And behold, Nathan was introduced to Bjork. And it was good.

Ya know...you'd think with all the squirting Lola does because of her Addison's that I'd be used to gratuitous poop by now. Gratuitous poop is my new descriptor for poop that shows up where it shouldn't. Or at least, where *I* think it shouldn't. Over the years, Lola has versed me in many, many different kinds, consistencies, and locales for her gratuitous poop in various forms and with various pungent odors. I've pretty much gotten used to it, and assumed that all that practice would make caring for a child's excretory habits a snap.

Yeah. Not so much.

Before I get into this, let me just say that I shake my head at myself almost daily at how my perspective has changed on my life, and how things that were once important to me are now just a whisper of a past long gone. Be it either a lack of access to such things, or, in some cases, I've grown out of those things all together. For the better, I sometimes tell myself.

So anyway, with a toddler dangling from my extremities at all hours of the day now, my focus is very...focused. On kid stuff. And having a very sick toddler makes for an even more focused field of vision...bordering on tunnel vision. So, with all the antibiotics we're pumping into little dude right now, he is producing massive amounts of diarrhea. Massive. It's temporary, thank God, but damn, no one ever told me antibiotics did this. I remember taking a round of tetracycline or something in highschool to clear up my face, and I think I farted a lot for about a week...but it was nothing like what's been happening with Nathan and his poor unsuspecting shorts.


We've gone through an entire box of diapers this week. That's like 70 diapers or something! Quick, someone do the math! He's pooping...yes POOPING about once an hour, and I can usually hear it across the room when it happens. It kind of sounds like punching a distracted duck in the neck.


So, his poor little arse is chapped, and the house reeks of feces and baby wipes. I gave up having him wear pants for a few days because I was having to rip them off so often. So, this morning was his masterpiece. His ultimate expression of himself rectally. The apex in diarrhea composition. All week, he's been waking up on cue right around the time his meds have worn off, and mommy has gone in with some more Gatorade and his next round of ibuprofen to ease him back to sleep. This morning was no different, and I expected to find a slightly annoyed irritable little man waiting for his morning Gatorade ibuprofen cocktail. I should have known something was awry when I noticed he was giggling.

Why giggling? Maybe the feeling in his footie jammies felt squishy and funny. A new experience for little man AND for momma. Perhaps he was visualizing what the look would be on mommy's face when she realized what he had done. Perhaps he was, on some level, proud of his new pants encased creation. I've read that at this stage, kids are still possessive of their poop because it's something they have control over and consider "theirs". Ew.


The room REEKED when I came in. He had obviously been in said state for a while for it to have been so strong smelling. I picked him up carefully expecting to have to change a full diaper, but nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to experience. Thank GOD he was wearing his thick fleece jammies that acted as a kind of containment unit. I unzipped him and immediately cried out to my personal lord and savior...I'm sure the Big Guy was already aware of what had happened...I'm sure the EPA knew about it too and had already alerted him. His entire left leg of his jammies was full of diarrhea. Seriously. The whole thing! It was as if he didn't even HAVE a diaper on and someone had stuck a hose down his jammies and piped the stuff in. I cried out to J-Unit a few more times to make sure he was overseeing the clean up process, and immediately dragged Nathan into the tub for the hosing down.


I took his diaper off and that too was full. FULL. Like...FULL of liquid Nathan remnants. HOW was that possible? How could one little 25lb kid have 3 gallons of feces inside him just waiting to be released? I was speechless.


And Nathan was still giggling.


So, mommy finished hosing him down, washed everything, rinsed everything that could be rinsed, and set out to de-stink the upstairs. His bed clothes, jammies, and other assorteds are bleaching happily in the washer as we speak, and mommy is recovering mentally.


So... this is my life now. No more making fun of freaks on the El train on my way to happy hour after work, no more Ironman training stories, no more work offsites in mountain getaways, no more Halloween parties in Vegas. Nope, welcome to my toddler centric, home bound, mommy-fied, poop and puke filled existence. Strangely though...I'm ok with it. Probably helps that Nate's so effing cute, though.





