Let’s take a look at how convincing these spammers can be, shall we. And while we’re at it, since their comments will end up in the trash bin about 2.7 seconds after I hit Ctrl C, I’ll even be so kind as to take the time and reply to them. Are you jealous? I barely have time to reply to real readers comments. As it is my posting has uh, waned (understatement), but I have a really good reason. The world still runs on 24 hours a day and I need at least 30 to get all my crap done. Blogging has sort of fallen by the wayside. I do hope to get back up to posting at least one real post a week and I promise I will make more of an effort to reply to you, if you make an effort to comment.

Without further adieu:

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Most times when I feel myself feeling too “whatever” I don’t act on it, I just walk away and steam or cry in the bathroom and feel really [insert emotion here].  Later I can look back and see that it was (usually) just my hormones, and I’m thankful I didn’t say or do anything crazy.

But sometimes I am just irritated that I can’t say what I want to say.  Not always mind you, because I come from a past filled with people that don’t filter, and say the first thing that comes to their mind which was usually cruel, hurtful and sometimes scarring.  I do not believe that’s a healthy way to live, and I don’t want to create that relationship inside my own family.

Sometimes, yes, you do need to say something to stand up for yourself or make a point.  But more often than not I think you should keep your mouth closed and take time to cool off until you can hold a rational conversation and be able to listen and absorb and recognize the other persons point of view and the fact that sometimes, they might in fact be right.  Which in turn means that yes, you might in fact be wrong.  It’s a novel concept for many people, I know.

All that to say 1) these pregnancy hormones are really getting to be annoying and 2) it should go without saying that due to the previous statement, my husband is driving me crazy.

He still only works two days a week but they are full days and he’s gone about 8am to 8pm so we don’t see him.  Now he’s involved in this pseudo-documentary thing that he works on every other day so, we don’t see him.

[Enter my hormonal rant today]

For one, we haven’t seen much of him in over a week and have spent almost zero time together since he’s started.  I’m trying to be supportive about it because at least it’s something film related and he doesn’t have much if any of that in between Chicago in the summers but, and a huge but here, but I don’t really care.

Second, it leaves me in a lurch with childcare.  We had planned to put Avelyn in a preschool program two or three days a week starting this month but decided there weren’t any programs available that fit our specific needs at this time.  We thought we found a great solution when a friend was free the two days a week I needed and were really excited about her watching Avelyn in the home without other kids to worry about but due to a scheduling conflict that fell through too.  Kevin’s parents have watched her when necessary but I don’t want that to be a permanent solution, for multiple reasons.  The broadest being I think grandparents deserve to treat grandchildren like grandchildren, and if they are responsible for keeping her on a regular basis then they really need to make an effort to stick to our rules and our schedules and do things our way, just like a regular babsitter would be expected to do.  That’s been an ongoing issue with them from the beginning.  It’s not a situation that is fair to me as a parent or to them as a grandparent either.  Also, I don’t feel like Kevin ever really hears me on this topic.  I always feel like he’s totally annoyed with me when we talk about it and I tell him I don’t want his parents watching her as often as they do.

Coming back to the documentary subject, I’m a little ashamed to say I just don’t care.  I don’t.  I’m being supportive in the best way I can be right now in my condition which basically means keeping my mouth closed and staying out of the discussion.

In case you didn’t know, I am pregnant.  Almost thirty four weeks pregnant to be exact and my body is kicking into nesting gear and preparing to give birth.  I am still working 36 hours a week and I’m tired.  When I’ve been gone for 14 hours a day I don’t want to come home to a dirty house and an excuse that he was gone all day too and was too tired or too busy still working on something to clean up when he got home.  Because as far as I can tell, he got home by 7 or 8pm, and it’s midnight when I get home.  I’m sure that somewhere in those 4 or 5 hours he could have found 30 minutes to pick up and straighten.  I know this is possible because somehow on my days off I always spend at least the first half hour after breakfast cleaning the mess from the days before.

