Wow

I've started reading this book, as recommended to me by several mothers, called Bringing Up Girls by Dr. James Dobson. He's also written Bringing Up Boys, if anyone's interested. So far, it's fascinating. He talks about both the physiological differences between boys and girls, in addition to cultural influences and a host of other issues.

Something that caught my attention was his mention of a doll called "My Scene My Bling Bling" Barbie. I finally looked it up, and this is what I found.

Yeah. As if I don't have enough of a battle against media and societal pressure to sexualize girls. This is, after all, fairly terrifying. Obviously, I would never buy such a doll for Audrey. But who's to say she won't be on a play date with a girl who does have one? I can't be with her all the time.

Mattel, this is a big fat FAIL.

Fire...or not

Last night, we went out to dinner with my father-in-law and David's brother to celebrate Father's Day. Audrey was behaving really well. Until the fire alarm went off.

Audrey has always been started by loud noises, even when we get crushed ice from the fridge. I was looking at her when the alarm went off, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She was trying to jump in my lap, which wasn't happening because she was strapped in the high chair. It was all I could do not to scream at David to unbuckle the strap, since I was so upset. I couldn't reach it, since she was lunging for me.

I took her outside immediately, because I knew she was going to have a breakdown if we stayed in there. It was deafening, and lights were flashing, and no one knew what was going on. This went on for 5-6 minutes, which is a lot of time. People started streaming out of the restaurant.

I'm just glad we'd finished eating...and, of course, that there was no fire. Some brilliant person upstairs was smoking in the bathroom. Seriously.

Anyway, they finally figured out how to silence the alarm. The restaurant has recently come under new management, and apparently they didn't know how to do it. The fire trucks and police showed up. At least Audrey got a chance to see a couple of fire trucks up close.

It just amazed me how everyone was so clueless when it went off. The staff just froze up, and they were looking at each other in shock. No one stepped up and took control. So annoying, not to mention dangerous.

So I went home with a headache and a sour mood. I don't think I'll be going there again.



This pic is from February, but it shows what everyone in the restaurant was doing...minus the smile, of course.

Grateful (continued)

So, I left off where Audrey was supposed to go to the Children's Hospital to get blood taken, mainly to rule out autoimmune disorders. The night before we were supposed to take her, David gathered every thermometer in the house so we could check her temp. Her pedi advised that we take it orally, under her arm, and rectally (ugh).

Every thermometer we checked came up with similar numbers...in the 96 and 97 degree range. At that point, we were very confused and frustrated. Audrey had been through hell at the pedi's that day. They actually catheterized her to see if she had a UTI.

I decided enough was enough, and that one of us needed to go buy a new thermometer. We had already put new batteries in the temporal one, and it was registering the same high temps as before. So DH trekked out to CVS and bought another one. My reasoning was that the old ones, and who knows how old they really are, could be unreliable because of old batteries or what not. And I wanted results I could count on.

David came home with the new one, and we tried to take it orally. That didn't work out so well. Then we went for under the arm. And guess what? It was in the 96 and 97 range. I can't even describe the relief that swept over me at that moment, yet...the anger about the hell we'd all been through nearly overwhelmed me. David even commented that he'd like to take that temporal thermometer out to the shooting range.

This stupid thermometer is the reason my little girl was subjected to all kinds of unpleasantness at the pedi's office. As if she didn't already hate going there in the first place. And she was also very close to being subjected to all kinds of blood work at the Children's Hospital. We decided to postpone going there the next day, in light of her low temp, and just monitor the situation over the weekend.

I am going to call that company, and heads are gonna roll. I am PISSED. And so happy and grateful at the same time. It's a weird combo, believe me.

Oh, and did I mention that Audrey came down with a cold the day before this craziness, and that I was also diagnosed with a sinus infection at the same time? Oh yeah. This winter has truly sucked when it comes to being sick.

We're sick again (don't read if you just ate or have a weak stomach)

This is so ridiculous. I mean, really. Can't we catch a break? Around 11:00 on Tuesday night, I was reading in bed and heard Audrey coughing (or what I thought was coughing). Then I heard a lot of moving around, so I decided to run in there. I didn't turn on the light, hoping I could soothe her back to sleep.

