This Blog Has Moved

Well, kids, I did it. I made the jump to my very own domain. From now on, you will find me at www.snarkysquab.com. I've got a fancy new site, and this will give me a little more flexibility in terms of content and organization. I moved all the old posts over to the new domain, so you should be able to find all your Snarky Squab in one handy location. (The comments, alas, could not be ported over, so they'll all end up in the great comments archive in the sky.) Anyway, I hope you'll follow me over to the new digs - it's not worth writing without you to read it!

An earful

Mr. Squab and I both had chronic ear infections as children. When I was three I even had my adenoids taken out, and I think I had tubes in my ears more than once. So I just sort of assumed that our kids would be equally susceptible, and was pleasantly surprised when the Hatchling made it through the first three years of her life with only two mild ear infections to show for it.

Then we had the Sprout, and the Hatchling started preschool, and I don't know if either of those facts are relevant, but LORD, we cannot escape the ear infections this year. If it's not one kid, it's the other, and often both at the same time, and while the Sprout just gets kind of cranky and doesn't sleep well with hers, the Hatchling just completely disintegrates. She won't show the first sign of being ill until the pain is so bad she can't cope, and then she has a complete and total meltdown. The first time it happened was on a weekend, so the Hatchling was able to parasitically attach herself to me until the antibiotics kicked in. This time, no such luck. She started melting down yesterday afternoon and kept pathetically asking me to "sit wight here and snuggle wif me," which I mostly could not do because the Sprout is, you know, a BABY, and has not yet mastered the art of self-entertainment.

But the real pathos kicked in today. After an early doctor's appointment this morning, we went to Target to fill her prescriptions. She immediately requested to ride in the cart (unusual); did not want to get out to peruse the toy section (uncommon); did not want to get a treat while the prescription was getting filled (unprecedented); did not want to get McDonald's for lunch (unheard of); and then ASKED to go "night-night" at 11:45 am, after only about 15 minutes of Return of the Jedi (completely wackadoo). She didn't even stir when I went in to put the Sprout down for her nap a few minutes ago. She is, in fact, a pathetic specimen of a Hatchling, and I wish we could win the lottery or something so we *could* both be home and I *could* just hang out with her in the rocking chair all day. (Also, because: LOTTERY! FREE MONEY!) But alas, that winning ticket eludes us and I can only be thankful that she's passed out in her bed and not wailing for me to comfort her while I'm trying to change the baby's diaper. Speaking of which, I believe I'll go try to pass out on my own bed for a few minutes while both kids are unconscious. Here's hoping those antibiotics kick in soon!

Well, hello.

My mom says I have to put up a new post because every time she checks the blog she gets depressed about my anger issues. Fair point. Also ... uh, how is it that I haven't blogged in a month and a half? That was a longer-than-intended break! I guess traveling for Thanksgiving, hosting two Christmases (Christmasses?), traveling for New Year's, cooking a ton, making a veritable shitload of gifts by hand, shopping, finishing up classes and grading, celebrating five family birthdays, hosting out-of-town guests ... yeah, I guess I can see where the time went, after all. Anyhoo: Happy New Year! Does it bug anyone else that 2010 is being treated as the first year of the new decade rather than the last one of the old decade? No? I mean, I guess it doesn't bother me THAT much. We're not talking misusing-borrow-and-lend levels of bother. Just, you know. It's wrong. That's all. And how are you opting to pronounce the new year? Me, I'm going for the "twenty-ten" option. Goes more trippingly off the tongue.

Did anyone make any New Year's resolutions? I blow hot and cold with them. On the one hand, I hate setting myself up for failure. On the other hand, it is kind of nice to take stock once a year and think about where you want to go. This year I decided against concretely measurable goals (Read a book a week! Exercise daily! Try ten new foods!) in favor of more, uh, abstract pursuits. Basically I have one resolution, if you can call it that: to become more Zen. By which I mean, essentially, to chill the fuck out about things generally, and be kinder to myself, and be more present in the moment. Frankly, making a resolution to be more Zen is a bit oxymoronic if not just flat out moronic, but there it is. I've always been interested in Zen Buddhism and Taoism, in particular, but haven't had much time for it lately. But our pediatrician, who is this great guy with a sarcastic sense of humor and not at all the kind of person you'd think would be into eastern philosophy, is an unlikely Zen devotee, and once he found out I was also interested he started throwing vaguely Buddhist catch-phrases at me when I freak out about parenting things in our appointments. "Expect nothing" is one of his favorites. Like, when I'm all "the girls are going to have to share a bedroom and I don't think it's going to go well and they're just going to wake each other up and none of us will ever get a full night's sleep again but we don't have enough bedrooms for them not to share and what should I do?" He's all, "Expect nothing." And I'm all, "Blink." And he's all, "Just do what you need to do, find out what happens, and respond accordingly." Expect nothing is difficult for me, y'all. I EXPECT THINGS. Mostly baaaad things. Mostly in advance. And not just for myself - I can expect bad things for anyone. And WORRY about it. But I'm really trying to catch myself when I get into trouble-borrowing mode and remind myself to "expect nothing" and just do what I need to do. We'll see how it goes, but I feel like it's a resolution I can manage, that might also improve the quality of my life and the lives of those poor souls who have to live with my anxiety-ridden ass.

