I could use real massage.
25 Nov 2008 Leave a comment
Last week Miles saw a pediatric opthamologist to determine whether or not he had esotropia of the right eye because his doctor wasn’t sure.
He didn’t, which was determined after about 5 minutes with the opthamologist, who we waited to see for 1.5 hours or so, merely confirming what we knew all along. He’s FINE.
In 14 months, this healthy child has:
spent 5 days in the NICU, 3 of which were spent having a ‘cooling treatment’ (which totally and completely sucked and was, in my professional parental opinion, a useless waste) and included many tubes, wires, monitors and an encephologram
seen 3 neurologists
had an MRI
had a trip to the ER (the only necessary one of the bunch)
seen a hearing specialist
seen 3 lactation consultants, 2 of which were seen multiple times
seen one pediatric opthamologist
had regular and frequent ‘well-baby’ check-ups and been dosed with vaccinations designed to provide short-term immunity against certain diseases
And this is for a 14-month old with no history of problems and no health issues.
But at least the doctors have work.
23 Nov 2008 1 Comment
20 Nov 2008 3 Comments
In late-breaking news this evening it has just been learned that the Tiny Tyrant, aka Master Fussy Crankypants, has, for the first time ever, put himself to sleep.
In a live interview with Mrs. Tyrant, known in other circles as Mrs Grumpy Fussy Crankypants, she reported that, “For the first time ever, the Tiny Tyrant put himself to sleep tonight!” With a slightly startled and teary eye, she continued, “And it only took 13 months, 3 weeks and 23 hours EXACTLY to the MINUTE for him to learn to do so.”
While the Tiny Tyrant nursed, fussed, farted, fumed, squirmed, got walked and talked to himself, Mrs Tyrant finally placed him in his bed and was pleased and stunned as he continued to fuss, fart and talk himself all the way into the land of Morpheus.
Wearing a casual bedtime ensemble of yoga pants size Exreme topped by Mr. Tyrant’s 1990s red flannel buttondown, hair neatly pulled back in a ponytail by an antique rhinestone barrette circa her High School Third Year Promenade, Mrs Tyrant paused as if in a brief narcoleptic episode recollection.
“We feel that this strikes a blow against all those ‘sleep trainers’ and cry-it-out advocates out there exerting pressure on tyrants and tyrannical parents everywhere. Certainly if our Tiny Tyrant can finally do it, so can all tyrants around the world, someday, working hand in hand for the greater good of tyrants everywhere.”
The Tiny Tyrant was unavailable for comment at the time.
19 Nov 2008 5 Comments
Yesterday I went to my local regional chain mega-grocery store to pick up a few things. This particular store happens to have a Starbucks in it, which generally adds to the sweetness of shopping at a chain mega-store that is not Walmart.
This Starbucks is usually staffed by Young People, either high school or college age, usually female. And that is fine. The experience is the usual laid-back, chilled out Starbucks-coffee-buying experience that it usually is anywhere else in the 50 states and abroad as well.
Except, not yesterday.
Perhaps there were strands of hair that had come out of my ponytail and were wandering about my head in unseemly disarray (there were. I checked when I got to the car.). Perhaps there was lunch left in my teeth (there wasn’t. I checked that, too). Perhaps they thought that a woman wearing a baby was the most dumb, stupid thing of all the dumb, stupid things they had seen in the world. Perhaps they were just indulging in general Teen and Young Adult Female Angst.
Whatever it was, it got me The Look. You know what I mean. Perhaps you have even used it yourself. It is that look that says, “oh. my. god. just. WHATEVER. ok? just LEAVE already.” It is The Look that Teen and Young Adult Females are innately gifted with and are born to perfect.
And I was the recipient yesterday.
What goes around comes around, I guess?
Who knows. Just. ok.
16 Nov 2008 1 Comment
14 Nov 2008 4 Comments
Mrs. Fussy Crankypants is well-known for her excellent ability to procrastinate save things to do later. Mrs. Fussy Crankypants is also well-known for her loathing dislike of physical exercise. In Mrs Fussy Crankypants’s unsolicited opinion, the best form of exercise involves lifting (fairly traded) chocolate into her mouth while turning the pages of a book.
However, Mrs Fussy Crankypants also realizes that she does not want to drop dead at the age of next year because her heart has been abused and therefore, eventually, she actually does start to exercise however fitfully.
As soon as Mrs FC gets going, she comes to feel that she really DOES like exercise and wonders why she has been avoiding it all this time. This, of course, is a chemically-induced hallucination brought about by repetitive movement and lack of oxygen to the brain.
Recently, Mrs FC has realized that it has been awhile since she has gotten any kind of regular cardiovascular exercise. As in, a really long time. As in, more than a year. Mrs FC does not include lugging a 25 pound pre-toddler around in her arms all day as cardiovascular exercise altho she does view it as an exercise in patience.
Last week, Mrs FC bit the bullet. She put her hand to the wheel and didn’t look back. She hoed her row. She, in fact, lit a fire under her arse and got moving. Fairly quickly, Mrs FC’s lungs were burning and her ankle that is still complete with all its hardware from its breakage several years ago was compaining fociferously.
And by that time she had just gotten the Tiny Tyrant into his stroller.
The next day, Mrs FC enlisted the aid of her good friends, the Run To Cadences: U.S. Navy
Mrs FC has mentioned these guys before in an earlier post but she won’t provide you with the link to that happy story because she’s too lazy. (If you really care, you can go sift through her posts to find it.) Mrs FC uses these cadences to help move her lazy patootie and to help her feel connected to her naval-ly relatives (Hi, B! Hi, R!).
As Mrs FC huffed and puffed along to the young and equally breathless recruits she thought that she, too, might as well join the Navy. You see, Mrs FC can’t do push-ups to save her life, it’s true (unless it involves the aforementioned chocolate being pushed up into her mouth). But, she realized she’s pretty much got everything else under her belt:
Erratic, unpredictable nightwakings? Check.
Not calling your life your own? Check.
Always on-call? Check.
Carrying heavy loads? Check.
Recruits, let’s see you double-time while pushing 25 pounds in front of you. You do that, then we’ll talk.
Meanwhile, Mrs FC is going to congratulate her advance toward good health and exercise with a nice dish of ice cream followed by a chaser of fair trade chocolate chips.