I was immediately hit by this sickly sweet smell. I actually thought for a second, Did she sneak something to eat in her room? Which totally didn't make sense, I realize. I turned on the light, and there was vomit EVERYWHERE. Literally. It was all over her, her "babies", the sheets, the crib, and the WALL. Talk about projectile vomiting.

She was on her knees in the crib, staring at her hands, which were covered with...well, you know. She was just totally confused by what had happened, since she hasn't ever really thrown up. Besides the spit up she had as a baby, of course.

Oh my gosh, it was terrible. I immediately scooped her up, and she was so hot. She kept saying "Mess, mess" and I was trying to reassure her that everything was okay. She's become kind of obsessed about messes lately.

I don't want to get into too much detail, but there was some undigested food that was definitely recognizable, and she kept talking about that, too. Okay, maybe that was too much detail.

I started making my way to the bedroom to get David, and he met us at the door. He had to wash everything in the crib, including the babies. Thank goodness we have a duplicate of her lovey she's had since she was a baby. She needed a bath for obvious reasons, and it was around midnight when we got back to bed.

David decided to stay home right then and there, and he started working on sub plans. We didn't know how the night was going to go. Thankfully, that was the only time she threw up.

On Wednesday, I already had an appt with my homeopathic doctor, since I've been feeling so weak and fatigued. Audrey went with us, and Jeanne decided to test her, too. We both have something called rickettsia, which is a virus and bacterial infection all rolled up in one. Double the fun. She also tested David, who didn't have it, thank goodness.

So now I'm giving her drops in water and spraying an immune-enhancing homeopathic into her mouth twice a day. David had the idea to get her to open her mouth to sing, and then I spray it in there. It doesn't have any taste, which is wonderful.

So we go back to Jeanne on Monday to see if it's gone. I pray that it is. Here she is after our wonderful night. Looking a little paler than usual, no?

Watch out below!

As I mentioned before, I gave David a mini helicopter for Christmas. Actually, I gave him two (not the plan, by the way). I ordered the first one on October 14, and every time I called the company to check on the order, they said it would be shipped out in 1-2 weeks. Every. time.

Finally, I asked if it was going to be delivered by Christmas. They said it would, but they didn't sound very confident. So I told them I wanted to cancel my order. The woman said okay, and she didn't even try to talk me out of it. I asked her for a confirmation email of my cancelled order, and she said they usually don't do that. Sketchy. The charge stayed on my bank statement, and I couldn't get in touch with them to save my life.

Sometimes when I called, I'd get this message from a girl saying they weren't available. Did I mention that the girl sounded like a high school kid, and she also seemed to be giggling at the beginning of the message? And sometimes when I called, I'd get a message saying the number had been disconnected. Ridiculous.

I decided to buy another helicopter for David, this time a Coast Guard one, since David wanted to be in the Coast Guard at one point in his life. It came quickly. I had it sent to Mom's, since I didn't want David to know.

Well, my brother opened it and flew it around for a while. Guess why? Because he had ordered one for himself, and he thought it was his. So my surprise for David was in less than pristine condition. Annoying.

Anyway, David was really excited on Christmas Day.



He doesn't really look that excited, but then again, he was sleep-deprived that day.

Now, these things are amazingly hard to control. His doesn't have a remote; he can use his iPod Touch to control it. He had a little trouble with it at first, but when I flew it for the first (and only) time, it was a fail. I kept hitting the ceiling, which David did as well, but mine was worse. Little bits of the ceiling were raining down all over the place. It was so bad that David had to do a major clean-up when it was all said and done. It was really fun, though. I'd like to fly it again, but I don't think David wants me to:)

The other helicopter, from GADGET TV (you suck, by the way), arrived at Mom's, even though I'd cancelled the order. David decided to keep it, too, since I owed him a birthday present or two. Complicated story for another time. Good times at our house, as Audrey and I duck for cover as David practices. Boys and their toys...

I have no words

My brother, Owen, and my ex-SIL, Candy, are trying to reconcile. They've tried this before. It failed miserably.

I...well, I don't know what to think. I know the world doesn't revolve around me, but this comes at a most inconvenient time. My 40th birthday is rapidly approaching and, amazingly, I don't feel depressed about it.