So ... is this post less depressing than the previous one? I better throw in a cute baby picture just in case. LOOK! A CUTE BABY!

Clearly, we're having some karmic problems here

So I've been sick for basically the last three and a half weeks, much of the time the kind of sick where you're really only fit for lying on the sofa and drinking hot tea. (I'm still not completely over it, but I have returned to functionality.) Now, usually when I get sick, I like to cut myself some slack for a few days, rest up, push fluids and recover, and then get back into the swing of things. This works pretty well for your average 5-7 day cold. Not so much with a three week fucker of a virus. This past month, even when I've been feeling my worst, I've still had to take care of the girls, ferry people around to preschool and playgroups, run errands, teach classes, go to meetings, etc. I've canceled when and where I could, but my life is currently arranged such that there's not a lot of wiggle room for cancellations. I have, in other words, been "pushing through" and "soldiering on," even though I am really not a "soldiering on" kind of squab. More of a "civilian-ing off" kind of one, actually.

The unpleasant side-effect of this unwonted stoicism has been that I've been madder than a wet hen pretty much all month. I mean, ANGRY. Angry about everything. Angry that I can't get un-sick, angry that the weather is so damn cold and wet, angry that we don't have any money and the kids need winter coats and boots and none of my shoes fit since the baby and all my clothes are cheap and ill-fitting, angry that being tired and sick all the time makes me an ill-tempered and impatient parent, angry that I haven't gotten any writing done in weeks and months, angry that I don't get any sick days, angry that I feel like I'm half-assing everything I do, as a parent, as a wife, as a teacher, as a friend, angry that I'm being whiny and annoying all the time, angryangryangry. And I guess maybe anger is a better response to crap than depression, but not by much.

So as I usually do when I'm having a problem, after stewing on it unproductively and no doubt alienating my friends with my bitching, I talked about it with Mr. Squab. "I'm angry all the time," I said, "and I know it's not fair, because you're already doing more than your share, and I feel terrible about that all the time too, but I can't keep being angry like this." And we talked about ways that I could get some kind of break if I really need one, and things to do to make me feel less crazy, and Mr. Squab said all the things that truly superior partners say and I felt like, okay, I can make it through this. I can't be sick forever, and things will be all right.

The next night (Friday) Mr. Squab sprained his ankle trying to avoid stepping on the cat.

Saturday the Hatchling had a complete breakdown while we were at an out of town birthday celebration, and we spent two hours at a local urgent care clinic diagnosing a raging ear infection.

Today I woke up with the entire right side of my head stuffed up, and the Sprout is either coming down with something or teething.

Breaks. I would like one.

Tired.

Well, hello. Ahem. Anybody still out there? Soooo ... it's been awhile. I guess I needed a break or something. Actually, that would be "or something" because it's not so much that I needed a break from blogging (I mentally narrate my day in blog posts; it's sad) as it is ... other stuff. Part of it was the realization that many of my posts were causing concern among certain friends and family members as to my mental and emotional stability. I mean, I don't want to make people think I'm about to go over the edge, here! And part of it was the realization that lately I've been feeling a lot like I'm about to go over the edge, here.

