sick as a dog

You’ve heard the term, and now I have a first hand account of what it truly means.  Thinking,  that we would mass produce some valentines yesterday, my mom brought over a bunch of semi sweet morsels, from which to make fudge.  She dropped her bag of supplies inside the front door and we proceeded to Ruthie’s nine month appointment.  Afterward, feeling a little peckish, we had lunch at Roman Village, and consumed copious amounts of pasta.  Returning home, we found that the dog had also indulged: in the chocolate for a mid day snack.  Well, the rest of the day is a blur of chocolate dog vomit, cleaning rugs with resolve and a frantic trip to the emergency vet clinic where Doofy spent the night on an IV to rehydrate herself and having her heart rate closely monitored.  I am relieved to report that Doofy is back to her old self again, which is to say, napping on the furniture and invading peoples’ personal space.  Neither of which I mind as much as usual today.

long

Last night was one of those nights.  The curmudgeon is sick with a cold and spent most of yesterday weeping about, face swollen and crusty.  Somewhere in the middle part, she woke up, then the two of us, sparing Greg the sleep deprivation, wrestled on the rocking chair for the next five hours as she tossed and turned.  Nothing says “you’re getting old” like sleeping on a chair.  Parts of my back that were previously unknown to me are aching this morning.  I have splotchy memories of the hands on the clock being at 2:30, then 3:15, then 4:25, and so on, as I looked to my left to see Ruth snorting and twitching, her hair damp from where I drooled on it, her foot wedged into my….spleen?  Or some other organ.  My arm asleep, now my leg, now a sharp pain in my knee.  Then, when she wakes up and begins to cry, but stops when she notices my face inches from hers, it is the silver lining I need.

a moment of silence for the pink blanket

I had a “moment” yesterday morning.  It must the first of many of it’s kind.  While boxing up outgrown clothes and things, I came across the pink blanket with white polka dots that we used for Ruth all summer.  Think of Linus in Charlie Brown whose blanket was a chameleon of purpose .  More likely than not, if you happened across us this past summer, Ruth would have been wrapped in it.  It came with us to Lake Chemung on the fourth of July, on Ruth’s first trip to Houghton Lake, to my friend, Beth’s, wedding, and up north to Oscoda for family beach week, to name the big events.  It was also there in the everyday shuffle and the quiet moments.  Ruth’s first summer was one of the hottest on record and most days, we never made it outside until after dark.  We would tuck it around her while going for evening drives down Hines Drive to block the chill from the air conditioner as Greg read Harry Potter aloud.  It was her nap blanket and her burqa.  The texture of it is tightly woven around the memory of the feel of her infant self in my arms.  She was a round bean of life, warm and pulsing with quiet possibility.  Peeking from sleep, she would smirk and seem to find humor in our frantic ways.  A soft arm might fall out and her teeny fingers would find their way to her cheek, as if to say, “Oh me.  What a life have I got?”

The blanket seems to have shrunk and when I hold it up, I have to laugh.  It would make a better bib than blanket now.  The moment passed and I tucked it into the box with the rest, looking at Ruth standing in her crib, and told her, “Stop growing up so fast!”  To which she babbled and jumped more frantically.

 

Let us have a moment of silence for the pink blanket.

 

 

why one butt cheek?

Why are swim diapers made to leave one butt cheek hanging out?  Regular diapers spread comfortably across both cheeks, so why the discrepancy?  Babies’ butts don’t magically shrink as soon as they are submersed in water (although, I sometimes wish mine would:).  I’m not saying that I don’t love me some baby butt cheek.  What is more cute?  But, c’mon, guys.  Lets follow the most basic law of biology: “form follows function”.  You’re a diaper company.  Cover the butt.  End of story.

my perk on the pike mug

There used to be a coffee house in Cincinnati that was called “Perk on the Pike”.  It is no more.   The only thing left is my morning ritual mug with it’s logo that holds one cup and a half of coffee (that’s 12 oz.).  I know this because I recently measured it.  I recently measured it because in order to donate breast milk, one cannot consume more than 24 oz. per day.  With two filled-to-the-brim mugfuls, I am under the legal limit.  Donating breast milk is my latest hobby.

This blog is not about breast milk exclusively, but a sharing of experiences as a new parent for family and friends to read if they like.

I have a problem probably encountered by Indian couples.  My baby food grinder is stained with turmeric.  Perhaps the grinder is only suited to white or light-colored food, as it is made of cheap white plastic.  Also, perhaps it was not intended to grind hard items such as brown rice as I have nearly broken it with my strong-arm technique.  I can’t complain too loudly as my left arm is much more bulky these days and as it has survived a tangle with the garbage disposal and much general abuse.

Hark, I hear Ruthie crying and I must fetch her.  This is a baby step first post.