Kids are gross

I knew before becoming a parent that I was going to endure snot, vomit, pee and copious amounts of poop when dealing with a small child. I also expected there would be blood from time to time and maybe even a little pus, which we had when The Parasite developed an abscess on her thumb from nail biting. On the plus side, to get her to stop biting her nails and use the terrible tasting nail polish, I had to agree to do it with her. I no longer have bloody stumps at the end of my fingers. Look!

I did not, however, anticipate the notice that went up at daycare last week about the possibility that The Parasite might bring home a few parasites of her own. An outbreak of fucking head lice. I get the heebie-jeebies just thinking about it. The psychosomatic effects kicked in almost immediately as I used my shiny new nails to claw at my head with the same ferocity a bear uses on its prey. My own encounters with this revolting nuisance were back in grade school. I remember the school nurse checking heads and the shame of the kids that were sent home when live critters were found. I was never one of the disgraced.

As with most things really gross, I was more inclined to approach the problem with a firebomb than a match. I watched a few online tutorials to learn how to check her for critters, decided that frequent shudders of disgust would probably do more harm than good, and called in The Lice Squad for Mom & Baby head checks. The next day, a very nice lady came to our house and gave us a clean bill of... head. The "all in my head" scratching has stopped, but occasional shudders of disgust linger on.

Operation Try Again - Week Three

The last time I lost a significant amount of weight (birthing a 9 lb baby notwithstanding), I was in my late 20s. Oh, I worked hard at it then too - of course I did, I had time to go to the gym five times a week for an hour and a half - and 30 pounds fell off in about four months. Sure, sometimes dinner was a bowl of Cheerios and a glass of wine, but whatever. I looked damn good doing it.

Now, I am in my late 30s. It is decidedly less easy. While my kid would love it, I'd feel pretty bad feeding her Cheerios and wine (or apple juice, if you're the "QUICK! Call Children's Aid" kind) so real dinners are a necessity around here. Wednesday night is soccer night, and Sunday is swim day (neither activity is for me) and that on top of a full time job and general family responsibilities means 5x a week at the gym isn't going to happen... ever. Instead, I do what I can.

I'm keeping up with The Plan and I've reached 37.6% of the weight loss goal. Yes, I prefer to examine percent complete rather than pounds lost. Because I am a dork. Twice a week bootcamp is challenging, but it's getting a lot more fun. I'm a little sad there is only three sessions left. We're away for part next month and there's no way I could work out the logistics to attend three times a week to make up the missed classes so I won't sign up, but I'm looking forward to going back in September. Wait, what? Yes, really.

I've been diligently using the FitBit for over a month now for all my food tracking and setting exercise goals. I've posted a more detailed review over at The Wine Fund, but suffice it to say I love this thing! I did Week #2, Run #2 of the Ease into 5K program last night. Acupuncture continues and even if it does nothing for fertility it gets me out of the office twice a week over lunch to rest in a darkened room for 45 minutes. I can think of worse ways to pass the time.

Some day, if we go through another round and it doesn't work, I'll know I did absolutely everything in my power to make it happen.

And then there was one...

When The Husband and I met, I had two cats and he had one. When we moved in together we ushered in an unholy mess of hissing and fur. Two years ago, it became clear the kidney issues one of my cats was having were more than he could bear and so we were down to two. Our little old ladies came to accept a kind of quiet disdain for each other and all was well with our menagerie.

A couple of weeks ago, we noticed The Husband's cat had a little limp. As it seemed to go away pretty quickly, we attributed it to a bit of stiffness when she first got up. We also noticed she hadn't been coming upstairs at night much and decided that was due to the heat we've been having lately. On Thursday night the limp was back. I made a mental note to make an appointment with the vet and went to bed. When we got up on Friday, she had lost use of the paw completely. It was heartbreaking to watch her try to make her way to her food bowl, so I moved it closer and waited for the vet's office to open.

They squeezed us in for an 11:30 appointment. I moved her to a favourite chair and went upstairs to brush my teeth and get dressed. And then I heard the thud. She tried to get off the chair on her own, and it became clear she couldn't use the limbs on her left side at all. Right then, in the carrier she went! I was pretty sure she wasn't coming home with me. Tip!: If you're hoping to jump the queue at the vet's office, I highly recommend showing up to the waiting room in tears. They'll move you the hell out of there pretty quickly. My fears were warranted, she had likely suffered a stroke. To confirm she'd have to undergo a battery of tests and the treatment options were scarce. Since she was shaking in terror at even the preliminary exam, I made the call not to put her through more prodding and let her take that trip over the Rainbow Bridge.

