I just tucked my 2yr old daughter into bed with a potato.

Yes, meningitis a potato. She found it herself in the cabinet in the kitchen, ailment and she’d been playing with it all evening. When I told her it was time for bed, cialis 40mg she looked up at me with soulful puppydog eyes and said, “Potato night-night, too?”
Before she would brush her teeth for her bedtime ritual, she insisted on washing and lovingly drying the potato.
The potato has a name. Its name, according to Peanut, is Mushy.

Raw sex in River City!

Actually nothing that exciting. A friend of mine (if you’re reading this, troche Hi, medicine Crackhead!) had a high school teacher who would utter the above when it appeared the class was no longer paying attention.
I was I was with it enough to get knitting pictures and actually upload them so as to show off my knitting prowess and make this the pseudo knitting blog I intended. As it is, my main accomplishment for the evening has been to bathe both girls. Claire smells very sweet. So does Anna, but she’s tucked cozily away in bed where I can’t smell her. Claire, as usual, is sleeping on my lap with one eye half open.
Am getting back into the swing of working, although it’s frustrating having moved and not having all the equipment I’m accustomed to in its customary places. I’m in a new space for the first time in over six years, and am firmly out of my comfort zone.

Yesterday, I actually had the following discussion:
Don’t get your fishy wet.
If you get your fishy wet, it can’t go to church.
Get the fishy out of the sink!
Quit washing the fishy – it’s getting all wet!
Here – put some makeup on your fishy.
Yes, it’s a very pretty fishy.

(The fishy in question was a small stuffed toy that Peanut wanted to take to church with her. We were leaving in 10 minutes, and I didn’t feel like either battling over leaving the fish at home or dragging a sopping wet fish to church. The makeup was a closed tube of lipgloss that I knew Peanut couldn’t open.)

And if we needed more proof that we’ve got a proper Pittsburgh child, yesterday during lunch we were serenaded with, “Yeay Steelers, Here You Go! Jesus loves me! Yeay Steelers loves me!”

Diary of a return to work

Monday:
Morning – Hey, advice this getting up early stuff isn’t too awful. Must convince brain that it is not illogical to get up while it is still dark out.
At work – Boy, orthopedist it sure is strange to be back. This place is like a ghost town. Majority of work friends are out of office. Wonder how DH is doing at home.
Afternoon – Okay, infertility the novelty has worn off. Checked DH – all is fine at home. How many hours until I can go home? Two? What am I going to do for two more hours?
At home – Whew. That wasn’t so bad. Completely konked out on couch at 8:45.

Tuesday:
Morning – Yeah, this sucks. Where’s my coffee? Need coffee. At least I’m not running behind schedule.
Afternoon – Realized that the novelty of being the working parent returned to work that kept life interesting with baby #1 is completely missing this time. I already know what it’s like to return to work after leave, and would now like to know what it’s like to be the stay-at-home parent. Mostly, I just don’t want to be at work. Also notice that two months of mostly wearing slippers has made my feet unaccustomed to my shoes. Feet hurt. Whine whine whine.
At home – DH has coped just fine again. Yeay DH! Konked on couch at 9:30.

Wednesday:
Morning – Whatever.
Afternoon – Furiously daydreaming about how to work, parent, and go to school full time to switch careers completely as working for “the man” in Big Souless Corp is getting to me. Realize that it’s completely impossible, and that I probably don’t want to switch careers anyway and am likely just feeling overwhelmed at the concept of 35 more years of corporate drudgery, assuming my job isn’t outsourced to India. Must quit talking to negative people regarding outsourcing. In particular must quit talking to negative people who are less than 5yrs from retirement and can make all sorts of gloomy prognostications because it doesn’t matter to them anyway.
Come home to letter from University indicating that since my GPA is 2.9 I am on accademic probation and inelligible to TA (as if I intended to) or obtain an MS deg. Which is a laugh riot considering my GPA has been too low for the deg for…um…two years now? And I just found out about the whole “accademic probation” angle a year ago (why didn’t they send me a letter then?). And yeah, go ahead University, rub it in. I resume fantasizing about scrapping the MS and switching careers.
Evening – It’s almost 10:00 and I’m still awake! DH works tonight – tomorrow should be interesting.

So that whole Olympic Knitting thing? I’ve got about 10 rows knit. If I do manage to finish my project, it will truly be a feat.
I started (on Sunday night, so I’m already two days behind) a Shetland lace baby jacket from “Heirloom Knitting”. About 15 rows into it I decided I didn’t like the background of the (simple) lace pattern in garter stitch. Frogged. Cast on again and worked three rows stockingette before remembering it curls. Smacked forehead, frogged. Cast on again, this time chosing more complex lace pattern than the one suggested. Worked five rows, completely failed to establish the pattern accurately. Frogged. (swatch? We don’t need no freaking swatch!) Worked 10 rows. Fell asleep.
Film at 11.

