The Return of Liquids

It's been so long since last I blogged.  There is too much to tell about everything T has been up to since July, so here's what happened before 11am today:

Temple and I went to the playground mall, as we are wont to do on Friday mornings.  We used to have a moms' coffee group that got together, but since all the babies started walking, the band seems to have broken up.  I'm so grateful to that group, though.  They helped me get out of the house in the early months. Anypoo, earlier this morning, I was changing Temple.  She was bare-assed on the table, squirming away, talking trash, and the new box of diapers was just out of reach, and unopened.  As much as I like to see T walking around with no pants on, I wanted to get her panted so we could hit the road, because I was jonesing for my daily 20 ounce McCafe, to which I am addicted.  Seriously, I get nauseous if I don't have one before 10:30am.  It's just like Trainspotting.  I kept my left hand on Temple's squirrel belly, and blindly rooted for a diaper on the shelf of the changing table, and I came up with a swimming diaper.  I figured the differences between the swimmy and a regular one was the swimmy went on like regular panties, was a little more expensive, and had fish on it.  If anything, I thought, it would be more leak proof, since it, allegedly, kept the business in the pants in the pool.  Airtight, I thought.  While I briefly thought I should save the expensive diaper for real swimming, I am extremely lazy, and decided to go the easy route.  

Back to the playground.  We were there for a few minutes, and Temple had gone up the stairs and down the slide about 29 times, and she was headed for the submarine.  She was struggling to get through the port-hole, and I went to shove her butt through when I noticed that she must have sat in a puddle.  Her bottom was soaked, and not just around the edges of her buttcheeks, which is where she usually gets wet if she busts a diaper, but nearly dripping wet.  Upon further examination, it was pee.  I thought, for a second, that I had forgotten to put a diaper on her.  That's what it was like.  I snatched her up, and tried to hold her in such a way as to not get pee on me.  I was unsuccessful.  In the nearby bathroom, I dried her off, wiped her clean, and re-diapered her.  I had no spare plastic bag, so I tossed the shorts she was wearing.  She wasn't going to fit in them for much longer anyway.  Then, we went to a nearby Gymboree to buy a new pair of pants.  

I generally don't put shoes on Temple until after we are done at the playground, because shoes aren't allowed there.  So, we are in Gymboree, and Temple is squirming to get out of my arms, so I put her down to walk around.  She is wearing a tee-shirt and a diaper.  No shoes, no pants.  She looks like a hobo.  I'm scanning the store for a cheap pair of shorts.  Someone who works there asks if she can help me.  I point at pantless T and say, "my daughter obviously needs some pants."  We bought some nice leggings that will last her through the winter.  Done.

Part II - we go back to the playground and mess around for a bit longer, and Temple starts saying "bye-bye" and going for her shoes (and the shoes of others), and as I'm trying to put her socks and shoes on her (which is much like shoeing a horse), another mom starts feeding her kids Cheeze-Its.  Temple reacts like a goat in a petting zoo - she heads for the food.  I try to get her away, but the mom is very nice and offers Temple a Cheeze-It, and asks me if it's ok, and I say sure, and thank you, and Temple starts wolfing down the Cheeze-Its like I don't feed her.  On the one hand, I don't want Temple to hog someone else's snack, but on the other, I'm glad to have found another food she'll eat, and I'm making a mental note to buy some Cheeze-Its when Temple gags and makes a noise like she's coughing up a hairball and barfs.  It wasn't like she spit up the Cheeze-Its, she vomited into my hands. 

I decided we were done with the playground for the day.  

Because my hands were full with a pee-baby, then yack, I took no photos of these events, so I leave you with a recent photo of Temple coming for your soul.

Kindness

Yesterday, I went to Sam's Club to get Temple a crate of diapers.  She wears a size 5 now.  She's got her mamma's junk in the trunk.  As we were getting back in the car, I was telling T about all the other errands we were going to do before going home for lunch.  Then my car wouldn't start.  I had left the light on several times, draining the battery, and now the thing was just done.  Fortunately, Sam's has an auto store, and it only took a few minutes for a nice gentleman to give the car a jump, but I took it as a sign that I should schedule the 100,000 maintenance.  

Good thing I did, because this morning, the sucker wouldn't start again.  I jumped her again with Matt's estranged truck, and we headed toward the dealer for service.  Our favorite diner, Double T, is less than a mile from the dealer, but rain clouds loomed.  We left the car and hustled our buns up West Street.  It started raining when we were about a quarter mile away.  We took refuge at a gas station while I put the poncho over the small section of stroller not covered by the water resistant canopy.

To this point, I was, surprisingly, holding it together, but I could have fallen in to a bad mood/panic easily.

We were seated, and I ordered myself eggs to eat, and got Temple some pancakes to throw around.  She ate zero pancakes, but did have some beef sausage.  She mostly chewed on containers of cream and jelly.