LT sez: Pass the toilet paper.

And the hits just keep on comin'.

I hate to sound like the hypochondriac complaining cat lady type, but damn this month has not been very kind to my family's health. Dan and I are all recovered from the stomach flu madness, and Nathan seemed to be perky a few days after his yack attack, and then came Wednesday. Nathan started running a fever and by Saturday he was sick, screaming, and well... screaming. Turns out little dude has a double ear infection AND is getting 4, count em 1,2,3,4 molars. All at the SAME TIME.

I've never had an ear infection, but I hear told that they can put most grown adults on their butts writhing in pain. Imagine an 18 month old who barely understands anything trying to make sense of why his head feels like it's going to explode. [Insert mommy whimper here]

I feel so bad for my poor little guy. All I can do when he's throwing himself at the furniture is hold him and try to get him to focus on something else. Sometimes it works. Sometimes the coffee table loses a leg.

Dan and I are keeping a steady stream of ibuprofen, Tylenol, and antibiotics in him to help manage the pain/cooties. I have set my alarm to get up at night and give him medicine on schedule to ensure he doesn't wake up crying needing it before I get there. I've never seen him like this.

There I am done aching for him now. On to other things...

I cannot wait until this over so I can like... go somewhere. I went to WalMart on Sunday to pick a few things up...you know AFTER I took Nathan to the urgent care clinic? Sure, WalMart was probably THE best place to take him afterward to get his prescription filled. It got me out of the house though, with which I have become most intimately acquainted of late.

Hmmm...well in other baby news, you know the whole pregnancy thing that's been happening in the background while I've been a victim? Yeah, so baby Isabelle/Lucy/Kathryn/Marie (we haven't settled on a name yet) is still breech. That means her feet are down and her head is up. Although she still has some time to turn before the cut off which is 36ish weeks. That's when most of the room runs out and the doctor/me make the call on whether to try to turn her while still in the womb (ack!) or schedule a C-section. I guess feet first deliveries make for a very tough labor and can hurt baby and/or momma. Double ack. The turning process is supposed to be pretty painful and they'd have to dope me up. But it's out patient and I'd be home that evening. A C-section is not painful at all, but the recovery time is, and I wouldn't be able to hold Nathan for several weeks afterward. Plus they cut into your abdominal wall. That just sounds nasty to me. Although maybe I could ask them to tighten my tummy up a little while they were in there.

So anyway, each time she kicks me in my bladder, I am now nervous about more than just involuntarily pissing my pants. Now I also have to think about the very real possibility of having major surgery 'cuz homegirl won't get with the program.

The good news is though, I can eat carbs again. I'm tired of bitching about things that are or aren't wrong with me though, so I'll save it for another time. Know this though: I am once again a shining picture of sweetness and light, now that I can have my pasta and the occasional dessert. And my family loves me for it.

I think.

LT doesn't have any cats

Good morning! Well, our family survived our first bout of the stomach flu. Go us! Dan came home Friday night and made a B-line for the bathroom, and then it was on like Donkey Kong for the next 5 hours. We made the call to take him to the hospital when his throat started bleeding from all the scream vomiting. It was a wise choice, and they had him comfortable after about an hour with IV fluids, Zofran, and a little Morphine. We were able to leave shortly thereafter.

Sunday afternoon I got Nathan up from his nap. He seemed fine burbling, babbling, and saying his occasional word or two, when suddenly he was projectile vomiting down my shirt the remains of his chicken finger/french fry/carrot juice lunch. All of it. It went down my shirt and promptly filled my bra. FILLED it. Another mom stripe earned. Why is it that all the stripes I've earned so far involve body fluids that aren't mine?


[Shakes head] Anyway, so Nate went on barfing for a few more hours. In between sessions, though, he was relatively perky and in good spirits. Just a little subdued. He sat in my lap and we watched cartoons until it was time for bed. I let him sleep with me in my bed so I could keep an eye on him/comfort him if he ralphed again. Dan slept in the other room to give us more space. Nathan woke up a lot, but was in good spirits every time. Come morning he was anxious to get out of bed and start exploring and getting into things again.