I’m stressed about getting things done that need to be done before the baby comes.  I’m stressed because we still don’t technically have a name yet.  (We actually have a first name we both like but I just found out it’s a lot more popular than I thought it was and I HATE that.  Also we haven’t totally settled on the middle name.  There are two possible options in the works.  One sounds better than the other and is a family name but the second is a family name that means more to me.  What to do, what to do…)  I’m stressed about working up to giving birth because physically I just can’t do what I used to be able to do and I don’t want anyone at my job to think I’m slacking.  I’m stressed about spending enough quality time with Avelyn before the new baby comes; I just love our time together so much.  I’m stressed just thinking about him going away for the summer again because it will be so hard for me, in so many ways.  I’m stressed thinking about what will happen if I go crazy after having a baby.  I freaking hate having people help me with anything.  I’m STRESSED because I’m so irritated with Kevin all the time, and I remember how hard it was after Avelyn was born, for months. Heck, maybe years?  (While we’re on the subject, can I add that I’m stressed about opening up comments again, something I would really like to do?  I’ve received enough email comments from people being really supportive about closing them and now I miss hearing from you guys.  I am opening up comments on this one post.  We’ll see how it goes.  I doubt I will open them up for good again because I know the people who often annoyed me with their words will starting stressing me out again.  Ugggggh.  It really sucks when one or two people ruin it for everyone else. Namely me )

In short, I’m stressed.  I’m irritated.  I’m tired.  I’m worried.  But so much more than that, I’m really, really excited and happy about having this baby, and the fact I sometimes feel all those other things just makes me annoyed today.

What the heck, Life?  Can’t you throw me a bone?  Preferably in the form of a husband who can read minds and subtle cues and just do everything I want him to say and do without me having to say it?  Because that would be suh-weet.

T-minus 44 DAYS OR LESS to go. Holy. Cow.

In my experience that’s how it works – life is good, shit goes down, life is okay, shit goes waaaaay down, life is good again.  We haven’t had any huge issues in weeks, months even.  There is some heavy stuff going down with some family members of mine (namely someones absolutely crazy, completely absurd and psychotic soon-to-be-ex spouse so PLEASE pray) but nothing on the homefront.  So why do I feel so blue?  Blue isn’t the right word because I’m not really feeling sad but maybe… beige?  Beige is pretty bland and unfeeling.  That’s how I feel – UNfeeling.

I haven’t read back through any of my posts in a long time but I bet if I did I know what I would find.  Lots and lots of cute baby pictures and the appearance of all bliss, all the time.  All of that happiness was real, but where were the other parts?  Why didn’t I write about the days I cried All. Day. Long. because being a mom was completely unlike what I thought it would be?  Why didn’t I write about the moment I realized that working outside the home made me feel better about myself, made me a better mom than staying home with my child and how that made me feel?  Or the one million times I wanted to strangle my husband because I had to ask yet AGAIN for him to help me do anything around the house?  Or the one million and one times he did it without being asked and reminded me how much I loved him?

Is it because I am too tired to write anymore or because I am just too scared to admit to some of these things?  I hope it’s not the latter.  Sometimes when I write a post, usually the very serious or very sarcastic ones, my heart is pounding the whole time, wondering if I will have the balls to hit “Publish”.  I proofread it 30 times, rewriting and rearranging it until I hope it makes sense and then wait, nervous with butterflies in my stomach to see if I get any comments.  No comments on a post full of pictures is one thing, even I don’t comment on picture posts, but no comments on a post you really spend time on, that means something to you, especially one you are afraid to post in the first place is a really ominous sign.  It makes me feel icky, and I obsess over what I did wrong.  Is it just because no one reads this blog anymore?  Is it because I offended someone with my words?  Is it because I just made a gigantic ASS of myself?  The self deprecation is endless.