Owen's birthday is this week, so we're celebrating on Saturday. Mom warned me Candy might be there. This took me a few days to accept (okay, to be honest, I haven't really accepted it yet). Then I told Mom that I didn't want her at my birthday celebration, which we're doing the weekend after Owen's.

Although I'm trying to rise above my pettiness, I think I have the right to request that she not be there. I haven't seen her since the last time they tried to reconcile. She treats my nieces like crap. Katie recently told me she's scared of her. So, for her to be there on my birthday would make me absolutely uncomfortable. Not to mention David, who is extremely protective of me and doesn't have a lot of love to spare for Candy.

This birthday is a milestone for me. We're not having an elaborate party, just the family. I do not want my 40th birthday to be uncomfortable, especially when Candy may not be around even 40 days from now.

I'm trying to forgive, because I'm a Christian, and I know that's required of me. But I can't get past this. I understand that she'd be at Owen's birthday and :shudder: Christmas.

You wouldn't think she'd have the nerve to push Owen into pressuring me about this, though. But you'd be wrong. I found out, after Audrey's party, that Owen asked Mom if she could come to it, and he was angry when she said no.

So here's my dilemma. If my brother asks me if she can come to mine, what do I do? Tell him I've decided not to celebrate this year? Lie and say I'm going to Bora Bora? If we had the money, I wouldn't be opposed to dropping everything and going there, if it meant I could avoid her.

The real answer is...I'll have to allow it. Otherwise, there will be hard feelings. If I say I don't want to celebrate, my nieces (not to mention my mom) will not understand. Candy will then tell my nieces that I decided not to celebrate because I didn't want to invite her. No, she's not above that.

God help me. And if you made it through this post, God bless you.

The weather outside is...really beautiful

Okay, so our tree is up, I've changed my blog template...in other words, I'm prepared for the holiday season. I even have all my winter clothes out, although to be truthful, some are still sitting around in bins. But guess what the temperature will be today? 72! It was yesterday, too. Now, I really don't love cold weather. I like semi-cold weather, where I can be outside with Audrey and not get frostbite. And I know I'll be complaining about the cold later this winter.

But this is ridiculous! It felt like spring yesterday. And it was nice to take Audrey outside, don't get me wrong. She's been cooped up in the house for a while because she was sick. But during the week of Thanksgiving? It just feels strange.

At this point, David will probably be wearing shorts and flip-flops to Thanksgiving dinner. On the bright side, it looks like we've gotten out of having two Thanksgiving meals in one day. I cannot tell you how thankful I am for that. We've done that a couple of times in the past, and it's been a nightmare. By the time we got to the second dinner, we were disgustingly full. And that was before we had Audrey.

David took control yesterday and figured out a way for us to do Thanksgiving with his family tomorrow instead of Thursday. Since they're all in the same school district, everyone has Wednesday off. I'm thrilled! Although this means David won't have Wednesday to cook, but I think he's willing to make that sacrifice.

So come on, weather. Can I at least be able to wear long sleeves on Thanksgiving day?



But despite it all, I'm so thankful for having a wonderful, healthy child this Thanksgiving.

Really?

Isn't she cute, standing there with her stuffed monkey around her neck, beside the...what is THAT? A Christmas tree?

Yep. David put it up on November 13, the earliest we've ever done it. Even when I was pregnant and we wanted to make sure the house was decorated after we got home from the hospital.

It feels kind of weird, since it's so warm outside. It feels like September and here we are with our tree up. But David just bought it on Sunday, and he was really excited. We had to throw out our old one last year, so we were tree-less. The bulbs on our new tree look yellow in the pic, but they're slightly larger LED bulbs, and they look great.

We're not the only ones in the spirit, either. There's a house near us with serious decorations; it's hard to see for sure, but we think there's a merry-go-round in their yard, and, of course, several decorated trees.

On Monday, the day after it went up, Fed Ex came to deliver a package. Now, normally I don't open the door to any stranger when David's not home. Too paranoid. But I had to this time, since David was expecting an important package.

So I open the door in my pajamas, since it was so early. Makeup-less, glasses, no bra. And believe me, I NEED a bra. I saw the guy look past me, at the tree. Then he looked at me, which was when I realized I was in Christmas pajamas.

