Lady Lazarus

I had resigned myself to being a lapsed blog, like the ones I keep going back to in the hope of being entertained, but months and months go by, and no news (I'm talking to you, Stef).  But, out of loyalty to my ones of followers, I will attempt to make more regular postings.  

Since my last post, the fam went on our first road trip, all the way down to Lou'siana, via Memphis.  It was awesome, but I don't feel like recapping the whole trip, so trust me.

Temple has kept growing, which is a positive trend.  When we got Clementine, I expected her to grow to the size of Flags.  I wanted to have two big boned pugs warming the bed during the winter to keep our electric bills down.  Then she got to about twelve pounds, maybe a foot long, and halted.  Then she broke her stupid neck and cost us a fortune, and now she is a crabby, cynical runt who walks funny.  We still love her, but she's a dissapointment.  So, I'm glad Temple is growing.  Her head could stand to slow it down, though.  He head circumference is literally off the charts.  It is so big* we had to have a sonogram to make sure it wasn't, in fact, a melon.  It's not, it's a regular huge head, but the doctor told us to keep the dogs away so they don't get sucked into its gravitational pull.      

Also, everyone thinks she's a boy.  Sometimes it's because I dress her like a boy.  Like, yesterday, she was wearing a blue onesie, snail pants, and a brown and orange zipper cardigan.  I would have worn that outfit, but if I saw a baby of otherwise undiscernable gender wearing blue, I would also assume it was a boy.  Yesterday, we just went with it.  An old crone in the grocery remarked, "what a big healthy boy," and I said, "thank you.  He has a huge penis, too."  But, today, I dressed Temple in a purple and white striped dress that had a pink butterfly on it, and the man who served me my sausage said, "what a big boy, he's going to be a football player."  Yeah, a transvestite football player.  He'll surely be a leader on that team.  

Anyway, I need to shove more food in my face before Temple awakes from her nap.  More to come...

*Remember "yo mamma" jokes from the nineties?  "Yo mamma so fat, when she went to the movies, she sat next to everyone."  I should start "my baby" jokes.  "My baby head so big, we love her unconditionally."  Hilarious.

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?
 

Premonitory dreams

I might be psychic, or maybe a prophet.  I have dreams that predict the future.
In college, I dreamed who the new director of the student run coffee shop would be before anyone told me.  I actually dreamed that Adam, one of the people who would chose the new director, told me who they had selected.
In 2006, I dreamed that Joe's wife was 7 weeks pregnant, and she really was.
In December, I dreamed that I had a c-section, and that they had to use general anethesia, and I slept for 3 days and never got to meet the baby.
I did get to meet my baby; in fact, I see her all the time.  But, as I have written about before, I did have a c-section, they almost had to give me general anesthesia, and I was in a fog for my whole stay in the hospital.  During the handful of moments I have had alone since T was born, my mind has consistently wandered back to her birth, and how difficult it was.  It didn't go as I imagined it would.  I thought I would deliver in a bed, sitting up, intensely but quietly pushing and breathing, an angelic glow on my cheeks, a crystal tear running down my temple, and she would be born and we would look each other in the eyes and instantly know that we were meant to be.  Then the violins would start up.  Then, the birth went the exact opposite way than I expected.  I had surgery, which was the very last thing I wanted to do, I didn't get to hold her for almost an hour, I was drugged up, sick, in pain, exhausted, I had trouble nursing, I cried for 3 days, and so on and so on.  I said I was prepared for it to go other than I imagined it, but based on my reactions after the fact, I clearly wasn't.  I didn't think I was the type to have rigid expectations for birth, but I was, and now I know that about myself.  I should pay more attention to my dreams.  Although, these days, my dreams are mostly about nursing.  No symbols, no metaphor, just reliving the events of the day.  They are the dreams of a dog.  Or a cow.

Ingredients

    

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Phantom Limb

During pregnancy, I got accustomed to focusing attention on my abdomen.  Starting in November, when I was about 4 months pregnant, I could feel little twitches in my belly, and I waited to feel them every day.  By the end of pregnancy, her movements became almost violent.  I could feel and sometimes see tiny feet feeling around my ribs.  Her feet would keep me up at night.  Sometimes she would head-butt me right in the gut, which would make me nauseous.  After 37 weeks, I was also monitoring my nether regions for signs of labor, which never came.
Since she is not in my uterus anymore, I don't need to keep track of her kicks anymore, but I guess my brain has muscle memory.  My inner eye remains on my pelvis, and every tummy rumble triggers my reflex to put my hand on my belly.
Also, I think Temple may have realized that she owns her left hand.  Jury's still out on the right.

Punnett Square

What color will Temple's eyeballs turn out to be?  Her mom's are hazel.  Her dad's are dark brown.  Her maternal grand mother's are hazel.  Maternal grandfather's are blue.  Paternal grandmother's are blue, I think.  Paternal grandfather's dark brown.  Right now, I'd describe Temple's as brownish blue, if that exists.  

If there are any geneticists out there, I'd appreciate a diagram and some odds.

***UPDATE, courtesy of Alexis Fabbri, Temple's auntie***

And here we have it.: 50% chance of brown, 37.5% chance of green, 12.5% chance of blue.  Thank you, Dr. Leki.

Now, can anyone tell me the odds of Temple having laser vision when neither parent has that genetic trait? 

The Force

When a woman gives birth, her body begins producing milk to feed her baby. The milk is all the baby needs for nutrition.  The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends breastfeeding exclusively for 6 months, and continuing to breastfeed while supplementing with solids for a year and beyond, if mutually
agreeable (the video we watched in the hospital actually used that phrase, "mutually agreeable."  Queers.).  Breastfeeding can act as a natural birth control, suppressing ovulation.  Breastfeeding releases a hormone that contracts the uterus, reducing it back to its pre-pregnancy size.  Breastfeeding burns 500-
800 calories a day, using the mother's ample fat stores, and helping her get back to a fit fighting weight so she can take care of a child.  I think all this is somewhat magical, another example of the beauty of evolution.  Far be it from me to question nature's perfect design, but I have a suggestion: in addition to being supplied with the perfect means to nourish a new human being, I would like telekinesis.  I have to sit still for 30 minutes at a time while nursing, and sometimes I forget to fill my water glass, or the remote
is out of reach, so if I could get the power to move things with my mind, that'd be great.

On an unrelated note, it smells seriously sausagey in my neighborhood.  Maybe my nose is extra sensitive because I haven't been outside in a week, like when you go spelunking, but when I stepped outside this afternoon, it was like kielbasa korner out there.