When I started blogging it was to track the pregnancy, and most of the posts are just “24 weeks – your baby is the size of a [insert fruit here]…” variety.  There are only a few paragraphs and posts about myself actually being pregnant, and no one read it.  UNsurprise.  If you look back between November 2007, when I started, and April 2008 when Avelyn was born you would never know that midway through I caught a virus that could have had potentially fatal effects on my baby.  Why didn’t I write about that experience?  Why did I feel like I had to keep it secret, or keep that part to myself?  I remember thinking that I didn’t want to give out those details because I didn’t want people we knew to be constantly asking me about it, I wanted a little privacy from THEM.  –––

This gets me thinking about the irony of caring less about the internet world reading some of those details than people I know in person.  I don’t want people I might run into, or well meaning but OMG-you-are-SO-not-my-favorite family members pestering me with questions about something I don’t want them to know about.  It’s a lot easier to write about an experience in a forum such as this, and be able to control the information readers see than it is to be face to face with someone who thinks they have a right to it just because they know you.  Does anyone else ever feel this way?  I know a few of you out there have somehow kept your blogs secret from your family so you could write about whatever you want and I think it is amazing you have been able to do so.  How therapeutic it must be to be able to rant about the day-to-day topics that torture you most.  Love ‘em, hate ‘em, your and your spouse’s family are here to stay and words in print last FOOORRRRREEEEVVVVVEEEEERRRRRR so I try really hard to steer clear of that topic.

Some of my favorite blogs, the ones I read every day, are those that write about the realness of  life.  The good, the bad, and the sometimes really really ugly.  Becoming Sarah is fairly new to blogging (has it even been a year?) but she’s totally blunt in her description of pregnancy and new-parenthood.  I love it.  Interested in what the pregnant vagina looks like or the insanity that comes with post-partum hormones and over-the-moon love for a new baby?  You will love her.  And Kickyboots, the first blog I stumbled on and still hang on every word today continues to amaze me with her gut wrenching honesty and I continue to hold fast to the belief that it is possible she is part of some secret Canadian FBI group that has tapped my house and my brain, because the words she writes about being a mother are just spot on sometimes and it scares me.

So for all that, I want to officially say that as of today I am making a pledge to myself to write for myself, to keep a record of what “today” was like so that “tomorrow” I can look back and remember, oh yeah that was a really hard time but we got through it or yep, that was THE BEST day.  It’s so easy to focus on the bad in real life that I think I have over compensated on the blog by focusing too much on the good.  And that’s not real.  Someone left a comment once along the lines of “Your pictures make me happy. I wish my life were that great.”  I thought to myself how nice that one of my pictures made someone smile, and also how sad that they thought my life was so great all the time.  It’s important for me to recognize the rough times so that I can really appreciate the good times too.  Because no matter how bad it can sometimes get, for the most part it’s a whole lot of excellent and I think it should be fairly reflected.

Wow, not sure where I started with this but I guess this is where I ended up.  Oh, I hear a baby waking up from a nap.  I’m off to make homemade soft pretzels and maybe some brownies before work tonight.  So far so good on making my life sound less crappy huh?  Today is a good day.  :)

May is always a hard month and the weeks leading up to May 22 leave me anxious, teary eyed, emotionally unstable and probably not too fun to be around.  Add to that the stress of finals, graduation, moving, prepping for NCLEX, starting a new job… I just get overwhelmed.  When I get overwhelmed I get really anxious and start having panic attacks about every little thing.  Especially things that make me angry, like being told what to do, who to see, what to say, how to feel, blah, blah, blah.

So I’m not going to do any of those things.  I’m gonna do my own thing.  I’m gonna stand my ground, even if it means giving in just to keep peace (even though I know that doesn’t totally mean standing my ground).  Because what am I if not a gentle natured, peace loving, angel?  Ha ha ha ha. 

I told Kevin today I want to wake up in our house on Mother’s Day.  I don’t want to be at his parents place one more day.  It will be tough but I think we can make it happen.  If you’re in San Antonio next weekend and have some muscle would you please help me move in the afternoon on Saturday, May 9th?  We just have to load up a kind size bed, a dresser, a crib, a couch and maybe a TV.  All the little stuff is moved in.  I would be indebted to you.  And probably buy you dinner. 

I need peace.  I need freedom.  I need the solitude of MY home with MY family.  I LOVE my in laws, please don’t get me wrong, I am blessed with WONDERFUL M & FIL’s but we ALL need some space.

