her she’s not a 60 year old woman in Florida but since I hardly know her I don’t know how to say it. I should also mention that the last time I asked someone to stop forwarding me crap the guy went out of his way to send me forwards with cats and babies just to spite me.

The emails are of the “you will have 15 years of bad luck if you don’t send these blinking fairies to everyone you know,” variety. Others contain very witty statements by women that you’re supposed to forward to other women because it will supposedly make their day. I assure you that my day was not made by reading

Inside me lives a skinny woman crying to get out. But I can usually shut the bitch up with cookies.

The pink emails with bad cartoons (not pictured so as not to blind you) aren’t the worst. The ones that bug me the most are the “current” emails that reek of “pro-American, anti- everybody else, God is good, soldiers are good, Muslims are bad and everyone who thinks Muslims should be free to practice their religion in our country is a communist” sentiment. The ones that bug me are the ones that no one who actually knows me would ever forward unless they were forwarding them so we could make fun of the person who sent them together. Emails like this one:

How the phone should be answered……

Rules for the phone.

How ALL business phones SHOULD be answered!

GOOD MORNING, WELCOME TO THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA .

Press “1″ for English.


Press “2″ to disconnect until you learn to speak English

And remember only two defining forces have ever
offered to die for you,

Jesus Christ

and the American Soldier.

One died for your soul, the other for your freedom.

If you agree……keep it going

I mean seriously, it’s bad enough that I’m Jewish and she’s sending me Jesus dying on the cross, but the racist overtones? And the fucking clip art? I don’t know if it will work with my cut and paste job here, but the actual email has blinkies.  What decade is this?

I keep deleting them because I like her, but the more emails I get make me wonder if it’s a friendship worth pursuing.

I haven’t been writing much because there’s not a whole lot going on. We’ve been back to my mom’s house a couple of times and she’s still crazy but she hasn’t been making me crazy enough to warrant a long, ranting post.

Things that bother me but not enough to make my head spin include

• Smoking in the house because she doesn’t want me to know she hasn’t actually given up smoking
• Dressing the Fiendling in plaid overalls then spending an hour telling him how handsome he looks because she dressed him and his mom never dresses him well
• Giving the Fiendling shrimp and saying, “What a coup! He’s eating shrimp. Can you believe he’s eating something so exotic? See I told you he’d like what I gave him.” Then he promptly scraped the chewed shrimp out of his mouth and handed it to me.
• After me saying, “He doesn’t want it.” she cut a single wedge out of an uncut melon, handed it to the Fiendling who didn’t want it, and said, “Will you clean that up for me?”
• She gave the Fiendling a whole, uncut grape and let him walk around with it. Hello, choking hazard.
• When watching the baby she often lets him wander into other rooms unattended.
• To get my attention from halfway down the block she’ll yell, “Girl? Girlfiend? Girlfiend? Girl? Girlfiend? Girlfiendina? Girl? I ignore here and she eventually mutters “nevermind.”
• To get my attention from halfway down the block after deciding she has something she wants to do she yell, “Mom? Mommy? Mom? Mom? Mommy? Mommy? Mom?” at which point Boyfiend will usually respond.

I don’t know. Despite the fact that her supervision is lax on occasion the Fiendling has suffered no injury around her and clearly adores her as much as she adores him. It’s nice that this summer she’s able to spend time with him and give me a bit of a break. Because I appreciate her babysitting I didn’t mention that I knew she was smoking in the house. Instead I stole her matches and threw out her cigarettes when she wasn’t looking.

I believe I’ve mentioned before that squirrels are fuckers. I hate them. Lower Merion has a deer hunt, my backyard should have a squirrel hunt. This time they’ve eaten my cute little not even as big as ping pong ball eggplant. I may have to buy some fox urine. I can’t believe I just typed that and meant it.

I feel sort of pathetic for being so obsessed with this, but I’m at my mom’s shore house and shore means bathing suit so it’s on my mind.

