Good news!

Well, the Early Interventionist came out today to evaluate Fletcher, and he was above average in all categories! (Mommy’s little overachiever). She suggested that we may just be suffering from the “I’m a little boy and I develop slower than little girls” syndrome. So, they closed the file for now, with the option to re-open it if he doesn’t improve in a few months. He was his usual cute self, shaking hands with her, sharing his truck, dancing, and just generally never stopped moving. My child has no fear.

Ever had one of those days….

when everything just seems off? Yeah. I’ve had several in a row. Friday, my last day at my old job, the skeevy old doctor asked me what it would take to get me away from my husband. *shudders* Ummm….not you? Monday, I arrived at the babysitter’s at 0615 to a dark house. *sigh* I called every number I had, and finally got the aunt of the babysitter’s husband to come to the door. Everyone had overslept, and it made me late. Tuesday, we went to my awards banquet on the General Jackson. I took my husband’s steak, and he ate my fish. He woke up at 0230 puking his guts up. This slowly progressed to toilet-to-which-orifice confusion, where we finally figured out he had a bad piece of fish. Some people wanted to blame a virus, but I’m not sick, and neither is Fletcher. However, I thought that he’d feel better by the morning, so I left the baby for him to drop off. He fought to not have to pull over the whole way there. Then, he still decided to try to have “Bro Night” when he’d been home all day sick, hadn’t cleaned up anything, and didn’t feel like cooking. Today, he called me at work to ask what size underwear I wore. WTF? Um, ok, why? There’s this big sale at the mall, and I thought you might need some was his answer. Yeah. Like that has no ulterior motives! *sigh* Then he springs on me that we’re having a couple over for dinner. Tonight. *ARRRGHHHH!!!!* So now, I have to clean the house in the next hour and start cornbread/potatoes. Why does he choose days when I just got off work to do this? Why? Why ask why? I leave you with this:

Caught in the act!

My baby is growing up. I think my favorite part of this pic is the tongue.
Hi, all! Fletcher here! I’m extreeeeeemely photogenic. Here, I’ll prove it.

Now I’m just showing off!

Those are Mommy’s piggies. I was busy and didn’t see them before.

And…I present my first word!

Momma’s Duck….for real this time!

Yes, we all sound like Daisy, Bo, and Luke Duke. Enjoy!

I’m beginning to think…

that I need my hearing checked. One of the surgeons at work talks down into the wound, and I have to constantly ask him to repeat himself. Today, I returned a page for another doc, and I could have sworn the person on the other end told me his name was Cameron, but alas, no. His name was Chris. I can’t hear dialogue in a movie, but when I turn up the volume, the music and various kabooms are too loud. Now, both my grandfathers are hard of hearing. One admittedly so, and wears a hearing aid, the other is ‘not quite ready for all that, Nina.’ I had my hearing checked several years ago when I went for an ENT appointment and the partner of my doc decided I needed a hearing exam. (He was an ear specialist. ALL of his patients got hearing exams, whether they needed it or not.) I was told I had some mild hearing loss, at that time, but now, it seems to be worse. Hmmm. I’ve bitched at the surgeons at work for years about mumbling into the wounds. Maybe it was me. Oops. In other news, my offspring fell asleep at 1900 hours, and continues to repose. We’ll see how long that lasts. I made chicken and cornbread tonight, with peas, mashed taters, and mac and cheese. Yeah, I know. You can feel your arteries clogging just reading this. But, damn, it’s good!!! When I went out west and was working on the Indian Res, I discovered a major character flaw of the New Mexican population. They didn’t have sweet tea and biscuits!! Well, they had what could be loosely termed biscuits, but they’ve never heard of shortening, so they were hard as rocks. Sweet tea is made like this: 7 tea bags, 4ish cups of water brought just to a boil. Remove from stove, discard tea bags, and pour into a gallon pitcher. Fill the rest of the way with cold tap water and add 1 3/4 cup of sugar. Stir and enjoy! You can’t get sweet tea west of Memphis, apparently, or north of say Hopkinsville, Ky. It’s a crime, in my opinion. Stirring sugar into cold unsweetened iced tea just isn’t the same.

Are you there, Lurker? It’s me, Nina.

I’ve been reading an awful lot about this de-lurking week, and now I’m curious. I didn’t think I had anyone who read me that didn’t comment, but maybe I do. I promise I’ve had all my shots and I only nibble when provoked! Let me know who you are! (If no one comments, I’m gonna be very embarrassed.)