Just one more week.  Just one more week…

Thanks to all of you for being such great friends, and such a great support.  I can’t tell you how much better I feel to hear your typed words voice!  I love it.  Thanks for the kind words.

I am so sick of feeling guilty for the way I feel.  Especially about things that should be wonderful times in my life.  Take this stupid graduation for example.  I went back to school for something I believed in, even though I have tens of thousands of dollars in loans I will be paying from the previous worthless degree until the day I die.  I had a baby in the middle of school, and didn’t drop out.  I did it while my husband lived 200 miles away.  I made the awful decision to part with my daughter so I could finish.  And now I’m about to graduate, on time.  This graduation isn’t stupid, but I sure am starting to hate it.

I know she won’t remember or even understand what’s going on, but Avelyn will be there and that means so much to me.  I don’t need anyone else but her.  (And Kevin of course.)  I don’t need any gifts, I don’t want a big show.  I have said this time after time after time and I mean it.  Why doesn’t anyone get it?  Why won’t they respect my wishes?  I don’t want a big graduation dinner.  I don’t want cards or gifts.  I don’t want people there who I have said I DON’T WANT TO BE THERE.  I just want a low key hey-thanks-for-coming-I’ll-see-you-after-the-ceremony kind of thing.  If you feel like I owe you time or something for coming to this then you shouldn’t be there.  This isn’t a celebration of you taking time to be there.  It’s a celebration of me and my fellow students somehow surviving long enough to make it out of this hell called nursing school. 

I know this sounds like I’m being ungrateful but it wouldn’t be like that if you people would listen to me and hear what I am saying.  Is it crazy to want to be surrounded by people I want to be there?  People that make me feel good?  People that don’t stress me out to the point I want to call the whole thing off, crawl into a hole and down a bottle of antidepressants?  Because that’s how I’m feeling about this whole stupid thing now.  Think anyone would notice if I didn’t even show?  Probably not because clearly it’s not about me.

Also, this is my second graduation.  The first one was bad enough.  I have invited my mom, my grandparents, Kevin’s parents and my sister.  That is it.  That is all.  And my sister probably won’t come because a) she lives far away and b) she and my mom are feuding again because they are essentially the same person and neither will back down.  And I said it was stupid, but this graduation isn’t stupid, it’s great.  I hate that I am hating it.  I just want to pass my finals next Monday and Tuesday and get the hello out of town. I want to move in to MY house with MY husband and MY daughter and get on with MY life. I want a vacation from everyone and everything that is going on. 

I say all these things and they sound horrible.  But why does it have to get to this point?  Why does it have to sound horrible?  I just want people to respect me.  I’m not an idiot.  I am me, take it or leave it.  We don’t have to like each other, but I deserve the same respect as everyone else in the family.  I’m the oldest on my side and the youngest on Kevin’s side.  In age, that is. 

So that’s my [if you can believe it, very edited] rant.  I don’t care anymore.  I’m done trying to pretend like I’m okay with everything and I’m done caring about this whole thing.  You guys just do what you want to do.  I don’t care who comes or what we do.  I.JUST.DON’T.CARE.  I am stressed out, worn out, tired, annoyed, peeved, and ready to have my family back.  We are done living with his parents.  We are done being treated like kids.  We have our own kid(s).  We are not borrowing any more money and we are not doing what the rest of them want to do just because the rest of them have lots of money and make all the plans.  We are starting our traditions.  We are going on our vacations.  We are starting our lives.  Our independent, don’t need no help, don’t want no help, we’ll tell you if we want your opinion, lives.

Big.  Long.  Sigh. 

Hi, I am Jennifer.  I am a wife.  I am a mother.  I’m a daughter, a sister, a granddaughter, a friend, an enemy, a nurse, a loony tune.  A person.  I don’t like unsolicited advice, especially about how I should feel and especially about how to parent or deal with my child.  I love freedom of speech and opinions, unless you don’t respect mine and try to impress yours.  If you can’t respect our differences don’t talk to me.

I am here.  I matter.  And right now I need to start protecting myself and mine.