Then came Monday. And it was my turn. It was on. I have to be honest, I was actually a little curious how this would affect me, if at all. Much in the same way I am curious about labor sans drugs, and chemotherapy. I rationally know that both are excruciating and miserable, but don't have the emotional experience to back it up. I suppose that attitude has gotten a lot of people hooked on scary drugs too. Thank God I've kept my focus on debilitating bodily pain and disease.

So uh...my body basically tried to rid itself of every last droplet of moisture through any means possible. Why? Perhaps this particular cootie was so virulent that my body saw no other alternative. Whatever it was, I've never EVER thrown up at that hard in my life. And I have thrown up a lot in my life. Like...a LOT. I am a connoisseur of puke. A sommelier of bile. I know these things. I could write manuals about the lead up, actual execution and recovery period of vomiting in any setting, in almost any context, and in virtually any time zone. Yes, I'm that good. But this beat the hell out of me.

Dan took me to the hospital. I puked the whole way there. Nay, I screamed in a downward motion while bile and the remaining saliva in my esophagus were ejected in the same direction into a pan in my lap. Dan had to speak for me in the emergency triage. My back and abdomen were in severe spasm from all the retching, and the nurses were worried I might be in premature labor. They kept asking me between screams if it felt like labor. It felt like someone was ripping me in half in the desert on a hot tin roof is what it felt like. But I was too incoherent to tell them that. I just kept saying "Please, help me" and "I don't know, I don't know". They said I was hyperventilating between hurls and that's why I was getting so overheated. They decided to take me to the OB ward just to be safe in the event that I was indeed having contractions. Once there, they put the fetal monitor and a blood pressure sleeve on me which I promptly ripped off - along with my clothes - and flung across the room while screaming. I begged for a cold cloth, and something for the pain. They tried to take my temperature but I puked on the thermometer. They tried to calm me down, but I screamed and screamed some more that I couldn't. Finally they were able to roll me over and give me an intramuscular shot of Zofran in my arse. About 10 minutes later the thrashing and profanity became less intense. 20 minutes later I was relatively calm again. They got me hooked to an IV and started replacing liquids slowly but surely. I was starting to feel human again.

Once they had me somewhat stable, the OB doc checked me to make sure my water hadn't broken, and that I wasn't dilated. Apparently all the strain the vomiting etc had put on me, it was a real possibility that it had kicked my body into labor. I tell you what, after all that pain and flipping around, the LAST thing I wanted was for a doctor to shove her hand up my nethers. But it was necessary, and everything was kosher in baby land. They took a 20 minute heart rate reading/contraction monitor reading thingie and determined that I was not contracting and that baby's heart rate was normal. Then they did an ultrasound to look at fluid levels and make sure everything was still attached that should be. Everything looked fine, and we got to see some actual pics of baby girl's face. She's so pretty, I can already tell. I make me some cute babies, I do. :)

At this point my back ached like I had been spent the night squeezing grapefruits with my shoulder blades. My lower back felt like I'd tried to dead lift a truck. Well... maybe a car. My hips, my neck, my ankles...basically ALL of my joints felt as if they had been removed, injected with rocks, and then replaced while I was jumping on a trampoline. Doc said any pain meds would likely send me back into a spiral of puking and pooping, so she wouldn't give me any. Instead she gave me some pregnancy safe muscle relaxant that didn't help with the pain, but made me want to sleep for 2 days.

When we got home that night, the vomiting was pretty much overwith, but then came what I shall call "the thrashing". The only thing I could think to do was pray for sleep. That was the only relief I could imagine. Everything hurt worse than it's ever hurt. I lay in bed and just yelled. Dan kept coming in to see if I had called his name?

Me: AUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH!
Dan: Did you call me?
Me: No, AUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH! GAAAAAAAAAAH! Oh God, please please let me sleep!
Dan: Yeah, this part's normal. It sucks, but it's what happened to me too.
Me: GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! *Pant* *Pant* *Pant*
Dan: K. You want some jello?
Me: Ok. GUUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAH! Do we have any Sprite? BLLLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIGH!
Dan: I'll check.
Me: K. ARRRRRRRRRRGUHFLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLEEEEEEEEEE!


