The Fly

*I planned to post this last night. Blogger was down (whatthehell!) so I was unable. Please ignore the one day-off-ness of it all....

Four days ago bhb had his first bite of solid food. He enjoyed the first few bites and then grabbed the spoon and shoved it in his mouth. Gifted child.

Three days ago bhb and I wrestled with gravity.

Two days ago I told the internet about it.

One day ago brown dog started blinking and looking miserable with his left eye. We’ve seen this all before. You may remember that he recently had to have surgery on his right eye.

Today we find out that indeed he needs surgery again. I worry that when you ask people who perform eye surgery if a dog needs eye surgery that you’re going to get the answer “He needs eye surgery”. Unfortunately the last time this happened and I wanted a different answer, I went to a holistic vet who said. “Well, there is a danger that the eye can explode.” Or was it implode? “Get the surgery.”

So we did.

My logic was, our dog has really pretty eyes. And he probably likes having both of them. And I’m not interested in exploding eyeballs. And here we are again, same story, but but now we’re looking at (get it?) the other eyeball. Cute hubs said to the vet:

"Thank god he's not a pet fly!"

Comon! You gotta give it up for the hubs on that one. Funnnnny. I laughed heartily in fact. The fact that we are joke cracking and guffawing is pretty impressive for people starting down the chute at another freakin' expensive event, and of course since it is Surgery (capital S) he has to go under - gak. Also here comes another three weeks of the cone of shame, putting goo into his eye twice a day and a cooped-up-not-hiking-frustrated animal who can vibe like no-body's business.

Tonight when we arrived home from a slightly contentious (ok...maybe it did get to us) trip up the local mountain I found myself having to convince brown dog to come out of the back of the Prius. He was reluctant. I took the muzzle-to-face opportunity to plead with him to stop manifesting these crazy-ass physical expressions of his emotional despair about having a new baby-person stealing away everyone’s attention. Ironically I said this with a hoarse voice due to the brutal and breathtaking cough that I currently have. And I leaned a little funny to the right because this morning I trashed my shoulder and neck by tweaking it during a coughing fit. The fact is that I have been in nauseating pain all day.

Guess I should listen to my own speech. Let’s try it. “Hey, Jane, stop manifesting weird physical shit that’s clearly the result of your emotional angst.”

Harumph.

Unfortunately the aforementioned contentiousness leaked into the house and as we were putting bhb to bed I stomped around here annoyed with it all. And I even tried to fold laundry angrily. Have you ever attempted this? Haughtily folding sweet smelling fresh laundry and slamming it down into neat piles is not very satisfying.

The worst part? I’ve decided to stop eating sugar. Again. For anyone who knows me, I’ve done this no less than 200 times. A few times I’ve been successful, like years-at-a time-with-no-sugar successful. I made sure our wedding cake had fruit on the top so when we did the obligatory stuff cake into each other’s faces I wouldn’t have to eat sugar. Can you say freak?

But.

I always feel so much better.

I always lose weight.

And I always cry at least a few times in the first few days.

The first five to seven days will suck-ass as I’m forced to feel my feelings and notice how uncomfortable I am. Well, damn. I’m uncomfortable anyway, might as well get rid of the ‘crack’ (that’s what I call the white devil). So I’ll keep you posted on all the fun I’m having.

Anyone want to join me? Comon’! It’ll be awesome. No, really.

Tonight I leave you with some pictures of our first born when we first adopted him @ 3 months old.  He's a ridiculously cool dog...

Falling Down

Today started out like any other day. Stayed up too late last night, slept in while the boy hung out with the cute hubs. This is an almost daily ritual, while I fade in and out of sleep, BHB sits in his bjorn bouncee chair doing his screaming banchee thang and kicking himself into a rockin’ rhthym while Hubs does the dishes. And if you’re wondering why I”m such a lucky Momma that gets to sleep in and did I say Dad does dishes? I did. I’d say I wonder too. But since I am the one on the hook to get up during the night, I think it might be semi-fair.

Went to the Feeding Little Foodies workshop and met some awesome other Momma’s and got some handy tips on how to make baby mush. It was great. I totally recommend it. I feel that much more capable and willing to make the food and freeze it and ya know, if I open a jar, I open a jar.

So in all the excitement about learning how to be feeding a little foodie I had not put any foodie in my body and since I’m still producing all the food for the little doody, I was famished.

To solve this problem I skipped loading the boy into the car and left him in the Ergo carrier and wandered down to the main street. Wilshire. I immediately found a cool little snackee place next to the El Rey theater that has found a hilarious line between Indian Food and Mexican. It’s called Cowboys and Turban’s and um hi, how fun is that? I ordered a chicken tandoori quesadilla (seriously).