PS – May 22 marks 15 years since my Dad passed away.  It sucks.  And it’s not helping my mood right now.

**Regular light hearted posting to return imminently when I read this post later and feel incredibly embarrassed that I wrote it, and incredibly angry I just didn’t say what I wanted to say.  Tootles!

In other news, I am officially tired of having pets. Is that awful to say? Oh well, it’s my blog so I can say it. It’s not that I really love them less now that I have a real baby, but I do love them differently. I want to spend so much time with Avelyn, and I’m so focused on her or keeping myself sane that I just tire of the animals very easily. I’m tired of Etta having to sleep on the bed because she’ll pee and poop on the floor if left unattended. I’m tired of her jumping down at 3am every night and doing just that. I’m tired of stepping in pee, picking up poop on the stairs, timing when she eats so she can have her medicine on schedule, shoving the handful of pills down her throat 20 times until she swallows them, listening to her whine because the meds make her want to eat all damn day. Ugh. I know how awful this sounds. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad she’s better and she’s still my dog but man, having Avelyn really put it into perspective for me. Am I the only terrible pet owner out there? In the past I might have been insulted had someone uttered the words, “It’s just a dog” but now… well, she’s just a dog. I love her, she is sweet and she’s mine and I’ll be sad when she goes one day but do I tear up and have a panic attack thinking about my life without her? No. Am I the only woman who went from doting on a cute puppy and an evil cat to wishing they would go live with Kevin in San Antonio so I didn’t have to constantly clean up after them, yell at them to get off the baby’s blanket and not to lick her mouth? Honestly I just don’t have the time. Not that I have a full plate or anything… it feels good to get that load off.

Today at school a few of us old married ladies (and one super cute soon to be married lady) sat around and had a grand time commiserating the stupidity of husbands. It was just what the doctor ordered. Sometimes I think we women just need to hear that we’re not alone, that 99% of other wives are living with an oaf too. (Love you, Babe, remember that). Here is a rundown of the top list of complaints, in no particular order:

Dear Husband,

• You’re not 4 and I ain’t your Momma, so instead of throwing them on the floor for me to find, seethe about and eventually pick up while cursing your name, why don’t you put your own dirty clothes in the basket when you take them off.
• The dishwasher is 6 inches away from the sink. That’s where dirty dishes go.
• You know when I said, “okay I have to study so please don’t distract me”? I MEANT IT! SHUT UP! Think of me studying as you watching football, only important.
• Yes, you are right. The floor will just get dirty again but it has to be cleaned and newsflash – I got the vacuum in black and the Swiffer in green so it’s manly enough for you to use it. Also, when we have/since we have small ones it has to be cleaned every day because small ones roll/crawl/pick up everything on the floor so let’s not give ‘em anything to pick up.
• Uh, unless I sleepshave those little hairs all over the bathroom counter are yours and while we’re at it is it too much to ask that you wipe the water off the counter so I don’t get that sopping horizontal line across my crotch?
• I have been working for the last twelve hours at the hospital. I started before the sun came up and left after it went down. I only get a 30 minute lunch break and my sandwich was soggy from the fridge. My feet look like hooves. Did you seriously just ask me what we’re having for dinner?
• Oh yeah and just so you know, at the end of the day when you start breathing down my neck and feeling me up and I say “I’m just really tired” it literally means “I’m (in no way JUST) really tired”. It can also mean “I’ve been felt up by kids all day and need some ‘nobody touch me’ time” or “I recently pushed a baby out of there and now I don’t know where anything is anymore” or it could mean “I’ll sleep with you when you throw your own underwear in the wash, do the dishes, turn off the TV when I need you to, pick up and sweep the floor, wipe down all the counters and cook us dinner. All on your own. Without me asking or telling. Or congratulating you. I do it day in and day out without accolade so I know it’s not an insane request.

I would just like to follow with this notice:

Ladies, care to comment? Or gentlemen, I believe in free speech and equality.

