October 17, 2016

Talk about poop storms.

Last week had a bit of an iffy start and it just kind of kept going. Karl was away until Sunday so it was just Parker and I. I will forever and always have all the respect in the world for single parents, because this week kicked my butt so hard.

When we were in Edmonton Parker hurt his foot. It looked fine, but you couldn't grab it and he wouldn't put weight on it. Tuesday morning came and it was no longer hurting him but he still wouldn't put weight on it. Since I figured he was just being overly cautious (a toddler rarity), I didn't bother calling the health line until Thursday night. While I was on hold, Parker destroyed the kitchen and discovered the pots and pans cupboard at exactly the moment the nurse came on the phone. We started off on the right foot.

Eventually she recommended that I take him in for an x-ray ASAP, seeing as how it had "already been so long" and he's just little. It was almost bedtime, and he was having a grand old time climbing on every piece of furniture we owned so I asked if she figured it could wait until morning. "Well, that's really up to you," she informed me, judgment seeping through the phone. She then told me a clinic with x-rays clear across town that was open until 10 I should take him to. Fab.

When I phoned the clinic I found out the x-rays were only open until for another half hour, so I put my rampaging child to bed and collapsed on the couch in tears.

I love the health line as a resource and I know that they have to err on the side of cautious, but she'd laid the mom guilt on thick enough to cut. I felt like my bad parent card was showing and I was so stressed out that when I went to bed that night I dreamt that my mom's house burned down, my dad had a stroke, and all my teeth feel out. It was almost a relief when Friday morning came.

Can we talk about how much I hate walk in clinics? I'm glad they exist, but I'm pretty sure their waiting rooms are what Hell is like. Take an energetic toddler with you and it's like a hellish outbreak waiting to happen. Of course I picked a clinic that took 90 minutes to get into with only three people in front of me. Of course they didn't have a children's area. (Although I'm not really sure how I feel about those. Let's get sick kids that don't know anything about hygiene to play with the same toys as other sick kids that don't know anything about hygiene and then let other sick kids put them in their mouths. Gross.) Of course the only things Parker wanted to play with were the filthy blinds and the guy sitting next to us. The guy was a good sport, but I wanted to ask him why he was there. No one goes to a clinic for fun, and the last thing I want is my potentially already broken child getting the plague from well-meaning strangers. I really hope he was invisibly broken.

When we finally got to see the doctor he was chill enough to diagnose Parker with exactly what I thought was wrong with him: nothing. He'd probably just stepped on his foot funny and was babying it because, well, he's a baby. He gave me an x-ray referral to use or ignore as I saw fit, so I shoved it in my purse and that was the end of that.

Two hours late for work I contemplated taking the rest of the day off with Parker, but then I realized that after a morning in a walk-in clinic with a rampaging 16 month old, a relaxing afternoon at work was probably the best thing for my sanity. So I threw him at the babysitter and ran away cackling. (In case you're keeping track, this happens at least once a week. The running away and cackling.)

Long story short, Parker woke up covered in snot Saturday morning but got over it by Sunday. I guess clinic germs are short lasting germs.

Speaking of Saturday, Parker didn't nap longer than 30 minutes all day. It was agonizing. I'd settle down to get something, anything, done (like a nap) and he'd let me know he was ready for me to come get him, no matter how much I ignored him. Bedtime was a blissful experience that night, I'm telling you. That said, we had a great morning. He let me read my book in peace while he destroyed the house. It was a fair trade off, except that I was pulling my hair out by 4:30 and had already kind of forgotten about how sweet our morning was.

I lost my keys on the way to church Sunday morning and only realized it as we were heading home. Our house has a keypad entry at the front door so I wasn't locked out, but we were definitely stranded. After running around the neighbourhood like a crazy person, I finally found my keys in the flower bed outside our front door.

This week involved potentially broken body parts, garages left open all night, agonizing plane rides and walk-in clinic visits, health nurse mom shaming, lost keys, fireplaces left on all night, undercooked shepherd's pie, and two bathtub turds. I'm done.

When Karl came home last night he bore a box of dairy-free doughnut holes from my favourite bakery and the opportunity to go grocery shopping and clean the house in peace. It was magnificent.

I can tell Parker was glad to see Karl, too, because from 3 to 5 this morning (when I finally had the brain power to turn the monitor off) he was laughing and chatting to himself in his crib. That or he was giggling about all the grey hairs I've got now.

How many doughnut holes is an indecent amount to eat? What about for a pregnant person? Never mind, I don't want to know.

October 12, 2016

Left. Right. Left.

We celebrated Thanksgiving this weekend and it was marvelous. Except that half the people at supper on Sunday were sick Monday and it snowed all weekend, but aside from that it was fantastic. The family and I drove to Edmonton where we stayed with friends and played games, ate dairy-free doughnuts, hit up IKEA, crafted with yarn scraps, and had a fabulous mom date that involved Starbucks, H&M, a children's consignment store, and two thrift stores. And then we ate turkey and it was good.

