one week, summarised.
This is the first chance I've had to sit with free hands.
Daniel's been a tad under the weather since last Friday, starting when I collected him from that germ haven otherwise known as "childcare", and he'd done three giant sized poops, the last seconds before I arrived, they reported, all within the last forty minutes. "Uh, guys?" I said, "he's walking like a cowboy" and sure enough, he'd just filled his pants again, and continuing until now, the point where I'm seriously considering balling up a sock and plugging up his angry little scream hole.
POINT BEING
He's been a bit under the weather and while even in the beginning, he didn't seem ill, he's been whiny, if by "whiny" I mean "yelly", "screamy", or "turbine engines of a 747y", and when he's not screaming about whatever injustice caused him to Flip. OUT. for the twenty billionth time, he's very, VERY lap sitty. We went to the doctor earlier this week, an exercise is perfect timing, or as I like to call it,timing that really, really sucked. The appointment had been made taking into consideration Daniel's general Camille type demeanor, the time he'd woken up that morning, the corresponding predicted nap time and duration, and the angle of the sun. Or course, that all went to shit when, instead of The Nap arriving when scheduled, it arrived approximately 24.2 minutes before we were due to leave. I tried to reschedule as soon as Daniel had nodded off, which I couldn't do because Booked! Out! at the clinic, so I had to wake him up to drag him along and be told there's nothing wrong with him that a rest wont fix. Truly awesome.
He's had some odd and interesting creations emanate from his poopchute this past week, but there was only one additional scarypoo since Overflowing Pants Friday, thank god, and that was only after he'd wanted some milk and some yoghurt and his pants had been positively pristine for a day or so, why not? And the milk product overload kind of killed his winning streak. Good one, self.
Daniel perked up pretty quickly too, and with no nasty underpants surprises, by Tuesday was running around looking bored and saying "cah, cah, Lesley?", which is code for "get me out of here and take me to childcare and to the woman I adore more than I need oxygen". The doctor had given him a day off from childcare (his medical certificate said "is unfit for duty" haHA!) if he needed it, but despite the lack of extreme undergarments moments, I kept him home so as to make it a full 72 hours between Fit And Well and Underpants Hell.
Unlike the idiotic mother we encountered at Childcare late Wednesday morning who'd taken her child WHO'D HAD AN EXPLOSIVE RUNNY POOP THAT MORNING (apologies for mentioning poop with caps lock but, SERIOUSLY!) in to care. What kind of fucknut does that? I mean, taking a gastrically challenged child to a place brimming over with other babies and toddlers? Even without the sign on the door saying "Rotovirus! Reported here! List Of Symptoms! Skulls!! Crossbones!! XXX!" wouldn't you think to not let your child mix with others if his pants had been blown off by the force of his diarrhea a mere couple of hours earlier? I was there to drop my son off when she arrived to pick up hers, and she overheard me talking to the staff about Daniel's absence the day before, a discussion requiring repeated utterances of the word "poop", so she and her perfectly coiffed self became all concerned and asked me "yours too?" and in an equally concerned and sympathetic manner, I clucked "Yes, last week. Yours?", that's when she said "This morning, HORRENDOUS, but I BROUGHT HIM IN ANYWAY". The caps lock might be my emphasis because the point is STUPID! CARELESS! YET STUNNINGLY MADE UP. Her little boy was slumped in the corner looking so sad and pale. They'd called her because her son was too sick to stay there and by the way, diarrhea? I couldn't help but overhear her talking to staff when it was her turn and it was obvious she'd not told them earlier about the morning's events.
Meanwhile, I began writing this now because Daniel was absorbed in his own business (which involved taking the Huggies wipes out of the container and placing them carefully on the windowsill before putting them back in the container again, repeat. A lot)(aside: the wipes are so tough they'd dermabrade his tushie if used for such, so their value lies only in their ability to keep him entertained FOR HOURS) and also unwinding the kitchen towels before sitting in a sea of unwound paper, but the minute I wasn't gazing directly at his gorgeous self, he climbed onto my lap and is once again, enjoying himself immensely and making it very challenging to churn this out.