I have an explanation for that. I wore something entirely different to bed, but I woke up drenched in sweat again. Stupid night sweats. So I grabbed the first thing I could get in the middle of the night.

But that's okay. I gave that guy a funny story to tell his wife.

Please make it stop

Monday was the worst day I've had with Audrey since she became a toddler. I don't even think I can describe it in words, but I'll try.

I didn't sleep too well Sunday night, which set me up for a bad mood on Monday. But Audrey seemed okay when she woke up, even though it was earlier than normal.

Since I was so tired, I let her watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse after breakfast, and I'm pretty sure I fell asleep during it. We've taken to watching usually one 24-minute show a day, MM or Handy Manny. After MM was over, she started asking for Handy Manny. I told her no, that we'd already watched our TV for the day.

I can't even tell you how many times she screamed "Handy Manny!" after that. Good grief. I didn't want to give in and let her think she could get what she wants by screaming. But I finally told her she could watch it after she took a nap.

I tried to put her down for a nap several times, but every time she said, "Nope, honey" and refused to sleep. She usually takes a nap about 4 hours after she wakes up; on Monday, however, she was awake from 7:00 until 2:30! And the more tired she got, the more she started falling and getting hurt, which led to more screaming. I was at my wit's end. At one point, I was on my knees next to her bed, praying for patience.

Finally, I just had to leave her in the room and close the door. She wasn't even in her bed. She must have screamed for at least 20 minutes, but the child needed her sleep! I had no choice.

And then yesterday, she did a 180 and took a 4 1/2 hour nap. I think her molars are coming in. God help us.

Soap Quote #1

First, let me just say that I don't let Audrey watch TV, just an occasional video. (I'm not judging you if you do, promise). But frequently, her lunchtime happens to coincide with a soap opera I've "watched" since I was about 13, Days of Our Lives. I put "watched" in quotes, since you can basically watch one show every six months and be caught up. If you're a soap fan, you know what I mean.

So sometimes, while Audrey and I are eating lunch, I listen to the show. I am perfectly aware of how ludicrous the plots are, so I decided to add a few crazy quotes from it to my blog from time to time for amusement. So, here we go...

Man who's just been paid to break into a house to scope it out: I got in.
Vivian, who paid him to do it: Well? What did you find?
Man: I can tell you this. They have a jail cell in their basement.
Vivian: Doesn't everyone?

Craziness

I had my physical yesterday...yuck. Matt and Audrey both came with me, since the doctor's office is midway between our house and Matt's school. The whole time we were there, all Matt could talk about was having another baby. And let me tell you, that is VERY strange.

I mean, up until a couple of days ago, if someone asked us if we were going to have a second baby, he would immediately say, "Oh no. One is just perfect for us", or something to that effect. Then suddenly, he just changes his mind. He starts talking about the gender-neutral things we have for a baby, where the baby would sleep...well, you get the picture. This was obviously not a passing thought for him.

All I can think is, my health. How in the world would I take care of two children? I'm not too worried about how the pregnancy would go, since I had no fibro symptoms when I was pregnant with Audrey. But seriously? I can barely take Audrey anywhere by myself, and what would happened if I had another?

We talked to the doctor about it, and he said it would be fine, but we should decide soon, since I'm quickly approaching the dreaded 40 in December. He spoke of birth defects, trouble getting pregnant, etc. Which of course I already knew, having researched all that last time.

Ah...but the more Matt talked about it, the more I could picture it. He's even decided when we should get pregnant. It's crazy, and he's crazy. It is fun to think about what a second child would look and act like, though.

Especially when we have this little cutie running around...



Again, I say the idea is nuts. I think it's normal to want another baby when your first one is turning into more of a little girl than a baby. Right?

Why won't my baby play with toys?

Okay, I'm not going to say Audrey never plays with her toys, but she definitely has a curiosity for things that definitely don't fall into the toy category. Like today, when I found her in the kitchen.

Yes, she's playing with my grabber! That's what I call it, anyway. I'm not sure what the official term is, but my mom gave it to me when my FMS was so bad that I couldn't even pick things up off the floor.

And now, I use it on my bad days, but it's also very useful for picking up toys at the end of the day and putting them away. Seriously, I think the manufacturer should re-package it and sell it at Babies R Us as a toy picker-upper. Yeah, I can't think of a snazzy name for it right now, but people would definitely register for it.

