Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Constipation is genetic.
Some of you may not know this, but I am a chronically constipated person. I know, given my sweet nature, it is hard to believe, but entirely true. I wont go into details, but after I gave birth to Mary, I didn't poo for a full 7 days. Yup, no poo for a week. I must say, pooing after that week was up was probably the most painful experience in my life, including labour and childbirth. For those of you who read Dooce, no, it was not in the bathtub, and no, even if it had been, I seriously doubt Ian would clean it up for me. Anyways, it would seem that my daughter has inherited my bowels. It's too bad, I had hoped that she would inherit Ian's metabolism, and his clockwork regular poo schedule, but no such luck. I can still hope for the metabolism thing, I guess. We switched her formula two days ago to a special one designed for babies who spit up a lot. Needless to say, the formula sucks, it keeps clogging the nipples, and causing endless amounts of frustration for all of us. It has also clogged the baby right up. She just spent the last 45(!!!) minutes getting red in the face and grunting like crazy. When I changed her diaper, there was a large, egg shaped, rock hard offering waiting for me. Poor baby. Ian is working late tonight too, I would have liked to have shown him, just to prove that I'm not exaggerating. Tonight, she will drink applejuice, and I don't think we will wait till the tub of fancy formula is finished before we switch her back to the old stuff.
Monday, May 30, 2005
Mary
Tomorrow Mary is 5 months old. I can’t believe that she has been with us for that long. It’s strange, sometimes it feels like she has been with us forever, and sometimes it feels like just yesterday that she first came home. She looks much the same to me as she did when she came home, but I know she isn’t. I look at pictures of her when she was a newborn, and it is amazing how much she has changed in less than half a year.
Now Mary can laugh, and although it’s still difficult to get those giggles out of her, it is amazingly rewarding to do so. She has some consonants, she says “agah, nwaah,” and when she is upset she says “bbbbbbb, mmmmm.” She hasn’t rolled over yet, which some people might be concerned about, but she works really hard at it, and I hardly give her any time on her tummy. She is actually starting to enjoy tummy time now, so she spends more time. When she is on her tummy, she kicks so hard that she cam move from one end of the couch to the other. She found her feet last week, and now most of her time is spent with one foot in her hand, I don’t think she has quite figured out what to do with it, but I’m sure that some day soon we will find her with her foot in her mouth.
Mary moved into her crib last week, and out of our bedroom. She was so good about it; it didn’t bother her at all. The first night she slept in her crib, I cried a little (pathetic). I kept saying to Ian “if I can’t handle this, how am I going to deal with kindergarten, or going back to work?” I know school is a long ways off, but work isn’t, and the thought of leaving her with someone else to raise her makes me ill.
Before Mary came, I never really thought I would be a good mum, and I wasn’t sure that I would enjoy it. Now that she has come, I can’t imagine doing anything else with my life. I’ve said it before, and I will say it now. I have never, ever been as happy as I am now that she is a part of my life. Every day, I am so thankful to her for brightening my life up. Even on the days where she is a monster, and they are often lately with her teething, I can’t imagine doing anything else with my life. Nearly everything I do, I do for her, and when I’m not doing something for her, she is never out of my mind.
My friend, who has a 7 year old, said that she has finally realised the saddest thing about being a parent. No matter how much your child loves you, they will never love you as much as you love them. I love my parents so much, but now I know that what I feel for them must only be a fraction of the love they have for me. It makes me want to call them and just let them know how much I love them.
Now Mary can laugh, and although it’s still difficult to get those giggles out of her, it is amazingly rewarding to do so. She has some consonants, she says “agah, nwaah,” and when she is upset she says “bbbbbbb, mmmmm.” She hasn’t rolled over yet, which some people might be concerned about, but she works really hard at it, and I hardly give her any time on her tummy. She is actually starting to enjoy tummy time now, so she spends more time. When she is on her tummy, she kicks so hard that she cam move from one end of the couch to the other. She found her feet last week, and now most of her time is spent with one foot in her hand, I don’t think she has quite figured out what to do with it, but I’m sure that some day soon we will find her with her foot in her mouth.
Mary moved into her crib last week, and out of our bedroom. She was so good about it; it didn’t bother her at all. The first night she slept in her crib, I cried a little (pathetic). I kept saying to Ian “if I can’t handle this, how am I going to deal with kindergarten, or going back to work?” I know school is a long ways off, but work isn’t, and the thought of leaving her with someone else to raise her makes me ill.
Before Mary came, I never really thought I would be a good mum, and I wasn’t sure that I would enjoy it. Now that she has come, I can’t imagine doing anything else with my life. I’ve said it before, and I will say it now. I have never, ever been as happy as I am now that she is a part of my life. Every day, I am so thankful to her for brightening my life up. Even on the days where she is a monster, and they are often lately with her teething, I can’t imagine doing anything else with my life. Nearly everything I do, I do for her, and when I’m not doing something for her, she is never out of my mind.