Chunk’s Daddy makes a post.

Attn: this is the father of “chunk”

1st…love this link

CLICK HERE

2nd…hope everyone that wants something like we did…gets it.

Spoolie out.

Early Christmas Present

No, not that one. He’s still baking at 325, and seems relatively comfy. Don’t worry. My dad got us tickets to the General Jackson Showboat last night! I was actually surprised because….I LIKED IT!!! It was dinner and a show, prime rib, potato casserole of some sort, sweet taters, green beans, and cheesecake for dessert. The show was corny, A Country Christmas, but you all know how I love corny. They got this old guy up on the stage and the Barbies sat in his lap and sang ‘Santa Baby’. I told my SIL, Bro, and Sis that I hope he didn’t take his V.iagra this evening, or we’d be getting more show than we paid for. One of the Barbies had toilet paper on her shoe the whole show, and her tag sticking out of the back of her dress. (We were right next to the stage.) Guess they don’t have time for costume proofreading, eh? Well, back to normal life. Laundry and dishes. Merry Thanksgiving, all, if I don’t see you again. But I bet I will. My husband hooked up with some of his old high school friends on Facebook. We’re supposed to go to lunch with them (2 hrs away, mind you) on Tuesday. This should be interesting.

Update: I saw New Moon. Oh. My. God. Hot!! Excellent. Shirtless boys with 6-packs are better than porn. And Edward, of course. He requires no introduction. Oh. My. God.

What an ass….

Today, I was in the same Dr’s room that hollered at me for not running the x-ray machine a few weeks ago. Somehow, he got on the subject of Postpartum Depression. In his opinion, it’s not a medical diagnosis, but purely a legal defense for the crazies who drown their children and shoot their husbands. His words, not mine. Then he went into how the whole world changes for men just like it does for women, so why are women so depressed? Well, the men don’t have hormones surging like crazy, and the men aren’t solely responsible for feeding and nurturing the little munchkin. The men didn’t just “squeeze something the size of a watermelon out of a hole the size of a lemon”, to quote a well known movie. The men aren’t defined by their ability, or lack thereof, to give birth, and the men aren’t subjected to jokes about *ahem* anatomy changes postpartum of which there’s always underlying tension/apprehension on both parts about how their sex life is going to change. The men aren’t defined by their ability to lose weight after delivery, and thereby return to perfect status. I know some girls start out behind the 8-ball on that one, but you know what I mean. Why is there so much emphasis on this anyway? Why can’t the men see that it’s more important to help out and keep baby healthy and happy? I managed to hold all of this in, (aren’t y’all proud?) and just said “Well, knowing how ppd affected me, I would never tell a woman that her feelings didn’t exist and it was all in her head. I realize that my situation magnified it to volcano size, but just because ppd affected me that way, doesn’t make those women any less entitled to their feelings.” He started to argue, but I think he realized he was going to lose. I can’t believe that someone who saves lives and heals people for a living could make such an uncaring, insensitive, crass statement. Actually, he’s probably only in it for the money. He makes a lot of it.

Aaaaaand coming to you live at 0230 am for an update: I’m currently up late blogging because if I lay down, my esophagus just might erode away. Yep, he’s apparently laying on my stomach, because as someone who’s never experienced heartburn/indigestion in her life, I’m now whining. And unable to sleep due to these symptoms. I’ve taken zan.tac, and am not so patiently waiting for it to work. Seriously. Never in her life. I’ve always prided myself on having an iron stomach. I guess there’s exceptions for everything. And I’m still a little pissed at Dr. L. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve known he’s a ass ever since I first met him, like 5 years ago, or something. I just didn’t know it was to this extent.

I’m firing my mother.

She forgot to tell me about the family gathering they were having up at the old family homeplace on Saturday. Never heard hyde nor hair of it. Found out about it from my brother that evening at the other grandparent’s annual chili supper and hayride. (No, I didn’t go on the hayride. It was cold, and I was tired.) So, since I’ve been forgotten, I missed one of my favorite aunts from Ohio, and missed getting to show everyone my ever-expanding bump. So, my mother is fired.

Oh! I can’t believe I forgot to tell you! I think I might have had my 1st BH contraction last night. Just one, and I immediately sat down and put my feet up, and drank some water. I didn’t have another one, and it didn’t hurt too bad, so maybe it was just him moving around. I don’t know. I imagine I’ll know when it comes time to head to the hospital.