He's been...high maintenance, is probably the politest way to describe how he's been these last few days, and it's wearing me down. I don't know if it's the remnants of his almostapoopfestbutnotquite or if he's suddenly Almost Two because the tantrums, oh my heck. The days he's been in care, the reports have all consisted of "pushed so and so, bit so and so, hit so and so", and when I picked him up yesterday he was having a meltdown because, after being removed to a sectioned off play area because he's tried to head butt some poor innocent, he'd abandoned his contented, solitary play to thump the child standing a leetle to close to the room divider. Then he bit the staff member trying to break up the fracas. By the time I walked in he screaming his discontent to anyone who's listen, and from the volume he'd selected, he wanted the entire street to know about it. It's been like this since.... hang on. It's only been like this since Wednesday, so while it's sensible to address behavioural issues before the actually become issues, isn't it a bit premature for the aforementioned Lesely to act like it's the end of the world and Daniel is the Godzilla-esque toddler bringing about our demise? Especially since this change in personality coincided with being ill. Nonetheless, because I AM a responsible parent, he's already been back to the doctor to rule out any medical reason for the channeling of Beelzebub we've been seeing, mostly because not only has he been a real shithead, he's also been quite restless at night, hence the doctor's visit today. Who found there's nothing wrong with him (Daniel, not the doctor) that would explain the head spinning, pea soup spewing personality he's developed.
At 2am this morning, when he came in to my bed, he tossed and turned and drove me nuts until I tossed him back into his own bed. Which is in my room, so he drove me nuts some more when he tossed and turned in there. Then I grabbed my quilt and pillow and took to the sofa, and as soon as I'd settled down, the little diva added grousing to his acrobatic repertoire. Now, as much as I don't want to think of my boy in pain, I'm still kind of hoping it's teething or wind precipitating the Sybil like changes I'm witnessing. If it is teeth, with the state he's been in lately, it has to be something enormous growing in there. Like an elephant.
He was asleep when I got up at 7.30 this morning (AFTER GETTING TO SLEEP SOMETIME AFTER 3.30 INTENTIONAL CAPS LOCK OH MY GOD) and then the minute I got into the shower to wash the night's lack of sleep out of my brain, he woke up and sat outside the shower stall and bitched some more. I love him and wish I could do something to help him but nothing I do helps, everything I do seems to piss him off more.
Anyway, a window into my world.
And of course, as sleepless nights do, all the sadness in the world settled into my chest and there is such a heavy feeling in there still. I know that Daniel's father and his big Italian extended family being in dDaniel's life means all the more people to love him, but I also know that this is the beginning of losing him to them. I mean, his father is the one who's going to be The Fun One, while I'll be the one living in a shit hole of a place, with no bundles of cash and no family (no kidding, you'd think my brother and sister in law would take some fucking interest in this kid beyond "bring him up here so he can entertain us for a while", and they have this big Indian extended family, what's the difficulty in including us in that, for daniel, even if they can't abide me, as history suggests they can't?)(a window into my dark side, how awesome), telling him what he can't do, while Strep will be all weekend parenting telling him what he can. He's got the back yard, and he won't be saying things like "later darling, I've got to scrub the bathroom now". Real life will not compare to the fun parlour he'll experience at his father's house. Then there's the holidays. You choose one: my house at Christmas with me and, uh, me, or the bunch of fun loving, raucous wogs partying down hard at his father's.
In other news....gee, I don't know. I look like shit? Fascinating stuff, but in the interests of lulling the world to sleep: I look about fifty billion years old right now. I blame the weather because it's been veddy veddy strange, which it is every year around this time, and every year we all go "wow, hasn't the weather been strange lately?" and every year we forget that it's always this way, making it, in actual fact, not very strange at all.