But what is this fascination with things she can't have? Here are some items she goes after on a regular basis:

1) my cell phone, which is TEEMING with germs, according to what I've read,

2) the power cord for the Apple laptop, which she can now pull down even from the top of our "big chair". She proceeds to stick it directly in her mouth, every time.

3) my keys (see #1 for reference to germs)

4) the camera

5) the laptop itself.

And today, she crawled over to the Blu Ray player and turned it on. Her Baby Einstein video came on, and she just smiled. Unbelievable!

I'm thinking, for her birthday and Christmas, we should just wrap a bunch of empty boxes and let her tear the paper off and play with them. I remember the year that my nieces, after unwrapping all their gifts, pushed everything but the boxes and bubble wrap aside. The packaging was a huge hit, and I have a great picture of the two of them jumping up and down on the bubble wrap.

It would definitely save us some money. It might be a bit embarrassing at her birthday party, though.

And the "I couldn't care less" award goes to...

my family.

I fell again yesterday. I'm okay (don't panic, now), but it felt as if I'd dislocated my kneecap (patella?) for a few minutes. Hey, at least I didn't get a concussion this time, right?

The fall isn't really the point of this post, though. The point is that, when it happened, all of my immediate family were sitting in my den. You would think someone might come to my aid, right? Yeah, that's what NORMAL people might do. Here's a brief synopsis of what happened:

The family was over to go swimming yesterday. Everyone was in the foulest of moods, even my mom, who would usually have a smile plastered on her face even if she was sitting in a briar patch.

Here are Mom and Michael later at the pool, where you would think the Vitamin D would improve their dispositions. But you would be wrong. Case in point:



Anyway, I open the front door to go outside with my niece to get her flip-flops. Our dog, T, chose this time to come barreling in the front door, almost knocking me over. Whatever, I'm used to that.

The problem is, he was on one of these leashes:


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which are really fabulous. Except, have you ever been burned on the legs by one of those as your dog goes running past? That thin part of the leash will sting like your grandma just took a switch to your legs. And yes, I would know.

In order to avert the burn on the backs of my legs, I quickly moved out of the way and slammed my knee into the door. Big mistake, since the burn would've been much better than the knee pain. I fell to the floor, writhing in pain. And y'all, I'm not a dramatic person. I'm the type that says, "Go ahead, I'm all right", if I get hurt.

Do you know what my family did? NOTHING. Audrey had woken up during my unfortunate accident, and they played with her. Matt came to my aid immediately, of course, but COME ON!

I lay there for about 10 minutes, trying to ascertain if I had dislocated my kneecap (if that's possible) or what. So, Noah had to go out the front door in the meantime, and he just stepped over me like I was a pile of crap on the floor. Seriously. He never even asked if I was okay. Then, someone threw him the truck keys, OVER MY BODY. What in the heck is going on here?

If any one of them had fallen, I would have been at their side in an instant! Good grief. I think even strangers would've paid more attention to me than they did. My mom finally came to see if she could get me some ice. Too little, too late, Mom, but thanks a lot.

And sorry, Noah, that my body was in your way when you were trying to get out the door. I could have sworn I heard you huff when you had to step over me. The nerve.

Grrrrr. My family has taken the leap from merely dysfunctional to seriously disturbed.

Oh, Merry Maids...

I mentioned last week, in my Thankful on Thursday post, that we're finally able to get a service to come out and clean our house once a month. I can't do housework because of FMS. That's right; I actually have a prescription that says "No housework allowed".

Okay, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration. But my rheumatologist told me that vacuuming is the worst thing I could do, as far as cleaning goes. Which figures, since that's really the only cleaning task I don't mind doing. That and laundry. But I can't dust, either, because of my leg weakness. And I get sore just thinking about scrubbing the bathtub. Please. They'd find me facedown in the tub, covered with Comet and dripping with Tilex. It would definitely make the 5 o'clock news.

I'll end my pity party here, but I just wanted to explain why we need this. Because I'm embarrassed that I can't clean my own house. I used to pride myself on it.

Yesterday, our very enthusiastic-sounding Merry Maids came out. We were told at the initial consultation that the first visit is a deep-cleaning, including...wait for it...baseboards, ceiling fans, windowsills, blinds. I nearly had an orgasm just hearing that. I swear.