My stock answer when people ask me what it's like, having two kids, is "It's kicking my ass!" This is said - and meant - semi-jocularly, but the fact of the matter is that it's also objectively true about 75% of the time. I constantly feel frazzled, stretched too thin, unfocused, inadequate, lacking direction, dysfunctional, and frustrated. In short, I am a BUSHEL BASKET OF FUN these days. Whoo. During one of my recent meltdowns, I explained to Mr. Squab that I don't feel like I'm living up to my own (dwindling) standards in any aspect of my life right now: I'm not being the kind of mother I want to be, I'm not being a good partner to Mr. Squab, I'm completely overwhelmed even by minimal housework, I'm not making any progress in my professional life, and god knows I'm not taking great care of myself. My inner honors student is appalled at my inability to Get. Anything. Done. And while cognitively I'm aware that this, too, shall pass, I've been spending too much time lately feeling hopeless and dissatisfied. Which, let's face it, is not the most fun way to be in the world. Also it is booooorrrrrriiiiiiiiinnnnnnggggg to talk about.

Mr. Squab, who I should say right now is basically a saint, pointed out that almost all of my funk can be traced back to one overarching cause: the lack of sleep. The Sprout, like her sister before her, wakes up every two hours all night long. Every night. Sometimes even more often than that. During the day, she takes wee naps in the morning and then a longer nap - as long as three hours, sometimes - in the afternoon, while the Hatchling sleeps. Which means that for the last five months I have not slept for longer than maybe three hours at one go ... uh, at all. When the Hatchling was this same age, I was also profoundly sleep-deprived, but at least I could sleep whenever she did all through the day if I was really out of it. No such luck with two! And as any veteran parent can attest, after a few months of completely inadequate rest, you start to get a little psycho, and the worst of it is that you're too tired to remember that fatigue is the source of your misery. I casually mentioned the Sprout's poor sleeping habits at my weekly playgroup recently, and everyone immediately offered sympathy, remarking on how rough it is, how much you lose your mind, how everything goes all to hell when you're so, so, so, so tired. It was like a revelation: Oh, yeah! That IS why I feel so shitty! Because I NEVER GET ANY SLEEP. It's not that I'm an inadequate person! I'm just an inadequately rested person!

This realization does not, of course, help me get any more sleep - that will have to wait for sleep training in a month - but it does make me feel a little bit better about being such a mess. Because, really, I'm doing fine: I have lovely children and a wonderful partner and a good support system and a roof over my head and enough to eat etc., etc. I'm just bloody tired, is all.

Apparently my life is currently incompatible with blogging

It's not like things haven't been happening. The Sprout turned 3 months old, the Hatchling is coming up with new catchphrases and other awesomeness all the time, Mr. Squab and I celebrated our 7th anniversary, I finished rereading the entire Harry Potter series - I mean, the days are filled. Just not so much with the blogging. However, I know I need to post a 3 month letter for the Sprout, and we also have some lovely videos in the hopper, so, um ... stay tuned!! Look! Cute pictures!

Random Tidbits for the weekend

1. The Sprout has decided to try on being a fussy baby for the last two days. The mellow thing is SO last week. Apparently. This is not contributing to a positive mental state in her mama, who is finding herself really, really, really looking forward to being a mother of two girls about three years from now.*

2. It is (finally) a GORGEOUS spring day outside, and what's more, I actually got out to enjoy it a little. Went to the plant store and got several nice perennials to put in the front yard, and a truckload of mulch. Was kicked out of the house to go on said errand by Mr. Squab on the theory that a little kid-free time amid flowers and sunshine would perk me up. And he was right, as he so often is.

3. I CANNOT BELIEVE that Adam Lambert didn't win American Idol. WTF, America? Was it the eyeliner that put you off? Or the fact that he has more talent in his manicured pinky than you have in your whole vanilla bourgeois body? Feh.

4. I will soooooo be watching Glee this fall. Cheesy? Hell, yes, but I was a big-time choir kid in high school and it's worth the cheese just for the trip down memory lane.

5. My 20th high school reunion is coming up this summer. How did THAT happen so fast? I keep getting requests to send my address to the organizers so they can send me the invitation. Which I guess I'll do, since I don't want to be anti-social, but y'all: there is NO WAY IN HELL I'm going to my 20th reunion. You don't have to go to high school reunions if you're still having the occasional anxiety dream about high school, right? That's my stand and I'm sticking to it.

6. I have officially decided that I would like to travel back in time to when your average upper-middle class family had a baby nurse to help take care of the kids until they go off to school. Possibly boarding school. Depends on when you ask me. Just thought you'd want to know that it's official.*

* It has been brought to my attention that I've tended, of late, to post updates that indicate a fairly stressed/depressed state of mind. Which, you're damn right I'm stressed! But not at a worrisome level, in part because I have a blog to vent on. So not to fret.