About a million years ago there was this movie, The Wave, with Richard Chamberlain, I do believe, and even if the weather hasn't been strange, the fact that I can remember this movie is, because it's much like I emerged from a pod at aged sixteen as I've blocked out pretty much blocked out all other memories from before then. Anyway, the premise of The Wave was that the end of the world was knocking at the door and crazy end of days shit was happening, and people were ignoring the fact that frogs raining from the sky was, apart from kind of icky, not normal and that maybe, just maybe, it was good time to ask the heavenly father forgiveness for all the shitty things you've done. POINT BEING, there was this one line in the movie and it was "Hasn't the weather been strange lately?", and yes, it has. Veddy, veddy strange, no frog falls and yet, it fucks with me and my self esteem enough because stunningly baggy eyebags do not equal pretty. Additionally, Mother Nature fucks with it all too as soon as I've popped an egg, which I do every 31 days people, like that, tick tick tick, *pop*, and which I did last week, because she's all "you don't need to look attractive to ANYONE because you can't reproduce for another month anyway, so here, have some ugly". So the numerical formula in this regard this past week has been, me=get a bag and put it over my head.
In other news and if memory serves, that tinned pineapple I just ate is about..five days? Six, seven? old. Man, I hate it when you remember things either too late to do anything about it, as in "I ate old pineapple, oops" because had I remembered this important detail three minutes ago I WOULDN'T HAVE EATEN IT.
which may be more news you didn't need to hear.
But it does lend the question: Is week old pineapple going to kill me?
Speaking of ovulation, I spoke to Strep last Friday night too, which is relevant because I really shouldn't operate machinery, sign important documents, drive, and converse with my ex when I'm high on the ovulation crazies. Come Saturday, I was as calm as a lamb, but all week I'd been like this giant, disturbed and totally pissed off exclamation mark. And I chose to utilise that time wisely by talking with Daniel's father.
It's not like I didn't have anything relevant to say (which was, I won't be accepting many social invitations in the future except from the occasional one because when we get together as a "family" (which, *gag*), I bust my gut trying to create rapor (how do you spell "rapor"? Spell check won't give me any idea. I thought it was "rapor" but apparently, no) between me and Team Them and Team Them barely grunts in reply. They show up and...that's it. I find it extremely uncomfortable and because I don't really want to do this Happy Family bullshit anyway I think no, I'm not putting myself out there if they're not at least willing to meet me halfway, and considering Strep was such a fuckhead for the past two and an half years, I shouldn't have to do ANYTHING to make this situation an amicable one because I yam perfect and he is not, so there) it's just that I probably could have said it better without the crazies getting in the way.
Daniel's been a tad under the weather since last Friday, starting when I collected him from that germ haven otherwise known as "childcare", and he'd done three giant sized poops, the last seconds before I arrived, they reported, all within the last forty minutes. "Uh, guys?" I said, "he's walking like a cowboy" and sure enough, he'd just filled his pants again, and continuing until now, the point where I'm seriously considering balling up a sock and plugging up his angry little scream hole.
POINT BEING
He's been a bit under the weather and while even in the beginning, he didn't seem ill, he's been whiny, if by "whiny" I mean "yelly", "screamy", or "turbine engines of a 747y", and when he's not screaming about whatever injustice caused him to Flip. OUT. for the twenty billionth time, he's very, VERY lap sitty. We went to the doctor earlier this week, an exercise is perfect timing, or as I like to call it,timing that really, really sucked. The appointment had been made taking into consideration Daniel's general Camille type demeanor, the time he'd woken up that morning, the corresponding predicted nap time and duration, and the angle of the sun. Or course, that all went to shit when, instead of The Nap arriving when scheduled, it arrived approximately 24.2 minutes before we were due to leave. I tried to reschedule as soon as Daniel had nodded off, which I couldn't do because Booked! Out! at the clinic, so I had to wake him up to drag him along and be told there's nothing wrong with him that a rest wont fix. Truly awesome.
He's had some odd and interesting creations emanate from his poopchute this past week, but there was only one additional scarypoo since Overflowing Pants Friday, thank god, and that was only after he'd wanted some milk and some yoghurt and his pants had been positively pristine for a day or so, why not? And the milk product overload kind of killed his winning streak. Good one, self.
Daniel perked up pretty quickly too, and with no nasty underpants surprises, by Tuesday was running around looking bored and saying "cah, cah, Lesley?", which is code for "get me out of here and take me to childcare and to the woman I adore more than I need oxygen". The doctor had given him a day off from childcare (his medical certificate said "is unfit for duty" haHA!) if he needed it, but despite the lack of extreme undergarments moments, I kept him home so as to make it a full 72 hours between Fit And Well and Underpants Hell.