We left while they were there, mostly because I'm allergic to dust and didn't need to inhale all that junk. Because let me tell you, practically none of those things mentioned above have been cleaned since Matt moved into this house.

The deep-cleaning was supposed to last about 3 hours. They called me less than an hour and a half after they arrived, saying they were finished. Say what? They would've needed 10 people, working at full speed, to do everything they promised in that amount of time. I instantly felt a sense of dread.

Matt and I were still being positive about it (him more than me, of course). He spoke of the smell that might greet us as we walked through the door. Would it be cinnamon? Vanilla?

Nope, it was more like the smell of disappointment. I went in first, and what did I see? Let's just say I wasn't too merry when I saw everything that hadn't even been touched, much less deep-cleaned. Audrey could've done a better job. So Merry Maids=FAIL.


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I was so mad. I walked around the house for the rest of the night, mumbling to myself and running my finger over surfaces to see what was dirty. Even Matt noticed what wasn't done. I got so worked up that I was angry at myself for being so angry.

They didn't clean the ceiling fans, the baseboards, or anything that was promised in the deep-clean (oh, I'm sorry, they did clean the blinds. Yeah, just one side of them. The side facing out). Surfaces were dusted, but nothing actually sitting ON TOP OF the surfaces were touched. I took a post-it note off our computer monitor where I had taped it, and a big plume of dust filled the air.

I called MM this morning to give them a piece of my mind. But D, the guy who answered the phone, was so damn merry that I couldn't even work up a decent indignant voice. He said they'd be out today to clean it again, along with a supervisor to make sure that it happened. D said to make a list of what needed to be cleaned, which consisted of about 15 items.

So, as much as it pains me, I now have to give props to MM's customer service. But I'm still not sure about their cleaning; guess I'll see about that later today.

I think I'll take my toothbrush with me, though. I've heard horror stories about what maids do when they feel they've been wronged. And believe me, it's worse than a waiter spitting in your food.

Shocked beyond belief--Audrey has WHAT?????

And I thought things couldn't get any worse. Please.

I wrote here about how I screwed up my appointment for my liver ultrasound this past Friday. Well, I actually managed to pull it off yesterday. I was a good little patient and didn't drink any coffee in the morning.  ::takes a bow::

Since we happened to be near Mom's house after the ultrasound, we decided to meet her for lunch. My phone rang, and it was a number I didn't recognize. My first thought, of course, was Oh no. They've found something really wrong with my liver and are contacting me right away.

I'm thankful that it wasn't that, but I was NOT happy to hear a nurse tell me that Audrey's so-called "stomach virus", which I wrote about here and here, was actually salmonella. Excuse me? I must have heard you incorrectly. In fact, what she actually said was, "I'm afraid Audrey has a little case of salmonella." Little? Are you freaking kidding me? Okay, I know she was trying to be nice and delicate in order not to upset me, but oh. my. word.

I was in shock. The nurse, Robin, said that Dr. J (not her regular pedi, the one she saw for the "virus") would be calling me after he saw all his patients for the day, that he wanted to discuss treatment options.

Okay, people, so you want to know how to freak out a mom? Tell her that her baby has salmonella, and then make her wait for HOURS for a phone call telling her how you're going to treat her precious baby.

I was in tears, and Mom didn't know what to say. Matt immediately got on the Internet, since I'm nuts when it comes to looking up symptoms for stuff. Like, I immediately jump to the worst possible scenario.

We didn't learn anything much, and before I knew it, it was 6:40. That's right, approximately 6 1/2 hours after receiving the initial phone call. I wanted to do this to that doctor:


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because I knew he was finished with patients for the day. The office was closed, for goodness' sakes. I decided to call the after-hours number, and what do you know? Dr. J was on call.

He apologized profusely for the confusion, saying he thought Robin told me about Audrey's treatment. Uh....no. He was so apologetic that I decided not to hurt him. Then he told me about the treatment. Guess what it was? Nothing. We do absolutely nothing.