I sat outside with my big-headed baby as we waited for this wacky concoction. In recent days I’ve realized he’s no longer the patient lap sitter he once was, he’s now a guy who needs entertainment. You know, like toys n’ shit. And in my haste to find nourishment, I dropped off the diaper bag that contained such things in the car and so I was caught basically empty handed. This is where my perfectly lovely day became other than.

BHB has been enjoying practicing his standing skills on our laps and laughing into our eyes. Needless to say looking into his starry blue eyes is uber sweet and this is what he was up to in this moment.

My arms are looped around him (imagine like a basketball hoop) and he leans into the left arm. I laugh at his laughing while the hand at the end of the right arm digs through purse for something fun for him to hold onto and or stuff into his tiny mouth. Two thoughts, lightening fast. Give him the glasses case. Take the glasses out first. So I avert eyes to open hinged case only I realize now the boy is missing. He’s down, he’s fallen down, he leaned back too far over my arm and flipped onto the marble below. My six month old child is screaming bloody-murder, no wait that scream was me. Now it’s him.

Before the brain has time to think, don’t pick him up he could be seriously hurt his back could be broken he’s up in my arms and I’m moving on the tiny patio in circles my voice says My baby, My baby oh my god I dropped my Baby and the nice Indian Man is out of the door saying, he’s okay, he’s okay I dropped both my kids yesterday this is what happens this happens all of the time until they are five then a nice guy who I noticed a few moments before as a hipster lanky guy with kind eyes is next to me saying He’s okay, he’s startled he’s okay he’s startled and I’m thinking or speaking Startled? Are you fucking kidding me? he hit the marble, that floor is marble is that cement or marble oh my god I dropped my baby as tears stream down my face and I try unsuccessfully to contain hysteria.

And now I’m also trying to get him to eat. Doing anything to create a sense of normalcy, my usual very modest public breast-feeding has become completely national geographic tribal and I just don't care. And the nice Indian man is yelling, seems to me he's yelling You have to Calm Down, He’s not going to calm down unless You calm down. And they are both very close to me, everyone is too close to me and I’m finally sitting down and the crying baby is thinking about latching but is too busy being upset. Like me.

And then he eats and it grows quiet except for the buses thundering by.

And lanky guy says, okay did he hit his head? And I’m looking at his perfect little head and I don’t see anything, not a mark. Lanky notices the angel's kiss on his forehead and thinks that is a problem, no I say, it’s a birthmark - there is literally not a single bit of evidence. I’m circling his fuzzy little head with a frantic hand as he feeds. It feels perfect.

And I call the pediatrician, only a nurse practitioner on duty today, she is going to call back.  And I sit there, on the patio looking down at the place where he fell. And he eats and he falls asleep. And the Indian man eventually comes out and brings the quesadilla. And lanky comes by a few more times and shares more kindness...and concern, what if he has a concussion? He should not sleep. So I wake the poor guy up, even though I know in my gut he is okay. Somehow he managed to perform a triple Lutz onto cement or was it marble three feet below and leave his head out of it. I guess all of that belly time paid off because he kept his head up.

After about 40 minutes, after the nurse practitioner called and we rule out head injury due to the fact that his head is not scratched and the fact that he’s giggling and banchee screaming and focusing fine and just basically behaving perfectly normally. My breath is finally coming back. The tandoori and cheese is good comfort food but you know, too rich but I’m not ready to be separated from his sweet breath by a car seat so we continue to sit there. I steal glances at the spot on the marble or is it cement where he landed.

Split seconds change a life. These moments which were orchestrated by random facts. I  didn’t bring food for me. The weather was nice so I walked. I found a place where we laughed. I looked for something for him to do and he was gone.

How fleeting. How dangerous this place. How much do I want to lock my family into a padded house with single ethnic food (no need to mix) and just laugh into each others eyes and steer clear of all hard surfaces. Needless to say I’m so grateful he is okay. I’m so sorry that he potentially wasn’t. I don’t know how anyone would survive this same moment going differently, I just don’t.

The good news is that I know what happened. After he backflipped out of my arms, he was caught by angels who then carefully lowered him to the ground where they placed him on his belly. The reason he cried was because I screamed. And cried. See Lanky was right, he was just startled. It's the only explanation that makes sense.

Psycho

Ok so that's not a nice post title to use after the heavy duty PPD post (below), and for that I'm sorry!

Just need to give a shout out to my friend who created this super AWESOME banner for me. I'm still trying to figure out how to make it fit correctly (Sand Dollar Template- why do you torture us so?)

I had a post up here that I took back down for construction. It will be back up momentarily. If you're looking for some Mama Drama, we got it.

Coming Soon...