Life Family and the Pursuit of Sanity

or… adventures in infertility and babies and family drama!

A List of Not So Random Facts Which May or May Not Be Related to Poop September 30, 2011

Filed under: EC — arminta @ 11:52 am
Tags: , , , , ,

Fact: I hate diapers. I hate the idea of my baby sitting in his own waste. I hate their impact on the planet. I hate how much they cost (cloth costs, too, my water & power bills went down by a noticeable amt when we started using more ‘sposies…). I hate changing them. I hate diapers.

Fact: A toddler will shit wherever he happens to be, with or without a diaper on.

Fact: Even if he happens to be standing right next to his potty chair. That he is capable of getting on and off of on his own.

Fact: Cleaning shit out of the carpet is a great appetite suppressant. Especially if breakfast is apples and nutella.

Fact: I may not hate diapers as much as previously indicated ūüôā

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Look Who’s Walking September 29, 2011

Filed under: Baby G — arminta @ 9:11 pm

So, at 13 months, to the day, the boy became a walker. Literally, he went from creeping around 2 or 3 steps at a time, to “I walk now.” Overnight.

Duh, I've been able to walk for weeks. I've just been waiting on some cool jammies to show off in!

It was absolutely crazy.

 

His 13 months day also happened to be my Gran’s birthday (or would have been, were she still with us). So, I thought it was a very fitting day for him to decide to become a big(ger) boy. My Gran would have loved him. He would totally have been her favorite. I’m not just saying that, and yes, she really did keep favorites… I know from experience ūüôā

 

Opposites Attract – or Do They?

Filed under: Baby G,Infertility,Marriage,We're parents? — arminta @ 2:36 am

Well, here it is the middle of the night and once again I cannot sleep. Despite being stuffed full of vicodin. What’s up? Anxiety! Since the accident I have been having a hard time with anxiety. My mind just races, I feel the need to be awake and listening for the baby and most of all¬†I fear I’m letting something really important slide. I don’t know what the really important thing is, but it’s sliding and shall surely burn my biscuits directly. This is not a fun place to be right now.

 

Speaking of no fun, my home¬†has¬†become¬†a bit of a battlefield. I have made no secret of the fact that infertility almost claimed my marriage. We came very close to calling it quits. But, with infertility, we had a common enemy. We were fighting together, and while it was hard, it ultimately brought us closer. Parenting is basically the opposite of that. At least it is for us. Now, instead of a common enemy, we have a common interest. For the most part we agree on the basics concerning the care and life goals for Baby G. But, the devil is in the details I’m afraid…

 

See, I’m pretty much of the belief that letting kids explore and learn and play is the best way to teach them confidence and curiosity and a love of learning. I’m kind of a¬†free-range, attachment mama type. I basically let Graham tell me how much hands on interaction he needs, and otherwise I keep an eye out, but I don’t hover. If he cries, I comfort him. If he points and grunts at something, I tell him about it (and when appropriate, let him handle it). If he brings me a book, I read it to him. If he doesn’t bring me a book, sometimes I just read out loud, anyway, and see if he wants to come over and listen. If he toddles¬†down the hall to his room… well, sometimes I just let him. I’ll keep an ear out and mozy¬†down to check in on him a few (read 2-5) minutes later, if he hasn’t already come back. If he sits in his tent with a toy, I let him. Even if it means I can’t see him for a bit. He is in the same room with me, after all.¬†I kind of think this lets him know that it’s OK to be independent. It’s OK to be away from mama for a bit. And, I also let the babies work out their own disagreements (to an extent). Because, I think it helps them develop social and problem solving skills.

 

G is kind of the opposite of that. He is a hoverer. That man has perfected the art of hovering. He feels the need to constantly engage/interact/check-on/follow the baby. Even when said baby is perfectly content, doing his own thing. G thinks the baby gates should always be up, so Graham can’t toddle down the hall into his room (or the bathroom!). G is of the opinion that if¬†we can’t physically see the baby, we need to fix it. He also is big on holding his hands over furniture edges as Mr. G walks (yes! walks!)¬†by them. And, it’s not out of the ordinary for him to do things like clear¬†a toy path where-ever Graham happens to be walking and/or pick up tiny crumbs off of the carpet and analyze them for choking hazards. Additionally, he has been known to pitch small parts to the bigger kids toys (as well as move their primary toy bins to the basement) because they might be choking hazards. Because everything is a choking hazard. E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G. He also feels the need to intervene in every minor skirmish betwixt the toddler duo, that he sees.