My friend, who has a 7 year old, said that she has finally realised the saddest thing about being a parent. No matter how much your child loves you, they will never love you as much as you love them. I love my parents so much, but now I know that what I feel for them must only be a fraction of the love they have for me. It makes me want to call them and just let them know how much I love them.
Saturday, May 28, 2005
Finally
I am turning into a terrible lollyblogger. I havnt really got an excuse, it's not like Im amazingly busy or anything, I spend much of my day hanging around the house with Mary, and although she can be quite demanding, I do have alot of spare time.
Purgatory was last night. Wow. I havnt had that much fun at a game since before my last character, Bridget Kierson ran away. My character was embraced as a child, so although I cannot be 4 feet tall, I did my best to look childlike. Except for the alarming cleavage that I had on display, I think it went pretty well. Looking at adorable little me, one can hardly believe that I am a raving sociopath. I ended up being handed over to the Tremere (boo hiss) as a punishment for a crime that I did not commit, and it was great fun being as horiffically evil and machiavellian as I possibly could be.
Back to the real world. The last couple of weeks have been, well, routine. What can I report on? Mary is teething, and she goes through periods of inconsolable screaming. Luckily, these periods seem to be far between, and really the only sign that anything is going on is the amazing amounts of slobber she produces. For a little creature, she has a LOT of drool. Other than that she has been pretty good. She has graduated to the next diaper size. After reading Dooce's recent entry on her blog about diaper catastrophies, Ive been a little worried. Mary is also right at the top weight for size 2's, and the very bottom for 3's. So far so good, though, we havnt had any exploding diapers yet.
I got to see the Queen last week, which was fan-frickin-tastic! Me, my friend who does not wish to be named in any blogs, and Trish's little girl Madi braved the rain and wind to go to Commonwealth to see her. It was worth the wet and cold, to be sure. The program was terrible, most of the entertainment had backed out because of the weather. When the honour guard and band came marching out though, it was so exciting. Then the Queen finally appeared (a little late due to the weather conditions). I nearly cried, but I managed to keep it in, I didnt want little Madi to laugh at me. It really was an amazing experience. When we all sang "God Save the Queen," and she was standing there...wow. Also, there was a massed pipe and drum band there, gosh I love bagpipes. Maybe I should take it up?
Purgatory was last night. Wow. I havnt had that much fun at a game since before my last character, Bridget Kierson ran away. My character was embraced as a child, so although I cannot be 4 feet tall, I did my best to look childlike. Except for the alarming cleavage that I had on display, I think it went pretty well. Looking at adorable little me, one can hardly believe that I am a raving sociopath. I ended up being handed over to the Tremere (boo hiss) as a punishment for a crime that I did not commit, and it was great fun being as horiffically evil and machiavellian as I possibly could be.
Back to the real world. The last couple of weeks have been, well, routine. What can I report on? Mary is teething, and she goes through periods of inconsolable screaming. Luckily, these periods seem to be far between, and really the only sign that anything is going on is the amazing amounts of slobber she produces. For a little creature, she has a LOT of drool. Other than that she has been pretty good. She has graduated to the next diaper size. After reading Dooce's recent entry on her blog about diaper catastrophies, Ive been a little worried. Mary is also right at the top weight for size 2's, and the very bottom for 3's. So far so good, though, we havnt had any exploding diapers yet.
I got to see the Queen last week, which was fan-frickin-tastic! Me, my friend who does not wish to be named in any blogs, and Trish's little girl Madi braved the rain and wind to go to Commonwealth to see her. It was worth the wet and cold, to be sure. The program was terrible, most of the entertainment had backed out because of the weather. When the honour guard and band came marching out though, it was so exciting. Then the Queen finally appeared (a little late due to the weather conditions). I nearly cried, but I managed to keep it in, I didnt want little Madi to laugh at me. It really was an amazing experience. When we all sang "God Save the Queen," and she was standing there...wow. Also, there was a massed pipe and drum band there, gosh I love bagpipes. Maybe I should take it up?
Saturday, May 14, 2005
Willow
Today Anne and I were talking on MSN, and got on the topic of pets. I told her about my sweet little Willow, who passed away almost 2 years ago, and now I cant get him off my mind. Willow was a special cat, and he loved me to distraction, and I adored him. He was a soft grey colour, with white patches, and big green eyes. He slept with me every single night for the 3 years I had him, and if I stayed up late, he would sit there at my feet looking highly annoyed, until I picked him up and took him to bed. Willow was always sickly, he was allergic to food, and was on some very expensive stuff that didn't quite do the trick, but made things better. Every once in a while, I would have to give him the drug prednisone, which is what eventually did him in. That and the fact that he was "special."