Parker and I flew home Monday. It was a bold move considering how well things went last time, but only involved 90 minutes of two children compressing my bladder instead of 7 1/2 hours in the car with just one kicking my insides. Let's just say, things went better, but I still had flashbacks. I also may have had to use the airplane bathroom on our 90 minute flight. It wasn't actually that bad, seeing as teeny tiny spaces don't really leave anywhere for crazy toddlers to go. I felt pretty accomplished and am surprised no one clapped and cheered when I walked back to my seat. I am Super Mom with an incredibly small bladder.

Parker stayed true to form and passed out with 20 minutes left in the flight.

When we got home I dropped Parker off at the neighbours' so I could run to the grocery store. It was snowing, I needed to install his car seat, and he'd already had a long day of travelling. I figured playing with other children would be more fun than picking out bananas. When I got back they were feeding him supper. When we move I'm taking them with us. I love them.

Normally Karl runs the bath time show while I clean the kitchen. Karl wasn't around, though, so it was up to me. I decided it would be the perfect time to introduce Parker to his first bubble bath. He didn't understand at first, then loved it. He also kept trying to put the bubbles in his eyes. The whole lavender scented experience was so relaxing for him, in fact, that he decided to just let it all out. In the poop department. I'm so #blessed.

This morning Parker woke up an hour early and decided to chase me around the house whining all morning. I was so excited to drop him off at daycare and escape to work that I put my boots on the wrong feet. I noticed two hours later after I'd taken my wrong footed feet to daycare, Starbucks (because the sun wasn't even up when Parker was), and around my office for two hours. I miss coffee.

We have our small group tonight, so my friend that watches Parker/is the pastor's wife/hosts small group told me I should just leave him there after work and take a couple hours to myself before coming over for dinner. I love her, too. Maybe she noticed my boots and didn't tell me.

October 04, 2016

Lately. Again.

The other day we decided to go Costco. As we were heading out the door I took out all the extra stuff from my purse, like my lunch, book, scarf, etc. so that I wasn't carrying around a million extra things for not reason. Reasonable, right? When we got to Costco I realized that I'd done such a great job of taking all the heavy stuff out of my purse that I'd left my wallet, and that magic Costco card, on the kitchen table. Thank God I'm pregnant so I can totally blame the baby.

A year or so ago I became a real adult and got on the "clean the kitchen before bed" train. I feel like most people know to do this intuitively, but it freaking changed my life. Now my kitchen is always close to being clean! The dishes don't stack up, the dishwasher doesn't sit clean for days on end, and I can actually find things on our kitchen table. Never mind that I'm not stepping on the whole week's ration of floor Cheerios every morning. If I had to make a list of the one thing you need to do to change your life for the better (aside from meeting my friend Jesus) this would totally be it. Life. Changed. I can also flop onto the couch at 8 p.m. guilt free knowing that the mess is gone. Amahhhzing.

We had our last weekend of livable weather this weekend and I had plans. Oh, I had plans. Okay, we were just going to wash our windows, but it was a big thing. We don't wash our windows ever (we're animals), so I was curious how much more natural light we could actually get into our house. Then, oh, the reality of being a parent happened in the form of a tooth. Yep, always with the teething.

After just getting over his awful molars, Parker had another front tooth come in on Saturday and it was a real demon. No one slept. No one could leave the house. He ate a lot of pumpkin muffin comfort carbs and I ate a lot of ice cream when he was in bed. We make a good team.

Now that toothmagedon is over, Parker has an ear infection. It's like it never ends. Karl gets to miss a couple days of work because it could be potentially contagious (HOW?) so I guess they get to enjoy some impromptu male bonding.

Speaking of children, we found out a couple weeks ago that the little kickboxer in my womb is a girl. I've been thinking of her as a girl for over month for no reason and couldn't believe when the tech told us. I cried. Also, when has looking at a labia ever been such a happy event?

I'm going to be honest with you, part of me is terrified of having a girl. I was nervous about having a boy the first time around, but now that I know I'm going to have one of each I'm not really sure what to think. Having a boy meant I'd have to deal with boy things. Figuratively and literally. I've already got one, so how different would having another be? Aside from having to get a second job to feed them when they're teenagers, of course.

Having a girl, though, especially second, means that I'm going to have to go through girl and boy puberty at the same time. Puberty was traumatizing enough going through it once, but having to go through body changes and bra shopping and the hormones all over again gives me the cold sweats. It was hard enough the first time! I'm just praying for a couple of late bloomers so I can delay the inevitable.

In all truth, it's going to be amazing having a little girl and boy. My family is going to be so Hallmark ready, unibrows and all. I'm also so glad that those big decisions like deciding the sex of my children are out of my hands. Like I told my doctor, if someone had put a gun up to my head and told me to pick whether #2 was male or female I couldn't have done it. My little boy is going to be amazing, and so is my little girl. And, bonus, now there's no pressure to have a third! Glory, hallelujah. It's the little things. And the tiny polka dot frilly bottomed pants I bought yesterday.