Dr. J said that giving her an antibiotic would prolong the "carrier stage", the stage in which she would still be shedding salmonella cells. ::shudder:: The only reason I didn't argue was that he called a Pediatric Infectious Disease specialist, and she agreed that she would not treat with antibiotics unless Audrey was 3 months old or younger. Who am I to argue with that? We're just supposed to monitor her, especially her temp, since a high temp would be the first sign that it's gotten into her bloodstream.

I asked him, where the heck did she get this? She has NONE of the risk factors, which basically are:

1. attending daycare with a child who has diarrhea (she doesn't go to daycare and hasn't played with any other small children),

2. having a reptile as a pet (I don't think so),

3. riding in a grocery cart next to raw poultry (NOT),

4. traveling outside the US over the age of 3 months (nope), and

5. drinking concentrated liquid infant formula (not powdered or regular).

Okay, she does have one of the risk factors now that I think about it, because she isn't breastfed. But still, who expects this diagnosis? Dr. J said he's only seen 3-4 cases of it, and there are only 50,000 cases in the US each year.

I just thank God, over and over again, that Audrey's feeling better. But I'm more worried than ever about her and the things that could happen to her. People are right; you don't really know worry until you have a child.

Girl, you are crazy (SIL part 2)

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In this post, I started telling you about my insane SIL. I know you're all waiting with bated breath for the continuing saga, so here we go...

I was 38 weeks pregnant, and SIL had just left my brother. Fine, okay, I could deal with this. Except for the fact that, instead of getting a place to live near my family (where we could help her with babysitting, picking up the girls from school, etc.), she decided to move near her family. Very, very odd, considering they've done practically nothing for her over the years. They wouldn't even come visit their granddaughters because they said it was too far away (about 30 minutes...I know, that's a long way. Pack an overnight bag). Puh-leeze.

Chaos ensued. Since Noah was not happy with SIL's parents even babysitting my nieces (from now on, I'll just call her parents the Insane Ones because it's more fitting), you can imagine what kind of hell broke loose. Seriously, not only do these people smoke around Elizabeth and Nichole, they have always left their ashtrays with smoking cigarettes in reach of the girls, ever since they were babies. And did I mention that Nichole has asthma? Yeah.

Many tears ensued, mostly on the part of my mom. You see, SIL had promised Mom many times that, if she and Noah were to separate, she would never, ever move near her parents because of the influences of The Insane Ones and the rest of their family.

I was caught in the middle, with my due date looming. I am prone to panic attacks, which is not good when you're trying to reach your due date. Let's just say I did lots and lots of yoga breathing.

So we dealt with it as best we could, but Thanksgiving was a sober occasion, as you can well imagine. SIL's empty chair seemed twice as big as it actually was. Total suckfest.

Meanwhile, SIL never called me, not even to check on my pregnancy. This was strange, since we'd talked at least once a day (sometimes half a dozen times) for the last nine months. To be fair, I didn't call her either, since I was in complete shock.

Fast-forward a couple of weeks to December 4, when we received news that my grandpa was dying. He was 91, so it wasn't a complete surprise, but still extremely upsetting. I dragged my 40 weeks' pregnant butt to his assisted living facility, knowing that this was the end. Did SIL show up? Nope, even though the rest of the family did. And even though she was pretty close to my grandpa.

After we got home, at about 10:00 that night, Matt's phone rang. I picked up, since he was already in bed. It was Michael, my step-dad. He told me that Grandpa had just passed away.

I immediately went to the nursery and sat in the glider. I'm not sure why, but Audrey's room has always been a comfort and place of peace for me. I cried and cried, but I didn't wake up Matt, as it had been a long, trying day, and I knew he needed his sleep.

Two hours later, guess what happened? I went into labor. Yes, you read that correctly.


to be continued...

I've never had this kind of physical therapy before

If you're a guy, I don't think you'll want to read this. Especially if you're a guy who's related to me in some way. It's about "women stuff". ::shudder:: In fact, if you know me at all, you probably don't want to read this.

So, I've had lots of physical therapy. For my foot, for fibromyalgia, for muscles in general before I even knew I had FMS. So I know the drill.

But I had some physical therapy yesterday that would blow. your. mind. If you'll remember, I wrote here about an extremely disturbing gynecology visit. You'll also remember, I said there's no way IN HELL that I'm getting a hysterectomy. I think one of the Bumpies said it best when she wrote "Yeah, sure, just rip out your uterus and throw you into menopause," or something to that effect. Amen, sister.