After the great stomach flu incidents I’ve gained back some of the weight I lost. Not a lot. Just 5 or 6 pounds. But those pounds mean that two pairs of shorts don’t fit comfortably and I have a rule that I absolutely refuse to even attempt to wear something that doesn’t fit comfortably. So for shorts I’m down to two pairs I bought from Target on a whim (that fit okay, but not well by any stretch of the imagination) and last year’s way too big post-pregnancy shorts. I have one casual, flowy (yet totally see through) skirt, one long linen way-too wrinkly skirt, and a denim skirt that’s not flattering so I won’t wear it any more. I have one pair of denim capris that are way too hot, but I wear them almost every day and one pair of khaki stretch capris from Old Navy that still fit, but are super-low rise so I only wear them when a shirt of the appropriate length is clean. And almost none of my shirts are long enough. All of the pre-pregnancy stuff is still way too small on top and I’m beginning to think I just wore a lot of belly shirts because my belly was once toned and flat. Now? It’s not toned and flat enough for me to be okay with belly shirts. I have three new t-shirts of appropriate lengths, a couple of nicer t-shirts to wear out, and four long tank tops.

Now that I’ve listed it it’s not a terrible selection, but it’s tough to go to playgroup once a week and think, oh shit, I wore this exact outfit last week.

And the extra weight? I’ve decided not to lose. I thought about it and even stopped eating carbs after noon one day. But then I figured that I may try to get pregnant again at some point and what’s the point of suffering when I’m still nursing? So I’m not buying any new clothes. And I’m not dieting. And let’s hope I do decide to get pregnant soon because tell me internet, what’s up with the maternity clothes? Seriously. The fashion, yes, I said fashion, is maternity. I went to a college graduation party and I was very worried that EVERY WOMAN THERE was pregnant until I realized that they were all just wearing shirts or dresses with empire waists. Look at this. And this. And this. Because, really, they all look like they could be maternity clothes and that’s not right, because when I was pregnant I would have killed for cute, regular, non-maternity clothes that were forgiving enough to be warn as maternity. So if you’re pregnant, you’re really lucky. And if you’re not, wear something that doesn’t make people wonder if that’s a bump you’re hiding.

I didn’t sleep well last night. I fell asleep around 11.30, but it was a light sleep, the kind where you’re not quite sure if you’re thinking or dreaming. Then the Fiendling woke up at 1.30 and I went in to nurse him and fell asleep in the glider, not waking up until 3. I slept for real after that but he was up again at 6.30 for the day leaving me exhausted. By the time we left the playground around 1.30 this afternoon I just wanted to go to the Mexican place nearby for a veggie burger with cheese fajita style and a very large margarita. Instead I went home and made hummus and falafel, swept and mopped the kitchen floor, and weeded the front garden.
After his nap and a snack and after we picked up the first box from our farm share, the Fiendling helped me spin the salad greens for a bit. Out of nowhere he decided he was hungry and he became inconsolable. I wrestled him into his booster chair and offered him a variety of foods which he promptly rejected through his wails. Eventually he calmed down when the cheddar bunnies appeared. I opened the fridge to get him something real to eat and he thought he wanted everything he saw but really wanted nothing. For dinner he ate a handful of noodles with mixed veggies and tomato sauce. Then he threw what was left and indicated he wanted the noodles with mixed veggies with no tomato sauce. Then he threw that on the floor. He pointed to the falafel and was outraged when I told him I had to cook it first. He thought he wanted the red Thai curry but after a few bites of broccoli realized he didn’t. He made it through one and half strawberries before deciding they weren’t what he wanted. The falafel, once cooked, appeased him momentarily but soon joined the rest of the rejected food items on the floor. At this point I made myself a margarita.

Margarita in hand I gave him a bowl of baby food (Earth’s best plums, bananas and rice) and a spoon and he was happy. He ate most of it with his hands and cried for more. I tried to spoon more into the bowl but he just wanted the jar so I gave it to him and cleaned up a bit while he ate out of the tiny jar with his tiny hands. To buy some more time to finish my drink I gave him a chunk of carrot cake which he covered in baby food before eating. Eventually I cleaned up everything but the floor around him, cleared his tray of all projectiles, wiped him down, shook him out over the sink, and occupied him with his shape sorter while I cleaned the floor as best I could in the few minutes I had.

He’s now bathed and asleep and I’m showered and exhausted and instead of going to bed I’m writing this. Boyfiend’s still not home and I’m debating mixing another margarita. But I think I’ll just go to sleep.