Kids = Stress, Parenting = Anxiety

OK. So, we're back home and starting the process of getting used to being a family of four. The good stuff: I totally missed the Hatchling (and the feeling was definitely mutual) so it's been good to be back at home and get some snuggle time with my first baby. Baby 2.0 - let's call her Sprout, shall we? - is (so far) an extremely mellow baby, sleeping like a champ, only cries when she's hungry or needs her diaper changed, and is generally a very sweet little girl. The weather is getting warmer, we have lovely friends and relatives bringing us food and helping us out - I mean, objectively speaking, things are going pretty well.

So why do I feel like such a basket case? OK, some of it is post-partum hormones. Seriously, I could weep at the drop of a hat these days. It's annoying. And some of it is cumulative lack of sleep and the whole recovering from major surgery thing. But also, Sprout is having some eating problems and it's kind of making me want to stab my eyes out with a fork. Those of you who've been reading this blog since the early days will remember that the Hatchling had myriad problems on the nursing front, starting with being tongue tied and compounded by my low milk-supply and other fun. We had to supplement her with formula from the get-go and never managed to get her completely on the breast, though we did get into a decent groove with it and I nursed her until she was 14 months old. I had a lot of friends who had similar difficulties getting started with breastfeeding, and many of them had it much easier the second time around - copious milk supply, easy nursing, etc. And I had convinced myself that I'd be the same - you know, I put in my time in with the first one, this one would be easy sailing!

I should have known better. Now, Sprout isn't tongue-tied, and she knows how to nurse. But she is also an extremely big baby, and my supply is not keeping pace with her dietary needs. So we're supplementing again, which feels like failure. Sometimes she gets so mad that the milk isn't coming out fast enough that she won't even nurse. When I had to resort to putting droppers full of formula on my boobs while nursing so she'd keep sucking - something we had to do with the Hatchling - it REALLY felt like failure. Sprout had her first doctor's appointment today, and she's not gained any weight, so the doctor says we need to supplement even more, which at this point I'd be happy to do, only for the last day and a half she's been so sleepy it's hard to get her to eat anything at ALL. At a rational level (not a place I'm having an easy time getting to today) I know that this is something that we'll work out, we'll get past it, if I can't nurse her it's not the end of the world, etc., etc. But it's driving me nuts. I'm not enjoying the really excellent baby she is because I'm feeling so bad about not being able to feed her. (Also feeling bad about: the upheaval to the Hatchling's life; being a basket case all the time; not drinking enough water - yeah, we've hit absurd levels.) I HATE that I feel like a failure for the nursing not coming easily. I hate how much it will bother me if I end up not being able to nurse Sprout. I hate that I'm feeling so anxious when I really thought that the anxiety would be better this time around - when it SHOULD be better this time around. I hate that I'm already projecting that things will always suck when chances are that next week or even tomorrow I'll probably feel much better. Argh. I also hate that I can't write a more engaging damn blog post. OK. Sorry for the venting. Here are the positive things I'm trying to focus on when I feel fail-ey:

1. Look, she's really damn cute, OK? I mean, she is a Very. Cute. Baby.
2. Having had feeding problems before, we're at least prepared with all the techniques, so I have some idea what to do in response.
3. The Hatchling is being a total trouper even though all this is clearly stressing her out.
4. Mr. Squab continues to be a tower of strength.
5. This baby actually sleeps in the car, something the Hatchling never quite grasped.
6. My mother-in-law is here, cooking and taking care of us, and she brought a huge batch of my favorite molasses cookies with her, one of which I am going to go eat.

Just ... remind me to focus on this list, ok?

Gah. Busy.

Relatives in town.
Prepping for Kid 2.0.
(One month left. ACK.)
Trying to catch up on teaching stuff.
Would prefer to be sleeping, eating or peeing most of the time.

NO TIME FOR BLOGGING.

I will post a cute video tomorrow, I promise.

In the meantime, is it just me, or does "the Island of Sodor" sound a lot like it should be a locale in the evil part of Middle Earth? I mean, "Sodor" is kind of a creepy name, right?

OK. I'm going to take a shower, pee, and go to bed. May your evening be equally satisfying.

Feh.

I'm still #$*()#@$#&! sick. I no longer feel like death warmed over and I've been able to sleep a little the last two nights, but I'm sure as hell not healthy. Twice today I had a coughing fit so hard that I puked. Fun times. I've also had four, count 'em, FOUR doctor's appointments this week, because the fetus hasn't been cooperating properly with the damn monitoring. Nothing to worry about, she's totally fine, I just have to keep going in. It's a pain in the goddamn ass.