More Verizon, less filling

In the past week, skincare we’ve been called twice by Verizon, link calls that are pushing – what else? FiOS!
The first time it was a real human person. A real human person who got a polite earful of complaint about the frequency of their calls/mailings/visits and a request not to be contacted further. A pointless request, recipe as evidenced by the fact that we got an automated call yesterday.
I’d had enough. I grabbed our last bill and found the contact # for FiOS orders. I called, and was put on hold while I was sent to the proper department (why was that not the proper department’s numer?) The very nice customer service woman put me on hold while she figured out what could be done, and a couple of minutes later returned victorious. She found a spot in their system whereby our account could be flagged “no solicitation by mail/phone” for Verizon, surveys, and Verizon-related vendors. Said flag should be in effect in 24-48 hrs.

Now if I could only figure out how to stop the automated political calls and the surveys…

Another checkup

I had my 6wk postpartum checkup today with the midwife and a student midwife. All is well, artificial and I have (unfortunately?) been declared fit to return to work. *sigh* All good things must come to an end. As much as I’ve enjoyed being off work, it will be good to feel productive again. Many new things await me at work, as I changed positions a couple months prior to my leave of absence. New things are good.

I believe I am over the baby blues that snuck up on me now and then after having Claire. I was sad that the pregnancy and birth were over, very much like the post-holiday letdown many people experience in January. I enjoy being pregnant (evil rib kicks notwithstanding) and having a new tiny baby to look forward to. I had to remind myself that now I have a new tiny baby to watch grow up, and can look forward to seeing the two girls grow together. Anna told me today that she loves Claire. She also informed me that Claire has two eyes, two ears, and “three two three” flowers on her jammies.

Since this is mostly a parenting related post, I’ll share this week’s lesson: yes, olive oil DOES remove cradle cap. Anna has had a couple flakey patches for a couple of months. I tried not washing her hair too often (which is easy – she doesn’t have much hair anyway and she hates getting it washed). I tried brushing the flakes out, but they hardly budged. I got desperate (okay, grossed out by all the flakes) last night and slimed up her head with a tsp of olive oil and went over it thoroughly (but gently) with a fine-toothed comb. It took three washings with Johnson’s Baby Shampoo to get all the oil out, but her scalp looks much better.

Here, Piggy Piggy Piggy!

Claire had her 1mo checkup today. She’s gone from 7lb 15 oz at 1 week old to 10lb 2oz at 5 weeks old. Now maybe people will believe me when I say she eats constantly. Her height, info weight, and head circumference are all 75%, which is a change from her sister, who typically is 25% for height and weight, but with a 80% head. (she will even tell you she’s got a “big noggin”) I realize these growth charts aren’t a competition, but the geek in me loves numbers.

*****

On the way home from the ped’s office I picked up sock yarn (because DH got me a great sock book for Christmas) and a beautiful blue lace wt for the Knitting Olympics. (how convenient is it that the yarn store is sort of on the way home?) I’m not sure how much knitting time I’m going to have, seeing as the olympics start the weekend of Claire’s baptism (much cooking and cleaning to be done in preparation), which is also the last weekend of my maternity leave. Oh, right. Not maternity. Short term disability. (I suppose nursing 20hrs a day does make it difficult to work in a laboratory, but I hardly feel disabled) The lace (Jagger Spun Zephyr in ice blue – 50% tussah silk 50% merino) is destined to be a baby jacket from “Heirloom Knitting.” The baby jacket will hopefully be part of Claire’s Easter dress. No, February is not too soon to start Easter dress preparations. Not when you are smocking the other one and your sewing time is limited.

And now, because I am being a good little sheep, I will post a poem so as to participate in the Bloggers Silent Poetry Reading. I chose this poem for performance in my high school public speaking class because I love the way the words feel in one’s mouth when reading it aloud. Feel free to recite it yourself and see what I mean.

“The Suicide”
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

“Curse thee, Life, I will live with thee no more!
Thou hast mocked me, starved me, beat my body sore!
And all for a pledge that was not pledged by me,
I have kissed thy crust and eaten sparingly
That I might eat again, and met thy sneers
With deprecations, and thy blows with tears,—
Aye, from thy glutted lash, glad, crawled away,
As if spent passion were a holiday!
And now I go. Nor threat, nor easy vow
Of tardy kindness can avail thee now
With me, whence fear and faith alike are flown;
Lonely I came, and I depart alone,
And know not where nor unto whom I go;
But that thou canst not follow me I know.”