Willow was special in a retarded sense. He saw the world very differently than the rest of us. In one apartment that we lived in, he was afraid of the livingroom carpet. Don't ask me why, he just was. Bounce across the carpet, touching it maybe twice as he went from the front entrance lino, to the couch, and then he would leap from the couch to the kitchen lino. If we tossed him onto the carpet, he would spring up about 3 feet into the air, and then dash off to hide under the bed, or the safety of the kitchen counter. The next apartment we lived in, he had a box that he ate on. It was an old Christmas tree box, that was in the livingroom, and for some reason, he refused to eat with the other cats out of the bowls. When we moved into the house we are in now, we couldn't find a spot for him to eat, which was the beginning of the end, for my sweet boy.
I went to Regina for a week, and before I went I was worried, but when I got home, it was apparent that he was sick. He was nothing but skin and bones, and seemed weak. I brought him to the Veterinary clinic where I worked, and he tried to eat us all. Willow had so many bad experiences at the vet, by this time he was unwilling to submit to anything. We had to sedate him just so the vet could examine him, and we could take blood. It turned out that his liver wasn't working well. At this point, I could have hospitalized him, but I decided instead to take him home and try to treat him there. He never got better, just worse and worse. Even when he was at his sickest though, he still cuddled up with me every night, although by now he would come under the covers with me, he was cold.
I remember the last night that he slept with me, he was so pathetic and tiny, just a little bag of bones huddled up against me. The next day, I took him back to the vet. By this point, he didn't even have the strength to fight anymore, he just lay there limply. We put a feeding tube in so we could force feed him. He had come down with a condition common in cats when they don't eat, called Hepatic Lipidosis, or Fatty Liver Syndrome. Basically, if your cat doesn't eat enough, his body will start depositing fat on the liver, and damage it. The only cure for it is to nurse the cat through it by force feeding them. Anyways, I was working, and I would go back to his kennel to check on him every 30 minutes or so. He was so weak he could hardly lift his head, but I was confident that we were doing the best we could for him, and that he would get through this. Near the end of my shift, I went back to check on him, and he didn't lift his head at all when I spoke to him. He had choked on his own vomit, and died. I still cry about it now, but then, I was absolutely devastated.
Anyways, I know that he had a good life, he was so special and loving, and I know he was happy. If anyone else had gotten him from the SPCA I'm sure things would have been different, they wouldn't have tolerated his sickness like I did. I still cant help but feel guilty. There are clients who come into the clinic with animals who are clearly dying or in pain, and the kindest thing to do is to euthanize them, but they are too blind, or maybe selfish, to see it. I hate that I became one of those people with Willow, and I just hope that he can forgive me for everything that I put him through.
I still miss Willow, and although I have other cats, who I love desperately, and will be just as devastated when they go, I will never have another one like him. I will never find another cat that special, who loves me as much as Willow did.
Willow was special in a retarded sense. He saw the world very differently than the rest of us. In one apartment that we lived in, he was afraid of the livingroom carpet. Don't ask me why, he just was. Bounce across the carpet, touching it maybe twice as he went from the front entrance lino, to the couch, and then he would leap from the couch to the kitchen lino. If we tossed him onto the carpet, he would spring up about 3 feet into the air, and then dash off to hide under the bed, or the safety of the kitchen counter. The next apartment we lived in, he had a box that he ate on. It was an old Christmas tree box, that was in the livingroom, and for some reason, he refused to eat with the other cats out of the bowls. When we moved into the house we are in now, we couldn't find a spot for him to eat, which was the beginning of the end, for my sweet boy.
I went to Regina for a week, and before I went I was worried, but when I got home, it was apparent that he was sick. He was nothing but skin and bones, and seemed weak. I brought him to the Veterinary clinic where I worked, and he tried to eat us all. Willow had so many bad experiences at the vet, by this time he was unwilling to submit to anything. We had to sedate him just so the vet could examine him, and we could take blood. It turned out that his liver wasn't working well. At this point, I could have hospitalized him, but I decided instead to take him home and try to treat him there. He never got better, just worse and worse. Even when he was at his sickest though, he still cuddled up with me every night, although by now he would come under the covers with me, he was cold.