The Hatchling is doing better but her sleep schedule is all fubar, a usual side-effect of illness with a toddler. Today, for example, she did not take a nap. Under normal circumstances this would have pushed me right over the edge, but my resistance has been so weakened that I've moved beyond aggravation to resignation. We played with her new legos and I gave her a pedicure.

Hope your week has been less diseased than ours. Anyone know any non-medicinal methods for mucous eradication?

Not as rejuvenating as I would have thought

I had a lovely weekend with my chicas, doing nothing but listening to music, playing board games, eating, reading and sleeping. (Also engaging with the red squirrel who had taken up residence at the cabin and was damned if he'd leave his warm winter home just because *we* were there, but that's another story.) I enjoyed every minute of it, especially the sleeping in part, but am feeling surprisingly un-rested now that I'm back. As in, not so much rested at all. Which is weird. And also kind of sucks a little, because tomorrow I have to start the day off with a bang getting a biophysical profile at the hospital at 7:30 am (GAH) and then jaunt off to an all-day "faculty development" seminar. This means I have to take a shower tonight and look kind of presentable tomorrow. I kind of feel like lying down and dying just thinking about all the energy the above items will take. THERE IS NOT ENOUGH COFFEE IN THE WORLD, Y'ALL.

Oh, and? It's the coldest week of the year. With a vengeance. Have I mentioned how much I hate this stupid state in the winter?

P.S. The Hatchling remains resolutely un-potty-trained. Do they make diapers big enough for college students, do you think?

Heading Out

I'm leaving at noon today for my annual Estrogen-Weekend up north. (Mmmmm ... estrogen.) We'll have pillow fights in our skimpy baby-doll pajamas, paint each other's nails, and engage in group massages. At least that's what Mr. Squab would like to think. Send supportive thoughts to Mr. Squab, who has indicated that he is going to attempt to potty-train the (completely uninterested) Hatchling while I'm gone. Please, Lord, let it be so.

Have a happy weekend!

Reticence is not her problem

Yesterday the Hatchling and I went to tour a possible preschool for her for fall (because, yes, you have to start at LEAST this far in advance if you want to get your choice, which is kind of giving me hives. Not to mention figuring out how we'll pay for it, which is also giving me hives.) It was a great place, very welcoming and kid-friendly, a really nice director, great activities, etc. - I hope we can swing it, because the Hatchling would just thrive on it and it might keep me from losing my mind. Anyhoo. We we touring with another mom and little girl and let me tell you, they were a study in contrasts. The other girl, Grace, was very nice and friendly, but she also was perfectly happy to stay close to her mommy for the duration of the tour, a concept which the Hatchling completely fails to grasp. From the Hatchling's perspective, this was clearly a place designed with her in mind, so why would she have any qualms about, you know, just joining in? She wouldn't! We visited one classroom where they were having story time, and I whispered to the Hatchling that she had to be very quiet in this room, because other kids were listening to the story. Riiiiiiiight. She marched right up to the back of the group, sat down on the mat next to the nearest kid, and in her usual enthusiastic voice, said, "Hi, kids! What's goin' on?" I went over to try and shush her, and the little kid sitting next to her asked the teacher "Why are there some kids in here who don't belong?"

I got her out of there without too much further disruption, and in the next room we visited, they were having open playtime, with lots of different stations for the kids to choose from. It was nicely chaotic and I imagine most normal children would have opted for Grace's strategy of watching the action safely by her mother's side. I, however, do not have a normal kid. The Hatchling zipped right into the middle of the room where a teacher was preparing some craft supplies, took the cup of glue and paintbrush out of the teacher's hands, and started making her own collage. She was perfectly polite about it, she just wasn't at all shy. The teacher looked up at me and said "she seems to be right at home!" and indeed, she did. It didn't make for the most, uh, relaxing tour of the facilities, and I think Grace was appalled, but I guess it was good to see that the Hatchling would fit right in. I'm glad that she's so outgoing - makes it easier to make friends - but I don't know whether to be hopeful or fearful of the inevitable time(s) her friendly overtures are rejected. I don't want her to steamroller over the other kids, but I know her little heart will be broken if someone doesn't want to make friends with her. Sigh.