I had no idea they had physical therapy for women's health. Strange, because I usually know a lot about medical stuff, since I have so many problems of my own. And because I love to read about that stuff.

So I had absolutely no idea what to expect yesterday. None. And I was nervous. I mean, would I be up on a table, with my feet in stirrups, doing some kind of uterine exercises while other people lifted weights and worked out on the elliptical? You can imagine my horror at that scenario.

By the time Ambreen took me back, I was ready, though. I had done some yoga breathing on the way there and sung my lungs out to the radio, so I was good. She took me back into a private room and talked to me about private stuff. Yep, like my urine control, bowel control, and sex. Fun.

She made me feel totally comfortable, though. She was definitely not like any therapist I've had before; she's in her forties, Indian, with a nose ring. There's no way I could pull that off, but she does.

She told me she had four (!) kids. So I'm thinking, maybe she can help me after all. Because this is about sex, you know. How it's impossibly painful, and how I'd rather have a tooth filled. I immediately knew I was going to like Ambreen because, after I told her what Dr. C had suggested (hysterectomy), she said she was going to choke him, and used the hand motions to prove it. Nice. Because although I love Dr. C, I think he was really irresponsible to suggest a hysterectomy to me, after one exam and one complaint of painful sex.

It went really well, but I won't go into detail here because it would gross you out. But if your doctor ever tells you that you need a hysterectomy, PLEASE get a second opinion or at least ask if he/she knows of a place where people work with women's health problems. Because there is no reason for such a radical surgery in the majority of cases. In fact, Ambreen told me that, in all probability, I'd be better after 4-6 weeks of therapy. And that is a MAJOR load off my mind.

The point is, don't just trust your doctors blindly, because sometimes they have no clue what they're talking about. Trust me:)

Sickening

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Heartbreaking, isn't it? I know everyone has probably seen pictures of animals covered in oil from the Gulf disaster by now, but this is just out of control. This picture especially bothers me, since Audrey loves ducks. When we were at the beach last week, our villa was right on a pond. Mallard ducks would actually come up to us (probably because MIL had food!), and DD was fascinated. When we read our animal books, she loves to look at the ducks, hear me quack (that's right), and feel the duck's fur on our touch-and-feel books.

So it especially makes me sick to see these animals. Because I'm thinking, what kind of environment are we leaving behind for the next generation? A pretty crappy one, if you ask me, and that breaks my heart. Because how will it affect them, and how will it affect their children?

Of course, some good things could come of this. We could realize that we don't need to be so dependent on oil, for one thing. Yes, I enjoy the comforts of oil just as much as the next person, but if more, affordable alternatives were available, I would definitely take advantage of those.

But I am so angry about this whole situation. And when I see pictures of Tony Hayward on the news, I want to puke. The smug look on his face, the way he testified before Congress, saying things like, "I don't recall" or just remaining silent when asked a question...it burns me up.

Additionally, the news that BP knew about certain safety issues on Deepwater Horizon makes me even more incensed. Are you kidding me? They knew about the danger and continued to drill? That is unconscionable.

And it seems that a lot of people have forgotten about the 11 men who lost their lives on the oil rig. That has become a back story in the light of this catastrophe, but it hasn't to their friends and families. Personally, I'm boycotting BP. Matt and I were almost out of gas recently, and I saw a BP up ahead. I told him I'd rather run out of gas than buy from them.

Yes, I know that other companies are most likely doing the same things as BP, but this is one I 'm certain about. And I'm sick of executives who are so greedy, so out-of-touch with their own companies. Are their lavish lifestyles worth the price that people in the Gulf are paying, not to mention the other people that this disaster is affecting (all of us?) I think not.

BP, get your heads out of your butt and do something about this mess, more than you've already done. When I hear stories about animal carcasses that were on the beach at night, then gone by morning, I wonder what's going on down there. Is BP removing these carcasses? Are they actually separating animal heads from bodies so that proper testing can't be done? Are there really baby dolphins being found dead on the beaches?

I guess it just goes to show that we all need to be more informed about the companies we support. Sure, we can't possibly know what's going on behind closed doors, but we can pay attention and take action when things like this happen.

God bless those people in the Gulf, and all of us.