Unlike the idiotic mother we encountered at Childcare late Wednesday morning who'd taken her child WHO'D HAD AN EXPLOSIVE RUNNY POOP THAT MORNING (apologies for mentioning poop with caps lock but, SERIOUSLY!) in to care. What kind of fucknut does that? I mean, taking a gastrically challenged child to a place brimming over with other babies and toddlers? Even without the sign on the door saying "Rotovirus! Reported here! List Of Symptoms! Skulls!! Crossbones!! XXX!" wouldn't you think to not let your child mix with others if his pants had been blown off by the force of his diarrhea a mere couple of hours earlier? I was there to drop my son off when she arrived to pick up hers, and she overheard me talking to the staff about Daniel's absence the day before, a discussion requiring repeated utterances of the word "poop", so she and her perfectly coiffed self became all concerned and asked me "yours too?" and in an equally concerned and sympathetic manner, I clucked "Yes, last week. Yours?", that's when she said "This morning, HORRENDOUS, but I BROUGHT HIM IN ANYWAY". The caps lock might be my emphasis because the point is STUPID! CARELESS! YET STUNNINGLY MADE UP. Her little boy was slumped in the corner looking so sad and pale. They'd called her because her son was too sick to stay there and by the way, diarrhea? I couldn't help but overhear her talking to staff when it was her turn and it was obvious she'd not told them earlier about the morning's events.
Meanwhile, I began writing this now because Daniel was absorbed in his own business (which involved taking the Huggies wipes out of the container and placing them carefully on the windowsill before putting them back in the container again, repeat. A lot)(aside: the wipes are so tough they'd dermabrade his tushie if used for such, so their value lies only in their ability to keep him entertained FOR HOURS) and also unwinding the kitchen towels before sitting in a sea of unwound paper, but the minute I wasn't gazing directly at his gorgeous self, he climbed onto my lap and is once again, enjoying himself immensely and making it very challenging to churn this out.
He's been...high maintenance, is probably the politest way to describe how he's been these last few days, and it's wearing me down. I don't know if it's the remnants of his almostapoopfestbutnotquite or if he's suddenly Almost Two because the tantrums, oh my heck. The days he's been in care, the reports have all consisted of "pushed so and so, bit so and so, hit so and so", and when I picked him up yesterday he was having a meltdown because, after being removed to a sectioned off play area because he's tried to head butt some poor innocent, he'd abandoned his contented, solitary play to thump the child standing a leetle to close to the room divider. Then he bit the staff member trying to break up the fracas. By the time I walked in he screaming his discontent to anyone who's listen, and from the volume he'd selected, he wanted the entire street to know about it. It's been like this since.... hang on. It's only been like this since Wednesday, so while it's sensible to address behavioural issues before the actually become issues, isn't it a bit premature for the aforementioned Lesely to act like it's the end of the world and Daniel is the Godzilla-esque toddler bringing about our demise? Especially since this change in personality coincided with being ill. Nonetheless, because I AM a responsible parent, he's already been back to the doctor to rule out any medical reason for the channeling of Beelzebub we've been seeing, mostly because not only has he been a real shithead, he's also been quite restless at night, hence the doctor's visit today. Who found there's nothing wrong with him (Daniel, not the doctor) that would explain the head spinning, pea soup spewing personality he's developed.
At 2am this morning, when he came in to my bed, he tossed and turned and drove me nuts until I tossed him back into his own bed. Which is in my room, so he drove me nuts some more when he tossed and turned in there. Then I grabbed my quilt and pillow and took to the sofa, and as soon as I'd settled down, the little diva added grousing to his acrobatic repertoire. Now, as much as I don't want to think of my boy in pain, I'm still kind of hoping it's teething or wind precipitating the Sybil like changes I'm witnessing. If it is teeth, with the state he's been in lately, it has to be something enormous growing in there. Like an elephant.
He was asleep when I got up at 7.30 this morning (AFTER GETTING TO SLEEP SOMETIME AFTER 3.30 INTENTIONAL CAPS LOCK OH MY GOD) and then the minute I got into the shower to wash the night's lack of sleep out of my brain, he woke up and sat outside the shower stall and bitched some more. I love him and wish I could do something to help him but nothing I do helps, everything I do seems to piss him off more.
