Because I can.

I have every right to use my child as a billboard. He ows me one.

Icky Sick

Last Thursday I got the flu. I have no idea where I got it from. It was one of those bugs that knock you down flat so fast that you have zero time to react. What made it worse was that on Sunday, I was feeling better so I went and ran a few errands with Rick. By the time I got home, I had a fever and was way worse than I was on Saturday. Monday was excruciating. Tuesday was better.

But then Payton got it. Tuesday night was horrible!! Poor little man! He was up every hour screaming because his nose was so stuffy. Babies breathe through their noses almost exclusively. They won't breathe through their mouths, only try to snuffle though the snot build up. He would wake up and scream and I would have to clean out his nose.

Easy? No.

To un-stuff baby's nose, you have to squirt saline drops up there, position him head down so the drops will soften the mucus and then suck it out with the "Bulb Syringe of Woe". This operation takes about 5 minutes, but it is 5 minutes of sheer agony. The poor little guy screams and flails and makes you feel like dying. Sucking out his nose is absolutley the worst thing ever. I would change nasty diapers all day if I could avoid the whole nose sucking thing.

I could get the poor little guy back to sleep if he was sleeping on me. I was a hot box. He was a hot box. The room was stuffy. Then I would cough from my leftover flu and wake him up. I think I got a total of about three hours of sleep last night over the entire 10 hours of attempting to do so.

The great thing about not sleeping at night, though, is a guaranteed two hour nap during the day. This nap deal is a great thing. He's unstuffed, fed and sleeping. I can sleep to. Hooray naps!

Hopefully tonight will be better.

Fixed

I found out her name and called to apologize.

Whoops

I just exploded on a poor lady on the other end of the phone. Now I feel really bad about it. She had nothing at all to do with the reason I was upset. I wish I knew her name to apologize.

Why did I explode?

Payton has had an appointment scheduled with his pediatrician for today at 11:45 for the past three weeks as far as I was concerned. I have the written appointment card and everything. I have been looking forweard to this since the day it was scheduled. I have told everyone and their dog about this appointment. I usually get a reminder call two days before the appointments and today I realized that I never got one so I called to confirm.

The receptionist never scheduled it in the computer. He was new - his second day. My beloved Patrick is no more at Dr. Smart's office and that sucks. *sniffle* He wrote out the card and never actually officially scheduled it.

I left a message for Dr. Smart's nurse. I can only imagine what it says: "Please call this rude crazy woman back or she will come down there and make an embarassment of herself at 11:45. Thank you."

I got a call back within 15 minutes. We're on at noon. Thank goodness.

I guess the reason I'm upset about this is that I didn't realize that the scars of our ordeal still run so deeply. I FLEW off the handle. The reaction did not fit the situation at all. I couldn't stop it, though. I'm still cut so deeply about Payton's health and well being that I completely lost it. My chest still hurts from the anger over the appointment situation. My throat hurts from choking back the tears. I'm embarassed that I have healed my son, but have not healed myself.

Grow, Baby, Grow

We are up to around 13 pounds or so. Keep in mind that the last three of that has been in the past three weeks. His surgery was the 21st of April.

Three days old:
















Last week:


















We have an appointment with his pediatrician on the 24th. This is the 1st time I have actually been EXCITED to go and get him weighed.

On the wagon again.

I have been begging for a gym membership for the past few months. It was never the right time: Payton was too young for the Kiddie Camp, he was in the hospital, or was recovering from a stay at the hospital.

For Mother's Day, I got a three year pre-paid membership to 24 Hour Fitness. Hooray.

Now all I need to do is fit back into my workout clothes. My pants are too tight around my middle. My tops are too tight from my baby-feeding boobies. The only things that fit are my left shoe and my right shoe. Well thank goodness. I need to have the shoes so I can drive my fat ass over to the gym so I can fit into my workout clothes again.