 

Opposites. That’s us. At the end of the day, we have the same goal. We want a happy, healthy, well-adjusted¬†kid who becomes a successful, happy, healthy, well-adjusted adult. We want to know that we did everything we could to give him the best possible start in life.

 

And, that would be where the fighting begins… our parenting philosophies are so different and our goals are exactly the same. So, nightly there is disapproval expressed at how I’ve cared for the baby throughout the day. (FYI… diaper rash can totally be related to teething. I don’t care what anyone says. I change my baby very often, ya’ll¬†know my feelings on diapers, and when (only when)¬†he’s about to get teeth, he gets diaper rash for a day or two. Which is exhibit A in the “Minta¬†is a bad mommy” prosecution¬†case.) Consequently, nightly, there is tongue clucking at how the hovering is going to turn my baby into a co-dependant pansy-boy. Vicious¬†circle.

Except, you see, I lose. Because at the end of the day, daddy has never been driving when someone else ran a red light and nearly killed us all. Which means “daddy has never endangered the baby’s life.” While of course, I could argue that mommy hasn’t either (please note: was smashed by irresponsible nitwit who ran a red light!!!!), I can’t. Because I feel impossibly guilty over the accident. I feel like I should have seen it coming, I should have known. I should have stopped it. I know I can’t go back and I know replaying it in my head over and over again looking for the magically sign that I missed won’t do any good. But, it would seem we’re both holding me responsible for the accident¬†from which¬†Baby G came out without so much as a red mark,¬†but which¬†has left a deep wound on my credibility as a parent.

 

The Week From Hell: Really, More? September 25, 2011

Filed under: Completely and Entirely Unrelated to IF — arminta @ 1:21 am

 

Friday Big C went to school and Lil C was with me. It was harder. Note to self: 4 is not too young to learn to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

 

The highlight of my day was not dealing with how to pick up babies with a cracked rib and farked hand. No, the highlight was when the vet’s office called. No, really.

 

Why were they calling? Oh right, I still haven’t delivered the urn. Oh, no, that’s not what they wanted? No… They were just doing appt follow up calls and wanted to see if Waldo was feeling any better.

 

I swear I’m not making this shit up.

 

Yes, they were following up on Waldo, just making sure he recovered. I let her know that considering her office had euthanized him on Monday, I didn’t see recovery in his future. I also let her know that they had completely fucked any chance of my having any peace surrounding my dog’s death. Also, could she please let the other idiot know that I hadn’t gotten the urn yet, because “was nearly killed on the way to get it.”

 

Guess who the next person to call me was? Guess what she wanted to know?

Idiot #1: Hey, I just wanted to see if you still needed me to order the insanely overpriced second choice urn, because you didn’t drop off the one you wanted and you didn’t call.

Me: ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! YOU PEOPLE ARE MORONS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Her: Huh?

Me: I talked to Idiot #2 about 1.5 hours ago. She wanted to know if Waldo was recovering, and I told her to tell you that we would be getting the urn early next week because I & my four children were very nearly killed going to get the damned thing and you promised this would be easier and I am so pissed at you people!!!!!!!!!! Did she not give you the message? Do you people not speak to each other? What the fuck is going on up there? How do I even know those are my dog’s ashes you’re giving me? YOU PEOPLE ARE IDIOTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Her: Huh?

Me: When is my dog going to be back? We’ll just pick him up in the scatterbox and deal with the urn our own damn selves. GRRRRR!!!!!!

Her: He’ll be in today. C-ya…

 

Yeah, another more truth than paraphrase completely appalling conversation. I hate those bastards now.

 

Then today (well, technically yesterday) I had to go clear out and sell my car. The first car I ever bought and paid off myself. The car I debated over and researched for months. The car I just put $1,200 wheels on. That was a debacle. The old man at the tow yard took a nap rather than let me back to clear out my car. So, I had to find a way to entertain a baby in a parking lot for 45 minutes. Then, he took a couple of young kids straight back to their car. I FUCKING LOST IT. Rationally, I can tell you, that old man probably got more of the heat than he deserved, but… good fucking grief enough is e-fucking-nough! So, I finally got my shit (all of my good sippy cups and both of my baby carriers were in there) and they towed it to the salvage yard.