For the ladies who know who they are…

[JAR: Today in JAR Jennifer got a 100 on her pedi test. When the "100! You are AWESOME" popped up on the screen confetti and balloons fell from the ceiling and a mariachi band played. She was carried out on a chair, high in the air while the crowd sang "For she's a jolly good fella..." Afterward it was announced on loud speaker that OB was canceled for the rest of the semester and in it's place would be margarita happy hour every week from 1-4pm. As if that wasn't enough it would also be all you can eat guacamole and hot pretzels! And chocolate ice cream! And Laffy Taffy... oops I digress. After indulging herself Jennifer returned home to find Avelyn sitting in the middle of the floor reading Dostoevsky and demanding tea and crumpets. She smiled, closed the door and hugged her 96 pound baby.]

Okay, I understand that babies typically look “gender neutral” during the first year, or until they get a little hair. Which basically translates into most babies look like boys. I get it. But next time you start to say something to a parent about their baby, or talk within ear range of the Mommy, take a quick glance at the clothes this child is wearing. As a very general rule:

Pink/Purple = G-I-R-L. Flowers/Hearts/Bows = G-I-R-L.
Blue = B-O-Y. Trucks/Bugs/Dinosaurs = B-O-Y.

Now, I won’t go out on a limb and speak for all you parents out there but it really burns me up when time after time I have to hear, “Do you mind if I ask how old your son is?” or “What a cutie! How old is he?” or “Hey Buddy, you’re a big fella aren’t you?” Yeah, I don’t know why any of those things would bother me. Oh wait, yes I do – because I have a little girl! A beautiful, precious, sweet faced, gorgeous baby girl!

It used to bother me in the beginning. Then I developed a brilliant coping technique. I made a point to only dress her in “girly” colors. I put bows and headbands on her head. Although 9 times out of 10 people STILL referred to her masculinity, it stopped bothering me after a while. Today my world unraveled. Within a 10 minute time span three people at the park referred to her as a boy. I handled it with as much grace and dignity as I could muster and very politely said each time, “Well she’s a girl, and she’s six months old” which was followed each time with “Oh wow! She’s so big!” Yep, that’s right, my baby is female and large. Thanks for pointing it out in case I hadn’t realized what a giant she was.

I picked her up out of that swing and covered her with hugs and kisses and plenty of “You are such a sweet girl and Momma loves you sooooooooo much!” Then we walked home while I phoned Katie and whined. She promised to tell me if she ever thought Avelyn looked like a boy but I’m sure she’s not that dumb. Oh well. One day when Avelyn is a super model, super genius, super doctor the world will cry at her stupendousness. Until then the world better watch out, cause this Momma is close to

It was a little after seven and Avelyn had just fallen asleep.  I was on the phone with a friend talking excitedly about our baby’s first Halloween’s (stay tuned for pictures!) when there was a knock on the door.  Naturally our fearless protector, Etta, started letting them know she meant business.  Since Etta was barking and I was on the phone I figured if it was an axe murderer they probably wouldn’t try to kill me.  Too many people would hear.  (We don’t have a peephole…sigh…long story.)

So I opened the door and recognized the guy as my next door neighbor who has owned the adjoining condo for a year but has never lived there.  Over the last few months he has irritated me to no end by renovating the place between 4pm and 11pm.  That’s right.  On more than one occasion Kevin or I very nicely-politely-jovially knocked on his door and asked that they keep the noise down because I had a newborn inside that couldn’t sleep with all the racket.  The first time they pretended not to hear the knock on the door.  That should tell you something.

The last time I heard anything out of them was a few weeks ago.  They were working around 9:30pm out on the patio doing something that apparently required banging the door against the fence over and over and over and over and…. I hated them but I was polite EVERY time I asked them to please keep the noise down or stop for the night.  I mean come on, you do not renovate a home at night.  Especially when it’s a humble abode and not a freestanding house.  An abode of which shares walls with other people’s abodes.

Back to tonight, I opened the door to find this guy.  He looks alright.  The dog is barking.  I’m on the phone, asking my friend to hang on.  

“Do you have a minute?” he asked, and said some other stuff I couldn’t hear over the barking.