By this time, we were pretty calm about the thrashing period. Dan had already gone through it, so we knew it was coming, and that it would be over soon. That didn't make it any easier for me to handle, though.

Maybe I am just a weenie.

I don't know. What I DO know is that I have never EVER been that sick in my life. And I never EVER want to be that sick again. EVER.

It's 2 days since the worst part was over, and I'm slowly getting my bearings back. I'm only allowed a bland diet, but have pretty much only been able to tolerate Gatorade and jello. I'm so effing sick of jello, though...something bad may happen soon....something jello related.

So, that was my weekend. How was yours?

LT threw up in the shower to conserve water

God. I'm 27 weeks pregnant this week. I thought I was 28! I've entered into the phase where baby is getting bigger, and my moving around is getting more and more difficult. I was kind of easing the mental pain of it all by telling myself that I was 7 months along today. But alas, I cannot count. My mental calendar hath betrayed me. My punishment for losing my number management skills? One more week of pregnancy. Bah!



Erm...so Nathan really REALLY likes Sesame Street. I turned it on out of desperation one day when he was screaming to be picked up, and he was almost immediately silenced in awe... much like mommy is upon entering the Nordstrom shoe department.



Seriously, he's dead to the rest of the world when it's on. It doesn't matter what's happening. Kudos to the Sesame Street writers! I'm not sure how much is too much TV for a kid though. We're still kind of feeling our way through it. Unfortunately my energy levels are getting less and less ample as the days go by, so I spend quite a bit of time on the couch reading and/or sleeping. I often turn on the TV to distract Nathan from crawling on me to get my attention. It's a temporary fix, I realize, but it doesn't stop me from feeling a little guilty. I'll make it up to him this summer when we get a swing set and mommy can see her feet again. Until then, I suppose I'll drink my weight in chocolate milk to assuage my feelings of inadequacy.



In political news - seriously I am NOT political, but funny things keep happening and I cannot be silenced - the Supreme court has lifted the ban on corporate campaign funding. Basically, I think this means politicians are going to look like race car drivers with sponsorship ads all over them from here on out. I can just see Obama walking up to the Nike 'swoosh' bedecked podium to do his state of the union address, drinking a Coca Cola and letting everyone know his recent vacation on Carnival Cruise lines had left him feeling relaxed, re energized, and ready to lead this great Starbucks sponsored nation of ours.


I hate advertising, but over time I've gotten pretty good at tuning it out. I think it's going to be much harder to do that going forward with this recent ruling. I read this story once about how advertising works in the future. In an effort to be more "targeted" Companies start 'shooting' mental pictures of their messages into people's heads as they pass by their store or through a certain part of town, etc. People could/can/will buy "ad proof" cars that use some kind of shield to filter out the ads. Walking on the street was/is/will be, unfortunately, like walking in some sort of mental war zone. I wonder if using an ad proof car will qualify owners for a tax break? Hmmmm.....I'll need to start working on my Viagra proof car post haste.

Bleh.

Totally unrelated - this website http://www.theoatmeal.com/ is probably one of the funniest things I've read in quite some time. I especially like the "9 reasons not to let your Tyrannosaur use crack cocaine", and "Mother F**cking Pterodactyl". It's brilliance. As an addendum, check out http://www.thingsbearslove.com . Same guy, different site. Seriously, I love him. I want to send him flowers or cookies or a hat or something. Thank you The Oatmeal for bringing hysterics into my life once again.



LT sez: This blog post brought to you by Sesame Street and the letter "L"

Well, Scott Brown - the republican nominee for US Senate in Massachusetts, won last night and democrats are apparently blaming Martha Coakley for a craptastic campaign as the reason. Stupid Martha. I'd have suggested a very broad approach for her outreach efforts. Like standing outside Kentucky Fried Chicken stands one day handing out free ammunition, and outside Whole Foods the next day knitting hemp scarves for baby cows. Yeah, that'd be a good cross section.