 

The people at the salvage yard were awesome. They gave me my wheels (which were undamaged) and took my plates off for me. Then they essentially paid the tow/impound fees. And they were nice. And they were amazed that I wasn’t in hospital. They know a lot more about car wrecks than I do.

 

This whole week I dealt with a lot of assholes. But I also dealt with several really awesome people who did a fabulous job of helping make this truly shitty week a little less shittacular:

  • The medics that took care of me & Lil C were terrific. I’m totally taking them cookies when I’m well enough to bake. And have cleaned the plastic from my oven*.
  • The cop that took my statement. He was so nice and comforting and did a great job of calming me down and getting the kids cared for.
  • The nurse at Children’s. She was a rockstar with my little grumpigus Lil C.
  • The doctor at Urgent Care. He was quick and efficient and cared and gave me vicodin.
  • The guys at the salvage yard. They were sweet and took care of lots of little details I’d not have thought of and helped me get valuable parts I could sell myself off of the car (turns out it was only the wheels) before they scraped it.
  • My husband. He has been so helpful and sweet. Even though he’s had the same week I have he’s still going out of his way to take care of me, hold my (good) hand through the stuff I have to do myself and handling everything else. I love that man.

 

OK, that’s the end. Seven days of hell. Nothing is allowed to go bad for at least a year now, right?

 

* There is plastic in my oven because on top of everything else, I melted a cutting board in there.

 

The Week From Hell: How is it Not Over Yet

Filed under: Completely and Entirely Unrelated to IF,Family — arminta @ 12:49 am

Thursday Big C stayed home from school because he was sore, or traumatized or just realized he had a good excuse to stay home. Whatever. I’m damned glad he did, because “Holy shit carting babies around is hard when you can’t move without severe pain!” Lil C stayed with my pops and bro. IDK why. I’m guessing because my sister realized that I was in no fit state to have to care for my own child, let alone 3 additional kids. And yet, there weren’t a lot of options, either. Sure, someone could have offered to come to my house and help with all 4. But, no one did. Whatever.

 

Until 3:30pm when I got a shitty phone call because someone went to pick up Big C (without asking or being asked) and he wasn’t there. I didn’t take to kindly to people getting shitty with me over them deciding to drive across town unprompted then being upset because they didn’t get to be the hero. Which had Big C been at school, G or I would have been there to get him and would have been really confused by someone else being there to pick him up… poorly thought out plan.

 

Point? Boo to unnecessary drama.

 

Also, boo to cutting teeth the day that mama is least able to provide comfort. Baby G is now a six teefer. He cuts those bitches 2 at a time. He’s not a super fussy teether, but he does get diaper rash when he gets teeth and it just sucks having a crank when you physically can’t comfort with lots of nursing and holding. Especially when that’s all the crank wants.

 

This brings up the point that it is dead inconvenient to me that my MIL has decided to be such a spectacular failure of a mother/grandmother/human. Don’t get me wrong, most days I am THRILLED to be rid of her bullshit. But on days like these, I’d be more than glad to put up with the innocuous, normal annoying insults to my housekeeping and badgering about how I raise my son for a bit of help. Actually, I’d be willing to put up with the little shit all the time for my husband to be happy with the relationship with his mother. But, obviously, that’s never going to happen. She is destructive and toxic and wreaks far more havoc than is OK to put up with. But, man I wish she didn’t. That said… she has made 0 effort to contact my husband this week. I’m sorry, whether or not you think the other person will accept/respond in a way that you would like, how do you ignore your child going through so much pain? I know she knows about Waldo and the wreck. G has spoken with Uncle P and his cousin C about it and they both talk to La Diabla and her sister. And, I’ve posted about it on Facebook and have a lot of relative friends on FB that talk to her. So, anyway, G doesn’t say so, but I know it hurts him that they haven’t called or reached out because of their own selfish pride. Also, if it is you guys googling me and you’ve found this blog and you’re reading this: You are BOTH spectacular failures. I can’t believe you are stupid enough to allow your own selfish pride to fuck up your relationship with my G’s. MY G’s. Losers. You are hands down the most selfish creatures I’m aware of. I hope you’re lonely and miserable, you earned it.