“Not really,” I said (again – POLITELY), “I have a baby upstairs I’m trying to get to sleep.”  Weird pause.  ”Why?”

“Oh, well, I was going to give you a courtesy call but you’re being very rude so…”

Excuse me?!?  I’M being rude?  You are a douchebag that woke my NEWBORN baby up more than once this summer.  You are an a$*h07e that knocked on MY door interrupting MY evening in MY home and are making me deal with my stupid barking dog and I AM BEING RUDE???  

I was stunned.  Luckily his wife had just walked around the corner and made a loud “Shshshshsh” sound and jumped in and started talking.  Which was good because I’m not sure how I would have reacted.  Part of me wanted to slam the door in his stupid little face.  Another part wanted to say what I wrote above and another part (the old Jennifer) probably wanted to stand there like an idiot and then come up with something biting and clever to say 3 days too late.  

Turns out they are having some sort of meeting tomorrow at their home from 7-8pm and wanted to give me a “courtesy call” since they knew I had a baby.  Isn’t that nice?  Why did he have to be such an ass about it?  I was very grateful to know about this in advance, and it was courteous of them to give me a heads up.  It’s not like I run the complex just because I have a sleeping baby.  

My friend suggested I go over tomorrow or when I see them next and thank them for letting me know ahead of time.  Keeping peace with your neighbors and all.  She’s probably right.  I’ve never cared about keeping peace with any neighbor but this will be good practice.  I shall rise above my idiot neighbor and thank them the next time I see them.  Kill ‘em with kindness, right? 

Oh – the kicker was after the wife smoothed things over and they were about to leave the guy says “You’re renting here, right?”  Yes, dumbass.  Why should that make a difference?  Maybe he knows my landlord.  Maybe he IS my landlord!  GASP!#$*&%

She is slowly getting used to the thicker formula since I added cereal to it this week. It definitely seems to help prevent reflux but towards the end of the day it seems inevitable. The doctor doubled her Rx for reflux meds on Monday and when I went to pick it up today the pharmacy told me that our insurance only covers 30 pills every 30 days so I couldn’t get enough to fill a twice a day regimen. Although if I wanted to I could pay for the extra 30 pills out of pocket at a mere $162. If I haven’t said it here before I’ll say it now – I FREAKING HATE INSURANCE COMPANIES!?#$&!(>$@

It must be me with the problem. Clearly I must be crazy to think that our doctor knows better than the voice on the end of the phone who probably received a two week training course in how to look up codes and canned responses in a manual. I must be a complete idiot since I still refuse to accept that they have the legal right to supersede a doctor’s orders on how to treat a living, breathing patient. Man, I must be a real a-hole. I think of all the children out there with real problems, not just a stinking cold and bad reflux, but real health crises that can’t get their medication or the treatment they need because of some idiot in a suit that controls what they can and cannot receive. I think of little babies so tiny and sick and no one can figure out what the heck is wrong with them and everyone keeps giving their parents the run around because they don’t know what else to do. Makes me red in the face, can you tell???

Sigh. Another reason to keep me going in nursing school. Every day that I am in clinical I see at least one thing that reminds me, okay this is why I’m here. It might be good or bad but I always leave with one lasting impression that helps me get through the next week of hell you people might call nursing school. Insiders know that it is actually the devil’s playground where evilness lurks and your soul is slowly sucked away. You’ve really got to love it to do it so please don’t waste your time if you really don’t want to clean up blood, guts and poop for a living.

Okay it’s not that bad. Close, but most days not that bad. For example, Tuesday I had my first OB clinical and it was amazing. Before I delve too deeply I should preface by saying I went into this knowing exactly what to expect. I mean, having birthed my own child I am clearly an expert. I witnessed Avelyn’s birth from beginning to end. Felt every pain, every muscle, every cramp and then watched in the mirror, first in awe and then in horror, as that beautiful little baby came tearing out of my body like a pack of wild dogs was chasing her. I watched as Kevin changed from a funny, stoic holder of the left leg to a disgusted and scared little man who was staring intently at my face in a way that very clearly stated “I am begging you, please don’t ask me to look down there again. Please, please, please for the love of God I don’t want to see/smell/hear or feel what is happening to you. Please.” I kept asking him but by that time I was high on Fentanyl and O2 so I was having an uproarious time pushing out that little body ruiner. (Drugs. Are. Good.)