Seriously though, I'm not a very political person, but I DO know that since Obama came into office, things have been changing. Things have been HAPPENING, and it's so refreshing. Even if I don't agree with everything that's going on, the manner in which his administration has been approaching the political landscape seems wonderful to me. So when there was a chance to have a filibuster proof super majority, thus ensuring movement for a while to come, I was all perky and happy thinking "Yay! More things will actually happen! No more stagnant pond! No more tug of war! Sally forth! Tally ho! Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!". I was bummed to hear the republican dude won. Sigh. Back to the tug of war game I guess.

In other news, I still haven't nailed this whole blood sugar management thing. It's BETTER, but not where I want it to be. I have an appt today with the dietitian. I really, really, REALLY hope it goes well. I finally saw a pattern in my eating habits that precipitated a tough morning for me on some days. On nights when I don't feel like eating dinner - I usually eat SOMETHING, but it isn't a full meal, the following morning I am a mess. I'm exhausted, irritable, sore, and swollen. It takes a glass of juice, a bowl of cereal, and half a cup of coffee before I can open my eyes all the way. Oh and working out is not even an option.

That happened this morning. It literally took me 40 minutes to even roll out of bed despite all the lights that Dan had turned on and the festive rap music he'd left playing on his alarm clock. And he has one of those industrial "Taylor Proof" clocks that could wake a chemically sedated coma patient inside a whale. And yet, I lay there. Twitching occasionally. Moaning. Drifting in and out of sleep, dreaming of death and wedding cake simultaneously.


Oh yeah, so I tend to dream about things I can't have when I'm pregnant. They run the gamut from alcohol, to running, to skydiving. But lately, I've been dreaming about lavish weddings. Weddings where there's cake. Lots of it. And I gorge myself to the point of injury. I cover myself with it. Icing drips from my face creating some kind of twisted metaphor that I shan't address here. Last night I was at a 100K+ wedding with 4 different types of cake, the cakes were so lavish themselves they had armed guards keeping people away from them until it was time for the bride and groom to cut them. Oh man, I love me some dream wedding cake.

And now, I think I am going to lay down and cuddle with my little man while he watches Burt N' Ernie.

LT is happy as long as the wedding cake is moving. And by moving, I mean going into my mouth.

Ahhhh.... You can't tell me this picture doesn't bring a sweet sweet tear to your eye.

I recently procured a kilo of my most favorite coffee on the planet and have been a morning person again ever since. Seriously, I am excited to go to sleep so I can wake up and have a cup of hot steaming Intelligensia come morning.

And yes, I fell off the wagon, or got back on, or whatever you call it when you commit to doing something and then fail and start doing it again.

What can I say? I am a slave to my taste buds.

LT's chains don't match her outfit.

I enjoy complaining. It's kind of part of my personality. I shroud it in humor though, so that the masses are more inclined to listen to a bit more of it more often. And it seems to work for me. I don't plan to stop anytime soon.

So I've been feeling REALLY bad since the holidays. We're talking exhaustion, terrible headaches, incredibly irritable, confused, and sometimes falling asleep standing up. It's been really hard on me, but even harder on my family. Read: Dan and the dogs. Somehow, my mothering instinct is able to cut through all the crap and I still have an even keel when it comes to Nathan, but that's where it has been stopping. I've had nothing left after caring for him, and have either been yelling at or ignoring the dogs, and sometimes Dan too. Poor Dan. Poor dogs.

So I lost it this weekend. All the structure I had in place in mind trying to hold up my rusted wind blown decrepit desert shack of a mind finally gave way and came crashing down. Unfortunately for me it was in a public place. And I've never been one to cry gracefully. I'm all red before the tears even start flowing, and stay that way for an hour or more afterward. I'm also known to kitchen sink. You know, start telling someone how you feel only to bring up completely old irrelevant issues about the time they forgot to put the toilet seat down, or how you've always hated how they chew loudly when eating cereal. Everything but the kitchen sink, it would seem.