I remember the last night that he slept with me, he was so pathetic and tiny, just a little bag of bones huddled up against me. The next day, I took him back to the vet. By this point, he didn't even have the strength to fight anymore, he just lay there limply. We put a feeding tube in so we could force feed him. He had come down with a condition common in cats when they don't eat, called Hepatic Lipidosis, or Fatty Liver Syndrome. Basically, if your cat doesn't eat enough, his body will start depositing fat on the liver, and damage it. The only cure for it is to nurse the cat through it by force feeding them. Anyways, I was working, and I would go back to his kennel to check on him every 30 minutes or so. He was so weak he could hardly lift his head, but I was confident that we were doing the best we could for him, and that he would get through this. Near the end of my shift, I went back to check on him, and he didn't lift his head at all when I spoke to him. He had choked on his own vomit, and died. I still cry about it now, but then, I was absolutely devastated.
Anyways, I know that he had a good life, he was so special and loving, and I know he was happy. If anyone else had gotten him from the SPCA I'm sure things would have been different, they wouldn't have tolerated his sickness like I did. I still cant help but feel guilty. There are clients who come into the clinic with animals who are clearly dying or in pain, and the kindest thing to do is to euthanize them, but they are too blind, or maybe selfish, to see it. I hate that I became one of those people with Willow, and I just hope that he can forgive me for everything that I put him through.
I still miss Willow, and although I have other cats, who I love desperately, and will be just as devastated when they go, I will never have another one like him. I will never find another cat that special, who loves me as much as Willow did.
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
For the Harry Potter fans
| SLYTHERIN! You scored 56% Slytherin, 16% Ravenclaw, 32% Gryffindor, and 28% Hufflepuff! |
| Or perhaps in Slytherin You'll make your real friends, These cunning folk use any means To achieve their ends. Slytherins are known for their ambition, guile, and Machiavellian sensiblities. |
 |
My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:
|
| Link: The Sorting Hat Test written by leeannslytherin on OkCupid Free Online Dating |
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
In case I ever move to the U.S.A.
American Cities That Best Fit You: |
70% Miami |
60% Austin |
60% Seattle | >
55% Denver |
55% Las Vegas |
Monday, May 02, 2005
Four months
Wow. Mary passed the 4 month milestone this weekend. It is hard to believe that she has only been a part of her life for that long, I just cant imagine what life was like without her. I do suspect the house was much cleaner though.
Last week Mary started to laugh. It was absolutely wonderful. Ian was sitting there, being an ass, and her smile got so big, I guess she had to verbalize. Ian kept her laughing for about 15 minutes, basically by yelling "ahhhh!" in her face over and over again. The next time she laughed was after I changed her diaper. I had to shriek "bouncy bouncy!" while bouncing her up and down on the bed. It's hard work making that kid laugh.
She also stepped up her food consumption. Before, she ate about 30 ounces of formula a day, which is a respectable amount. Now, she is at around 45! I know it doesn't sound like a lot, but formula is expensive stuff! So yesterday, I started to give her rice cereal once a day. Every time I shoved the spoon into her mouth, she would give me this look of pure betrayal, and spit it out. After trying a few hundred times, she eventually started to understand the whole process, and only about 50% of the cereal ended up on her face. I have some cute pictures, if I ever get around to getting that Picasa thing, I shall post them here.
Anyways, other than baby stuff, the weekend was good. I managed to pass on my stomach bug to Ian in time for Purgatory, I felt fine, but he was hurting hardcore. The game went well enough, it was interesting, and I listened in on all sorts of conversations. I still miss Bridget desperately, but I am really starting to get into this new character. I think it might be cool to carry her over to the Victorian era, if she lives, she does have a lot of problems that need to be dealt with pretty quick, or she wont.
Last week Mary started to laugh. It was absolutely wonderful. Ian was sitting there, being an ass, and her smile got so big, I guess she had to verbalize. Ian kept her laughing for about 15 minutes, basically by yelling "ahhhh!" in her face over and over again. The next time she laughed was after I changed her diaper. I had to shriek "bouncy bouncy!" while bouncing her up and down on the bed. It's hard work making that kid laugh.
She also stepped up her food consumption. Before, she ate about 30 ounces of formula a day, which is a respectable amount. Now, she is at around 45! I know it doesn't sound like a lot, but formula is expensive stuff! So yesterday, I started to give her rice cereal once a day. Every time I shoved the spoon into her mouth, she would give me this look of pure betrayal, and spit it out. After trying a few hundred times, she eventually started to understand the whole process, and only about 50% of the cereal ended up on her face. I have some cute pictures, if I ever get around to getting that Picasa thing, I shall post them here.
Anyways, other than baby stuff, the weekend was good. I managed to pass on my stomach bug to Ian in time for Purgatory, I felt fine, but he was hurting hardcore. The game went well enough, it was interesting, and I listened in on all sorts of conversations. I still miss Bridget desperately, but I am really starting to get into this new character. I think it might be cool to carry her over to the Victorian era, if she lives, she does have a lot of problems that need to be dealt with pretty quick, or she wont.
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