Thus I to Life, and ceased; but through my brain
My thought ran still, until I spake again:

“Ah, but I go not as I came,—no trace
Is mine to bear away of that old grace
I brought! I have been heated in thy fires,
Bent by thy hands, fashioned to thy desires,
Thy mark is on me! I am not the same
Nor ever more shall be, as when I came.
Ashes am I of all that once I seemed.
In me all’s sunk that leapt, and all that dreamed
Is wakeful for alarm,—oh, shame to thee,
For the ill change that thou hast wrought in me,
Who laugh no more nor lift my throat to sing
Ah, Life, I would have been a pleasant thing
To have about the house when I was grown
If thou hadst left my little joys alone!
I asked of thee no favor save this one:
That thou wouldst leave me playing in the sun!
And this thou didst deny, calling my name
Insistently, until I rose and came.
I saw the sun no more.—It were not well
So long on these unpleasant thoughts to dwell,
Need I arise to-morrow and renew
Again my hated tasks, but I am through
With all things save my thoughts and this one night,
So that in truth I seem already quite
Free,and remote from thee,—I feel no haste
And no reluctance to depart; I taste
Merely, with thoughtful mien, an unknown draught,
That in a little while I shall have quaffed.”

Thus I to Life, and ceased, and slightly smiled,
Looking at nothing; and my thin dreams filed
Before me one by one till once again
I set new words unto an old refrain:

“Treasures thou hast that never have been mine!
Warm lights in many a secret chamber shine
Of thy gaunt house, and gusts of song have blown
Like blossoms out to me that sat alone!
And I have waited well for thee to show
If any share were mine,—and now I go
Nothing I leave, and if I naught attain
I shall but come into mine own again!”

Thus I to Life, and ceased, and spake no more,
But turning, straightway, sought a certain door
In the rear wall. Heavy it was, and low
And dark,—a way by which none e’er would go
That other exit had, and never knock
Was heard thereat,—bearing a curious lock
Some chance had shown me fashioned faultily,
Whereof Life held content the useless key,
And great coarse hinges, thick and rough with rust,
Whose sudden voice across a silence must,
I knew, be harsh and horrible to hear,—
A strange door, ugly like a dwarf.—So near
I came I felt upon my feet the chill
Of acid wind creeping across the sill.
So stood longtime, till over me at last
Came weariness, and all things other passed
To make it room; the still night drifted deep
Like snow about me, and I longed for sleep.

But, suddenly, marking the morning hour,
Bayed the deep-throated bell within the tower!
Startled, I raised my head,—and with a shout
Laid hold upon the latch,—and was without.

* * * *

Ah, long-forgotten, well-remembered road,
Leading me back unto my old abode,
My father’s house! There in the night I came,
And found them feasting, and all things the same
As they had been before. A splendour hung
Upon the walls, and such sweet songs were sung
As, echoing out of very long ago,
Had called me from the house of Life, I know.
So fair their raiment shone I looked in shame
On the unlovely garb in which I came;
Then straightway at my hesitancy mocked:
“It is my father’s house!” I said and knocked;
And the door opened. To the shining crowd
Tattered and dark I entered, like a cloud,
Seeing no face but his; to him I crept,
And “Father!” I cried, and clasped his knees, and wept.

* * * *

Ah, days of joy that followed! All alone
I wandered through the house. My own, my own,
My own to touch, my own to taste and smell,
All I had lacked so long and loved so well!
None shook me out of sleep, nor hushed my song,
Nor called me in from the sunlight all day long.

I know not when the wonder came to me
Of what my father’s business might be,
And whither fared and on what errands bent
The tall and gracious messengers he sent.
Yet one day with no song from dawn till night
Wondering, I sat, and watched them out of sight.
And the next day I called; and on the third
Asked them if I might go,—but no one heard.
Then, sick with longing, I arose at last
And went unto my father,—in that vast
Chamber wherein he for so many years
Has sat, surrounded by his charts and spheres.
“Father,” I said, “Father, I cannot play
The harp that thou didst give me, and all day
I sit in idleness, while to and fro
About me thy serene, grave servants go;
And I am weary of my lonely ease.
Better a perilous journey overseas
Away from thee, than this, the life I lead,
To sit all day in the sunshine like a weed
That grows to naught,—I love thee more than they
Who serve thee most; yet serve thee in no way.
Father, I beg of thee a little task
To dignify my days,—’tis all I ask
Forever, but forever, this denied,
I perish.”
“Child,” my father’s voice replied,
“All things thy fancy hath desired of me
Thou hast received. I have prepared for thee
Within my house a spacious chamber, where
Are delicate things to handle and to wear,
And all these things are thine. Dost thou love song?
My minstrels shall attend thee all day long.
Or sigh for flowers? My fairest gardens stand
Open as fields to thee on every hand.
And all thy days this word shall hold the same:
No pleasure shalt thou lack that thou shalt name.
But as for tasks—” he smiled, and shook his head;
“Thou hadst thy task, and laidst it by,” he said.