Anyway, on to Tuesday. It was so cool. First thing upon arriving the nurse said Room X was “Complete, complete, complete. She is ready to have that baby.” I was off. I stood outside the room reviewing the chart while her nurse finished admitting a woman in the room next door. Before I knew it I hear a very strained “Senorita, por favor.” I walk in and here is a 4’11″ woman doubled over beside the bed asking for help to el bano. My three years of high school Spanish allowed me to quickly and effectively respond, “Okay, um, hold on while I get the nurse” in perfect English.

I got the nurse who rushed in and in very good Spanish told her to get back on the bed and use a bedpan. She did get on the bed but never used the bedpan. First thing about labor to know is that when a woman starts telling you she has to go to the bathroom — the baby is COMING OUT. I held some legs, watched some oozing and then plastered myself to the wall when the delivery team came rushing in. That kid was out within my first 30 minutes of the day.

The rest of the day just got better, in between the boredom of waiting of course. I got to scrub in and assist with a Cesarean, which will probably only seem super duper cool to other nursing students who understand how rare and awesome that is. After lunch it slowed down a bit and it looked like no one would be delivering before we left at 6:30. Oh ye of little faith. Second important thing to remember about L&D — things change quickly.

All of a sudden the hall is flooded with nurses, doctors and two fellow students, one of which is getting her arm ripped off by a screaming patient on a stretcher. Everyone is yelling something different.

“¡Necesito a mi marido!”
“Get out of the way!”
“¡Necesito a mi marido!“
“Clear the room!”
“¡NECESITO A MI MARIDO!“

I jumped into gear, determined to do something of consequence. I start yelling at my friend “What’s her husbands name? What is her name? Last name?” She is trying desperately to figure it out with even less Spanish than I have. We finally got enough to go on and I started running down the hall. When I finally spotted two guys standing in a doorway I shouted what I hoped was his name. After conveying to him with my shouting and running that he needed to HURRY UP BECAUSE HIS BABY WAS GOING TO COME OUT IN THE HALLWAY we ran into the room just in time for him to rush over by her side as the baby came flying out. Literally. The doctor almost dropped it in the goop bag but thankfully did not.

It was a very exciting end to a very fun day. I really think I may end up choosing L&D as my specialty. I had such a wonderful pregnancy and delivery experience (minus the recovery part) and I would love to be involved in that experience helping other women. The human body truly is a most amazing miracle.

Back to my baby girl, I tried giving her foods for the first time this week. We started with sweet potatoes. She looked SO DANG CUTE sitting up straight in her high chair and was really excited to be sitting eye level, by herself like we do. Here are a few photos of this first, may it brighten your day.

“I am so cute. Aren’t I cute? My Momma says I’m cute so I must be cute.”

“Uh, this was not at all what you described and I don’t appreciate your trickery getting it into my mouth you vile woman.” “Making sweet potatoes bubble spit is fuuuuuun!”

Next week, peas????

The only thing worse than not having Tivo is not having internet. How can anyone live without the internet? I AM HANGING ON BY A THREAD WITHOUT MY INTERNET!*&!>% I will be the first in a loooooooooong line of people who need to stand up and say “Hi. My name is _____, and I’m a webaholic.” I am at school right now, with Avelyn, to check my email and download stuff I need for school. Not having access to email and, gasp the blog, is bad enough but not being able to jump online to check school mail and Blackboard 100 times a day is really hurting.

Please pray for me. This week is going to suck.

Oh yeah, Avelyn caught a cold over the weekend which = her reflux getting really bad = awful congestion = inability to breathe = refusal to sleep in crib = only sleeping with me = me getting no studying done. The doctor doubled her reflux dose for this week and told us to add cereal to her bottles which she likes. We are starting foods next week! Wish us luck!