I think somewhere I mentioned that when Payton was so sick and barfing all the time, I thought that if I ate more, he would eat more, or at least there would be more calories in my milk. Wrong on both counts, but I was so desparate! All I wound up with was 15 pounds of baby fat that is stubbornly clinging to my middle and my ass. I would like to loose another 10 pounds on top of that as well. But really, all I care about is fitting back into my clothes. I refuse to buy any more clothes that are 3 or 4 sizes bigger than I'm accustomed to buying. Refuse. And that goes for workout clothes too.

I met with my trainer for the first time of Thursday. I'm not sure if I like him or not. He's kind of a prick. He just graduated with his masters degree in physiology and he thinks he's the shit. He rarely cracks a smile. I think I shall make it my mission to get the punk to laugh. He has two weeks. He's making me keep a food log. Ugh. Yuck. Gack. Guh. I HATE doing that. He wants me to count calories. Ummmm... OK. Have it your way. So off I go to count calories.

The biggest hurdle for me is cutting out the sugar. I swear I went into a full-on jones yesterday. All I could think about was a damn ice cream sandwich. I would have even eaten vanilla ice cream (the horror!) I was so desprate! I made it through. I satisfied myself with a cup of mellon (54 calories) and a protein bar (210 calories). Good gravy. I guess that's better than the pint of Ben and Jerry's that I was wanting to devour. Yea me.

I go back to see the torture master punk tomorrow at nine.

Amazing what people will say

Rick and I were at IKEA yesterday and Payton was having a great time!!! He was happy playing in his stroller, but after about a half an hour he decided that he wanted out so he could see stuff better. He was having a blast looking at everything and he was laughing his little head off.

As we were winding our way through the maze of cooking gadgets and coat hooks, there was a couple in thier mid-40's who I saw out of the corner of my eye. They were looking at Payton and talking and looking some more.

We finally got intercepted in the lamp department.

Lady: Wow! Look how well he holds his head up! He's so alert for such a little one!
Man: How old is he?
Me: 8 months old.
Man: No... you must mean 8 weeks, right?
Rick: No... he's 8 months old.
Me: Really - 8 months old.
Man: I don't think so.
Lady: Hmmmmm....

OK. So you know when I pushed this child out of my body? You do? Do you have any idea what we have been through? Would you like me to show you his 4" surgical scar on his belly? Would you??

Next time I will turn it back on them. Why do you ask?? I will say.

I get comments like this all the time. YES. He is small. So what. He's growing.

The other one that gets me is when people ask how old he is and then they say nothing after I tell them. They get a concerned look on their faces. It just drives me nuts!

I try so hard not to get defensive. I do. I just get my panties all wadded up over this. It's sooo hard not to compare Payton with other babies his age. He'll catch up, but in the meantime, I need t get it in check or I will drive myself nuts.

I think the biggest thing I have learned through all of this is never to assume anything when it comes to another person's kids.

Where, oh where have I been???

Where haven't I been is more the question. I have climbed up from the lowest low I could ever imagine. I'm actually coming out fairly unscathed, ending it with a roundoff back handspring to boot.

I guess I stopped blogging because I was too damn upset to see everything in print as well as live it too.

Here is a summary of sorts:

My last blogging attempt, And I Start Again, took you through my pregnancy, the birth of my darling boy and started to touch upon the horrors of having a baby that won't stop throwing up and won't grow. That is where the hell started. Where I couldn't bear to deal with it head-on. I hid. I ran. But in the end, I conquered.

We went through four hospital stays, three surgeries, two psychologists, one nasty Gastro Intestinal specialist and a partridge in a pear tree.

I guess it's easier for me now to look back and comment on this period in my life as I can now see in full view that which drug me below the surface rather than fragments of time. I was living day to day and sometimes hour to hour.

So - here we are. I will do my best to recount the events which led to my blogging demise.

Out of the Ashes

Yes. Fire, ashes, brimstone.

The works.

Finally the phoenix is rising.

And to commerate this momentous event - a new blog.

Here we go again.