It was the last straw. I called my doctor first thing Monday morning and begged to be seen same day. I was prepared to cry on the phone if I had to, but thankfully, such shamelessness was not necessary. Once at the doctor's I read through my litany of ailments - all of which being worth mentioning because they are much worse than the NORMAL pregnancy induced list of ailments most women experience. These have been off the charts, and therefore were/are remarkable in my my mind. Including:


Confusion
Severe irritability
Exhaustion after minimal effort to do anything
Clumsiness
Forgetfulness
Light headedness

So I've pretty much been worthless since Christmas. And afraid to drive sometimes. A total BITCH to my husband and friends. I hate it hate it hate it, and am so, so done. I don't care if a little irritability is normal when pregnant. This has GOT to STOP.

So, I went. The doctor listened for 10 seconds and then started interrupting me. I cried a little, asked him nicely to shut the hell up so I could finish, and then proceeded. After I was done, he basically told me I was probably hypoglycemic (which I already knew, but had forgotten....yeeeahh... uh...) and that for the other stuff, I was probably just hormonal and to [paraphrased] 'stop being a wus'.

So I cried.

He rolled his eyes and handed me a kleenex.

And I cried some more.

I very pleasantly and respectfully told him I thought he was full of crap, and then proceeded to list my other non medically based theories.

He listened for a while, then cut me off again, offering solutions in his guy-like compartmentalized completely emotion-less way, and basically called me pregnant, in need of sugar, and a wus.

And later after I was done throwing knives at him with my mind, I realized...he was right.

What a jerk.

So anyway, I came home and thought about it, and realized "Wow, maybe I have been depriving myself of too MUCH sugar - if such a thing exists - and I need to get rebalanced or something hippie like that." So I drank a glass of chocolate milk. The best damned chocolate milk I've ever had. Within minutes my headache was gone, the cloud lifted and I could communicate with others AND perform higher math! Hallelujah! Thank you Hershey's syrup!

So yeah uh.... I guess I need to get my food in check. No more extreme anything. I'm seeing a dietitian as soon I can so she can beat the crap out of my ego.

I am still feeling some of the emotional fallout from this holiday season, but am so, so grateful that I think I've finally found a solution and that my husband hasn't tried to sell me on Ebay. Thank GOD for the white death.

LT is referring to sugar and not cocaine

OMG the holidays are over. I can't believe how relieved I am. I mean, I really look forward to Christmas and the whole month of December. The build up - especially in my smallish hometown - is considerable, and the Christmas spirit is palpable by mid month. I love Christmas, Christmas activities, presents, lights, shopping (online of course), and family and friends get togethers. What I DON'T LOVE... at least not yet, is dragging a newly temperamental 17 month old along for the ride. Nathan is coming into his own lately letting mommy and daddy know what he likes or doesn't like, where he wants to be and what he wants to be doing. All with whines/cries/pointing/and grunting. The language for such needs doesn't really exist yet. So the result ends up being a very frustrated and LOUD toddler. Guh.

I'll spare you all the details...it makes me tired just trying to put the stories together. Rest assured, I am WORN OUT after this Christmas season. I'm looking forward to next year when he has a larger vocabulary so I can explain to him exactly why I am selling him to the gypsies.

In other news, I've started back up with choir and am loving it. It's an excellent outlet for me and a chance for me to get a brief harmonious respite during the week. We perform every other weekend too, so I get to strut my stuff much more often now.

Um....oh! Dan and I painted the front room and nice Barney shade of purple. Seriously, it's way purple. Remember Rachel and Monica's apartment on Friends? Yeah. THAT purple. And strangely enough, it looks awesome. Dan installed some track lighting too to highlight one of our paintings, as well as FINALLY light up a dark recessed corner we've been trying to cover with blankets. It's lovely. Now the rest of the house looks like crap to me though, and I can't wait to paint more!

Ok, I'm out of things to say. Pregnancy seems to have robbed me of my creative drive. At least in the context of writing. I'll try to post more this month though.

Ok bye.

LT sez: Ok bye.


PS Happy birthday Prasadi! :)