Gestational Update

Well, it's officially ten weeks from today that the newest member of the Squab family will make herself known. Somehow ten weeks sounds like an awfully short amount of time. Shorter even than 2 1/2 months, which also sounds really short. There is a slight undercurrent of panic running through the household - I mean, not that we didn't know this day was coming and all, but FUCK! TWO KIDS!

On the other hand, if there were an option to have someone else handle the last ten weeks of gestation, I would so be at the front of the line to sign up for THAT. This whole peeing-every-half-hour, can't-get-comfortable, no-sleeping, still-nauseated, back-aching, ligament-pulling CRAP was getting old like a month ago, and I will not miss it ONE. BIT.

I also had an unpleasant reminder that I'm in the high-risk category of expecting mothers at my OB check-up today. Nothing scary or dangerous, but starting this week they want me to come in twice a week for a fetal non-stress test (where they count the baby's kicks and monitor its heart rate) and an ultrasound (where they check the baby's movements and measure the amount of fluid in the uterus). Twice a week. And these aren't little five-minute things, either - we're talking a good 30-45 minutes per procedure, not including the time it takes to get to and from the hospital and wait in the waiting room. Oh, and plus I still have my regular OB visits to add in there. Gah. I had to do the same thing last time, but only once a week. When I asked if there was any especial cause for concern or reason why they wanted to see me so often this time, my doc said not really, they're just being extra cautious because of the hyptertension and the gestational diabetes and the insulin dependency and and and and ... The last time around this freaked me out, all this talk of increased risk of stillbirth and labor complications and such, and I guess maybe it should be freaking me out this time, except, you know, last time everything turned out just fine and I really feel like it will this time, too. Not that I wouldn't rather NOT have all the complications, but it seems like this is just how my body does the gestation thing, and as long as I'm doing my part to miminize the complications, things will be OK. Which is great as a positive mental attitude, but doesn't do squat for finding me childcare or helping me juggle my schedule to accomodate these appointments. Sigh. It will all work out - Mr. Squab will adjust his schedule some, and some friends have said they'll watch the Hatchling whenever needed, and somehow it will get done, but - have I mentioned how this pregnancy has only confirmed our decision to quit after two kids? Yeah, you can add this whole post to the growing list of reasons why two will be PLENTY.

Butterfingers

I swear, this pregnancy is making me a total klutz. I'm not saying that I'm the epitome of grace at the best of times, but the last two weeks my level of physical ineptitude has really gotten ridiculous. I can't fix a meal without dropping at least three key items on the floor. I can no longer pour myself a drink without spilling at least a few drops. I drop ... everything. Books, shoes, silverware, my glasses, you name it. I can't even type as well as I used to be able to. IT IS IRRITATING. Particularly when I'm making many things for Christmas-type gifts, and the band-aids! I have used so many! I'm presently working on the theory that drops/smudges of actual human blood give gifts that handmade, one-of-a-kind essence that you just can't buy. (And really, why would you WANT to?)

In other news, my other blog has been de-spammified, so there are new recommendations up for your yuletide reading pleasure.

On the mend

Amoxycillin is a wonderful thing. Took the Hatchling to urgent care and only one ear was infected but it had also ruptured - OUCH - and she had a lot of lovely congestion to boot. She haaaaaaaates the medicine (can't blame her: it's "orange dreamsicle" flavored) but we've been getting it down her gullet twice a day and she's already feeling much, much better. Last night she only woke up once, a drastic improvement over the past three days. We're lying low today but I think we'll actually make it.

I have to say, I did not handle this sickness well. Usually I'm pretty good with the coddling and cuddling that goes with a sick kid, but for some reason - I'm guessing because I'm already low on energy reserves due to my fetal enhancement - I was going OUT OF MY MIND this weekend. I don't think the Hatchling picked up on it (though poor Mr. Squab did) but by last night I was just losing it left and right. Part of it was the lack of sleep, but even more than that was the feeling of no escape from the sick kiddo. She was literally attached to me for 85% of the weekend - couldn't sleep unless she was in bed with me, couldn't be awake unless she was right up next to me on the sofa, and if I had to get up to, you know, pee or get something to eat, she would start mournfully moaning "oh, no ... OH, no ... OH, NOOOO!" in escalating tones until I came back. I could not get anything done, and even if I could have gotten away for a moment I was too damn tired to accomplish anything. It was just making me totally nuts - and, like, how churlish is that? Christ, it's not her fault she's sick. And as Mr. Squab truthfully observed, in a few years I'll WISH she'd snuggle with me on the sofa for the whole day. But it wasn't helping this weekend. And then I started thinking, crap, she's basically just behaving like a little baby ... and we're having one of those soon ... and what if THAT makes me crazy like this is? ACKKKKK. Because, you know, that kind of worst-case-scenario thinking is so incredibly helpful at all times. Ahem.