At park on the way home from daycare, The Parasite asked why her kitty's "arm was all folded up" and I told her her kitty had died. Honestly, I wasn't expecting much of a reaction. She didn't seem to much care about the cat unless she was sitting on her stuff. When her great-grandmother died last year she took it in stride, likely because she was too young to grasp the finality of death. I thought she still was, and I was caught off guard by her sudden outburst of tears and anger. "I love Cleo! She's my best friend!" It broke my heart a little more. Then she caught me off guard again a little later when she said "When Indy dies, I won't have any kitties at all!" She put that together all by herself. I'm impressed by her intelligence and afraid for us in her teen years at once.

Six!!

Six years ago today, I put on some lipstick and headed out on yet another date. I had been on a bit of a dating spurt and I was getting pretty cynical about the whole scene. It was a Wednesday night, and a hot and sultry one at that. One just made for beer on a patio. Little did I know that six years later, that guy would be my closest confidante and the father of my child. It's been 2,192 days since that date, and I still like having drinks on a patio with him.

Here's to many more, my love! 

Operation: Try Again - Week One

A few weeks ago, we threw in the towel on fertility treatments. I was relieved as the stress I didn't even know was constantly there instantly melted away. I was sleeping like a baby. And then I started to wonder if I would regret that decision immensely 5 or 10 or 20 years from now. As we know, I do my very damndest to make decisions I won't regret later. I decided not giving another shot would be something I would lie awake at night and cry about until I was old(er) and grey(er).

So we came up with a new plan:

1. Take the summer off. Have a romantic life with The Husband that isn't dictated by the level of luteinizing hormone in my bloodstream. For TWO YEARS we've been having sex (or worse, he's been having alone time and I've been transporting the fruits of his labour IN MY BRA) when a doctor or a pee stick tells us it's time. For the next three months, we will not watch the calendar. It will be a complete break from all things related to trying to conceive. Except, you know, the activity that actually makes babies. But because it's fun and we like each other a lot, not because of some little egg in the window of an ovulation predictor kit.
2. Lose 20 pounds by the end of the summer. It might help, and it certainly won't hurt. And if our next round of efforts are successful, it will make pregnancy easier and reduce the likelihood of complications. To this end, I've joined a twice a week boot camp in a local park and have gotten back into running with the Ease into 5K App, formerly known as C25K program. I started using a FitBit a couple of weeks ago to track my eating and activity, and I love that thing like crazy.
3. Twice weekly acupuncture. It might be snake oil, but my benefit plan covers it so why the hell not? There has been some evidence to suggest it helps. I'm doing something, which is better than doing nothing. Surprisingly, the acupuncture needles don't bother me at all. Which brings me to the next and final step in the plan of Operation: Try Again.
4. Get professional help to deal with my needle phobia. Nobody likes needles, but after the injection training session at the clinic I actually hyperventilated at the thought of daily injections. Full blown anxiety attack. Not fun. I avoid the dentist because when I need to have work done I can't stand the needles. It's a problem I should deal with even if I'm not going to continue with treatments because it affects my life in other areas, so EMDR it is! 

There you have it, the new plan. One last try in the fall before we close the door and move on. If it works, fantastic. We'll be ecstatic. If it doesn't, I will know beyond any shadow of a doubt that I gave it my all. It will still hurt, but I will take some comfort in that. To keep me honest, I'll be recapping the progress here every week.

Not in the nick of time

The Husband and I came to the conclusion a while ago that we no longer enjoy going to the movies. It's expensive, the chairs are uncomfortable and frankly, neither one of us likes people very much. Oh, I like *you* just fine, it's the rest of the people of Earth I can't stand. We do most of our movie watching at home. While we have a ginormous TV (his thing, not mine) there are still some big blockbusters that the home theatre just can't do justice. So we wait until several weeks after the premiere and suck it up to go catch movies like The Avengers on the big screen.

Last night we decided it had been out long enough for the crowds to die down and had our neighbour come babysit so we could catch a 7:40 show. Which we arrived at the theatre to discover was actually a 7:20 show. Shit. Next showing? 10:00. Shit. Since we were all dressed up with no place to go, we looked for something else we could see, and could agree upon nothing. Shit. We made a call to the sitter to see if she could stay later than planned, bought tickets to the 10:00 and went for drinks on a patio. 

Aside: I realize I'm about to sound like an octogenarian, but since when is the second showing at 10:00 or later? I seem to recall there being a 9:00 showing when I was a teenager. You know, back when the wheel was a hot, new thing and harnessing fire was all the rage. Anyway...

We made it through the 10:00 and the plotless movie was highly entertaining. And now I totally regret that entertainment. After I spent a leisurely FIVE HOURS in bed, my kid is raring to go. She doesn't seem to care that Mommy was out late. There's stories to be read and sunscreen to be applied so we can go to the splash pad. Next time I think we'll skip the 10:00. I'm too old for this shit. To those that celebrate it along with me, Happy Canada Day! If you need me, I'll be the one desperately trying to find a quiet corner for a nap.