Except for the pancake throwing, she was very well behaved and darling, as usual.

When I asked for the check, the waiter told me that someone had already paid it, and wouldn't tell me who it was.  Isn't that nice?  The kindness of strangers made my day.  I'll proceed with gratitude and pay it forward.

More Sads

I weigh about 35 pounds less now than I did just before giving birth.  I am a pound or two below my pre-pregnancy weight.  I was feeling so good about my weight loss that I forgot I was tubby pre-pregnancy.  I decided to buy a nice pair of jean shorts from J. Crew.  They had that summery cut-off look, you know?  So, yesterday, my mom came over to Temple-sit, and I hauled my cookies to the mall and got a pedicure, then shuffled over to J. Crew to get my new shorts.  They didn't have my size (Big McLarge Huge), so I tried on a smaller size (normal), and as I examined my cottage cheese thighs in the florescent lights, I said, "well, f this," and bought a $55 hoodie instead.  I do like my hoodie though.
I resolve to not to pass this self-loathing on to my perfect daughter.

The Chipmunk and the Squirrel

     You know how when people get their tongues pierced, their moms are always like, "you're stupid and you're going to crack your tooth on it and then you'll have to pay to have it fixed!"  Well, in 2001, 4 years after I got my tongue pierced (underaged, using my sister's ID in high school.  When I was signing the waiver, I had to scratch out the first signature I made because I forgot to sign her name.  Turns out I was stupid, just like my mom said, but the artists at Jinx Proof in Georgetown didn't give a care.  Way to mind the law, dudes.  I wonder if they would have cared more if I were getting a tattoo, because tattoos are really permanent, and piercings really aren't.), I cracked my tooth on it, just like my mom said, as I was walking down P street from my job at Soho Tea and Coffee in Dupont.  I was chewing on a caramel, then I was chewing on metal, and cracked half my tooth clean off.  The free half got stuck in the caramel, and it was totally gross.
     I guess I got it fixed soon after, then sometime around 2005, the fix failed, and I had to have it done again.  It was never quite right after that.  It was sensitive to heat, cold, and foods firmer than bread, and from time to time it throbbed for no reason or sent random bolts of pain into my brain.  In 2008, some wisdom teeth were coming in and shifting my choppers around, and it started hurting real bad.  At my emergency dental appointment, the good doctor recommended I have the sucker extracted and he made the referral.  Shortly thereafter, the shifting ended, the pain ended, and my interest in oral health ended.
     Last week, the tooth, whom I had come to know as #3, started aching again, and, wanting to set a good example for my daughter, I decided it was time to exorcise that demon.  I got the referral again, and made an appointment for 3 weeks hence.  I thought if the pain went away again, like it had a few years ago, I would cancel.
     5 days ago, I began waking up with headaches that diminished during the day, but never completely dissapeared.
     3 days ago, I woke up with an awful ache in my jaw, and I ate 25 over the counter analgesic pills.
     2 days ago, it was even worse.  Analgesics no longer working.
     Yesterday, my dentist gave me a prescription for Vicoprofen, a mix of Vicodin and Ibuprofen (yes, like croissandwich, Bennifer, jeggings, and shart) to "tide me over" for the three weeks until my surgery.  My resourceful sister also hooked me up with ballistic 600mg Ibuprofen (which is like Vicoprofen without the Vicodin).  When, last night, for the first time in months, I was not awakened by hungry daughter, but by screaming, throbbing gums, pain radiating to my high cheekbone, and swelling like I was sucking on an everlasting gobstopper, I decided that this was finally a problem that required attention.
     The surgeon took me in for an emergency appointment.  My dutiful mother dropped everything to meet me at the office to mind Temple, who was an excellent baby as always.  I was looking forward to general anesthesia, but because not even the worst toothache in history will keep me from my morning coffee, general anesthesia was counter-indicated.  You have to have an empty stomach.  Instead, they gave me twilight anesthesia, like they used to give to laboring women before the dawn of the epidural.  I guess its that kind that makes you forget the whole thing after, like Sylvia Plath bemoaned in "The Bell Jar," because I don't remember a damned thing.  It was probably like that episode of Mad Men, too.
     My mom drove my groggy ass home, got my prescriptions filled, and brought me some soft foods.  I am adjusting to my new mouthscape.  The good doctor removed the offending molar and all 4 wisdom teeth.  It feels like a city block was razed in there.  I've heard horror stories about recovery from oral surgery, but my mouth hasn't felt this good in years.  Thank you, pain killers.  Thank you, Mom, for making this catharsis possible.  And, you were right about the tongue ring: twelve years later, I did have to pay to have it fixed.  And when I say "I," I mean "you."  Thanks again.
My cheek is still a little swollen, though.  See?