Anyway, I got some sleep last night and Mr. Squab put up some Christmas decorations and cleaned up the kitchen and rubbed my back and tried not to laugh at me for bursting into tears whenever anyone looked at me crosseyed. So today things are better. Onwards and upwards, right?

I'm baaaaaaaaaack

Did you miss me? I had a great time in Knoxville; for one thing, the weather was what November is SUPPOSED to be like (40s and 50s, damp, rainy) as opposed to the pre-winter crap we get in this godforsaken state. And for another thing, that baby is CUTE. Hoo. Plus my mom was there, too, so she basically catered to our every need. It was a good trip, and I sure do wish I lived closer to my sis, but it was really, really good to get home. I can't think of a better way to be greeted at the airport than by an ecstatic tow-headed two-year old running toward you with a mile-wide grin yelling "Mama!! Hi, Mama!! I so gwappa SEE you!" and then giving you a hugey-ginormous hug. That's just plain good stuff. Mr. Squab had even fixed her hair in a pony tail with barrettes. (Little girl hair-dos are not his strong point. He characterized his first attempt at a pony tail as an "epic fail.") He'd also done a bunch of laundry, hung the outdoor Christmas lights, cleaned out the back porch, and put insulating plastic on the windows while I was gone. This sort of pisses me off, because hell if *I* have the time or energy to tackle those kinds of projects when I'm singlehandedly responsible for the Hatchling. Where does he get off? But then, I also benefit from his industriousness, so, you know: I keep my mouth shut.

Hope y'all had a good week.

A matched set

We got our big ultrasound today, the one where they measure all the baby parts and check the heart and weight and fluids and tell you what flavor fetus you have in there, if you want to know.

Which we did.

So they told us.

OK, OK ... it's a girl! She was squirming around so much in there I was afraid they wouldn't be able to see the requisite parts, but they checked and double checked and triple checked, and sure enough: female parts. Mr. Squab will officially have a harem come March. She has all her parts, and we got the results of my quad screen (one of the tests for chromosomal abnormalities) and they were "just great" according to the perinatologist - she said my results were better than a 25-year-old's, which just proves that I'm really, really immature young at heart. The kid weighs about 12 oz., which is right on track for this stage of pregnancy, and relieves my fears that my recent belly popping was an indicator of diabetes-related hugeness. It's not; it's just a second pregnancy. So all is well, at least on the inside of my uterus. Which is a good thing, because if this baby is going to put me through this level of discomfort, the least she can do is be healthy.

tap-tap-tap ... Is this thing on?

Wait ... I have a BLOG? Holy crap, why didn't anyone tell me?!?!

OK, I know it's been about forever since I last posted. I can always tell that it's been too long when I start getting concerned emails from friends and family with carefully worded greetings along the lines of "oh, hi, hope everything is ok! Sure do miss those blog posts! I'm sure you're just really busy!" but where the subtext is clearly "JESUS CHRIST, ARE YOU ALIVE? POST SOMETHING, FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"