Anyway, a window into my world.
And of course, as sleepless nights do, all the sadness in the world settled into my chest and there is such a heavy feeling in there still. I know that Daniel's father and his big Italian extended family being in dDaniel's life means all the more people to love him, but I also know that this is the beginning of losing him to them. I mean, his father is the one who's going to be The Fun One, while I'll be the one living in a shit hole of a place, with no bundles of cash and no family (no kidding, you'd think my brother and sister in law would take some fucking interest in this kid beyond "bring him up here so he can entertain us for a while", and they have this big Indian extended family, what's the difficulty in including us in that, for daniel, even if they can't abide me, as history suggests they can't?)(a window into my dark side, how awesome), telling him what he can't do, while Strep will be all weekend parenting telling him what he can. He's got the back yard, and he won't be saying things like "later darling, I've got to scrub the bathroom now". Real life will not compare to the fun parlour he'll experience at his father's house. Then there's the holidays. You choose one: my house at Christmas with me and, uh, me, or the bunch of fun loving, raucous wogs partying down hard at his father's.
In other news....gee, I don't know. I look like shit? Fascinating stuff, but in the interests of lulling the world to sleep: I look about fifty billion years old right now. I blame the weather because it's been veddy veddy strange, which it is every year around this time, and every year we all go "wow, hasn't the weather been strange lately?" and every year we forget that it's always this way, making it, in actual fact, not very strange at all.
About a million years ago there was this movie, The Wave, with Richard Chamberlain, I do believe, and even if the weather hasn't been strange, the fact that I can remember this movie is, because it's much like I emerged from a pod at aged sixteen as I've blocked out pretty much blocked out all other memories from before then. Anyway, the premise of The Wave was that the end of the world was knocking at the door and crazy end of days shit was happening, and people were ignoring the fact that frogs raining from the sky was, apart from kind of icky, not normal and that maybe, just maybe, it was good time to ask the heavenly father forgiveness for all the shitty things you've done. POINT BEING, there was this one line in the movie and it was "Hasn't the weather been strange lately?", and yes, it has. Veddy, veddy strange, no frog falls and yet, it fucks with me and my self esteem enough because stunningly baggy eyebags do not equal pretty. Additionally, Mother Nature fucks with it all too as soon as I've popped an egg, which I do every 31 days people, like that, tick tick tick, *pop*, and which I did last week, because she's all "you don't need to look attractive to ANYONE because you can't reproduce for another month anyway, so here, have some ugly". So the numerical formula in this regard this past week has been, me=get a bag and put it over my head.
In other news and if memory serves, that tinned pineapple I just ate is about..five days? Six, seven? old. Man, I hate it when you remember things either too late to do anything about it, as in "I ate old pineapple, oops" because had I remembered this important detail three minutes ago I WOULDN'T HAVE EATEN IT.
which may be more news you didn't need to hear.
But it does lend the question: Is week old pineapple going to kill me?
Speaking of ovulation, I spoke to Strep last Friday night too, which is relevant because I really shouldn't operate machinery, sign important documents, drive, and converse with my ex when I'm high on the ovulation crazies. Come Saturday, I was as calm as a lamb, but all week I'd been like this giant, disturbed and totally pissed off exclamation mark. And I chose to utilise that time wisely by talking with Daniel's father.
It's not like I didn't have anything relevant to say (which was, I won't be accepting many social invitations in the future except from the occasional one because when we get together as a "family" (which, *gag*), I bust my gut trying to create rapor (how do you spell "rapor"? Spell check won't give me any idea. I thought it was "rapor" but apparently, no) between me and Team Them and Team Them barely grunts in reply. They show up and...that's it. I find it extremely uncomfortable and because I don't really want to do this Happy Family bullshit anyway I think no, I'm not putting myself out there if they're not at least willing to meet me halfway, and considering Strep was such a fuckhead for the past two and an half years, I shouldn't have to do ANYTHING to make this situation an amicable one because I yam perfect and he is not, so there) it's just that I probably could have said it better without the crazies getting in the way.
posted by aibee at 08:19
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