 

Sorry, had to get that out. I think a little bitch can be expected given the circumstances, no?

 

The Week From Hell: And the Plot Thickens

Filed under: Completely and Entirely Unrelated to IF — arminta @ 12:28 am

So, Wednesday, I pack all of the little ones into the car prepared for a long ass car trip. We have pick up Big C, pick up the urn then drive all the fucking way up north to the vet’s office. By prepared I mean “covered in beans and rice because we were running late.” I’m a winner like that.

 

So, we got Big C and he was on time for once. Yes! Finally something is going to go smoothly this week. HAH!

 

About 100 feet from the school I had to turn left (back onto my street) to get to the highway. I make this turn EVERY SINGLE day. Today, as I approached it, the light was yellow. There was a van coming, but the light was going to be red before she got to it. Obviously, duh, she was going to stop. Or, she was going to blow right through the red light and smash head first into me and my car full of children.

 

I’ll let you guess which one she chose.

Yeah, so that fucking sucks. You know what sucks even worse? I got cited. I got cited!!!!! Because? I was turning left and in the great state of Ohio, if you are turning left it is your responsibility to yield the right of way. Even if the other driver has a red light. Even if you were already turning when the irresponsible bitch ran the red light. I don’t really car about the ticket. It’s $150 and that sucks, but my bigger concern by far is the fact that I just changed my insurance to liability only. FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

For the record, my insurance company has been kick ass awesome so far. And, when I bumped my coverage down I did not drop passenger medical. So, insurance will take care of the medical bills for me and the kids. And there will be bills. Because obviously we got all of the kids examined.

 

Good news: The kids were not injured. Both babies were in there rear facing toddler seats and received not even a bruise. Lil C was in a backless booster in the back seat, and received a belt burn on his chest, but it was no where near as bad as it could have been. He was doing flips and flops and ninja moves before we left the hospital. Big C was in the front seat. No booster, but he was wearing his lap/shoulder belt. He is old/tall/heavy enough to ride this way. He has a very small belt rash on his neck. I had his seat all the way back and the airbag did not hit his face. The kids are all fine.

 

I was the only person that the paramedics thought should actually go to the hospital in an ambulance. Which I declined in order to stay with the kids. DUH! But, H and G both arrived on scene before we left and given that info and hindsight being 20/20 and all that… I probably should have went. My only broken bone is a small crack in one rib (went to urgent care later), but I’m banged all to hell. Here’s a small sampling:

Basically, I am marked up like this everywhere. The entire top of my hand is purple now, both knees are aubergine and I have all kinds of marks like the one down my arm all over my body. I just don’t feel like photographing them all, not that you want to see them, anyway…

 

As you can see this week was just getting better and better…

 

The Week From Hell: It Continues

Filed under: Completely and Entirely Unrelated to IF — arminta @ 12:00 am

After our Waldo passed the vet’s office manager came in to discuss “the options” with G. They talked him into allowing their office to handle the cremation. It was more expensive, but it would require nothing further of us and we could grieve in peace. HAH!

 

The same person called us on Tuesday to let us know that she had charged the wrong amount for Waldo’s urn and now needed $60 more. HAH!

 

So, I told her, OK, just refund all of the cremation and urn and non-vet fees and I’ll have another crematory service come pick him up. I wasn’t entirely on board with them doing it anyway and the other place had the urn I liked best. Her answer?

Nincompoop: I don’t know if we can do that?

Me: Why? It was no problem yesterday… Has he already been processed?

Nincompoop: … … …

Me: Where is my dog?

Nincompoop: That’s a good question, let me get back with you.

Me: FIND MY DOG!!!!!!!!! WTF do you mean “that’s a good question?” He’s f’ing dead he didn’t walk away!

 

I wish that was one of my clever paraphrase jobs. It’s not. They lost my dog. They found him in time to be picked up by the cremation service on Wednesday. So they say. Who knows who’s ashes I’m getting back? Am pissed.

 

So, the urn was still an issue. The arranged plan became for me to go buy the urn I liked and deliver it to the vet’s office. Because that’s so much easier for me. See how convenient it was to just let them handle everything?