So, you know. Message received. And sorry to be the cause for concern. Why have I not been posting, you ask? Lord, I don't know. Part of it is that I'm busy. I can't really post when the Hatchling is up, because if she sees the laptop open she either requests, repeatedly, to watch "bee-yos" (videos) or wants to "push button" which results in very distracted, if not illegible, blog posts. When she naps, I nap, so no posting then. Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday nights I'm either teaching or at meetings or rehearsals, so that's out. Which basically leaves weekends, Monday nights and Friday nights as possible blogging time, and lately I haven't had the gumption those times to do much more than catch up on TV or read novels. Which brings me to the other reason for the lack of posts: no gumption. I'm not depressed, exactly. I *am* motherloving tired All. The. Time. And ... have I mentioned how I don't enjoy the pregnancy thing so much? Yah. I really, really, really, really-to-the-nth-power do not fucking enjoy being pregnant. Love the result, hate the process. I just feel shitty all the time, and I'm having a hard time keeping my blood sugars where they should be, and I'm already sick of restricting my diet to diabetes-approved items and I'm already HUGE and I cannot find a comfortable position to sleep in so I don't get much sleep and I still have like five months to go and it's just going to get worse. And what's even worse than the physical discomforts - which are legion - is the guilt for not being able to pull my weight around the house. Seriously, I think I've cooked a meal, like, once in the past two weeks. Mr. Squab does ALL the laundry. I almost never have the energy (or, increasingly, the coordination) to pick up after the Hatchling, so Mr. Squab typically comes home from a day's work to a dirty kitchen, a hyper toddler, a living room that looks like it's been hit by a smallish tornado, and a wife who's cranky he couldn't get home earlier and feels like she needs a break. God, it's demoralizing. And the sense of guilt makes me even crankier, so I don't always even say thank you or otherwise show some semblance of gratitude. Not because I'm not thankful, but because acknowledging the huge imbalance is so painful. Which ... is just really not a nice way to behave. Mr. Squab never complains about it (though he did say the other day that it's a good thing I'm cute when I'm pregnant because otherwise he'd never make it), and my friends all keep reminding me that, hello, it's not like I'm not doing anything - I'm growing a freaking human inside me! - and I know this is true. And, like my sister says, it's not as if this is our whole marriage; this is just a brief moment on the long timeline of our relationship, and there will no doubt come a day when I will have the opportunity to repay the kindness. It's just hard to feel that way when you're in the middle of it, you know?

So anyway, blah, blah, blah, whine whine whine. This is the kind of stuff on my mind lately, and it's just so BORING to be so pissy all the time. And if even *I* find it boring, I don't feel like I should inflict it on my lovely blog readers. Who am I to waste your valuable blog reading time? However, I will try not to take unintentional week-long hiatuses (hiati? hiatae?) anymore. After all, not everything here in squab-land is dismal. The Hatchling is being an extremely awesome little trouper about having only a partially-functional mama, and is keeping us entertained with her various weird pronouncements and activities. (We have decided that 2 1/2 is the age of weird; I'll have to post more specifics later this week.) I have an amazing set of friends who help keep me afloat, doing everything from giving me huge bags of hand-me-down clothes for the ever-embiggening Hatchling to offering me housekeeping and massage (!!!) services when I'm feeling particularly beleaguered. And this week - on Thursday - we're going to find out what flavor of baby we're having, which will be exciting. Plus it looks like Obama's going to win (knock wood, cross fingers, throw salt over shoulder, etc.), so that's, you know, good. And stuff.

Anyway, that's my update. And how are all of YOU doing?

Grump

I've been in a royally bad mood for the last 5 days, and bad moods are not conducive to blogging, I find. Partly I'm in a bad mood because I feel like crap ALL THE TIME, whether from the nausea - which is not going away because apparently nobody told Bubba that he or she is supposed to knock that shit OFF in the second trimester - or constipation, or allergies and sinus headaches, or fatigue, or whatever. It's a fucking feel-like-crap cocktail over here, and I'm good and sick of it.

And then last Thursday night, I got into Cherry Ames to go to rehearsal, and saw that some person or thing had hit my windshield, hard, with a pointy object, resulting in a big crescent of cracks on the lower driver's side. Y'all, I can't even describe how PISSED OFF this made, and is still making, me. I am so fucking OVER living in a neighborhood where I cannot park my car on the street outside my house without some asshole crashing into it, vandalizing it or breaking the windshield. (All things that have happened to family cars in the three years we've lived here.) I am sick of the gunfights, and the stuff being stolen from my yard, and the break-ins, and the graffiti, and All. The. Shit. I mean, Christ! I know I live in an urban area - and I'm committed to that, I have absolutely no interest in living in the suburbs. I value city living, and being in a neighborhood where white is not the dominant skin color, and where kids from families from different income and education levels all play together at the local playground. These things are important to me. But I am getting real close to my limit on destruction of my personal property and use of violent weapons in my immediate vicinity. Not that my limits matter a good goddamn, because what are we supposed to do? The housing market is plumb saturated in this town, and I highly doubt that we'd get even what we paid for the place, much less making a profit on it. Not to mention that there are still some improvements to be made before it would even be worth putting it on the market in the first place. And even LESS to mention that I have negative interest in moving while pregnant - I did that last time and it's, you know, no good. So we're stuck, and I just have to suck it up and deal with it, just like I have to suck it up and deal with the nausea, etc. If anyone knows of an available donor for an attitude transplant, y'all let me know. I sure do hate being grumpy all the time.