Life

Where the hell have I been?  It’s been weeks – WEEKS! – since my last post.

I’ve been working: both a day-job and some freelancing. I’ve been with a sick child who was spewing from both ends for five days and then was in with the doctor for a red throat with lesions. I’ve been with my dad who, in the last week, had his metal leg break, went into surgery, had a semi-pleasant five-day stay at Mayo hospital and is now in recovery.  And I’ve been home trying to keep our household in order now that my husband is only home one day a week.

I am tired.

But I have big announcements coming. Big announcements that I’m very excited about.

Being a mommy will be back! Hahahahaha . . .

Every personality test I take says that I’m logical and not intuitive. I’m thinking and not feeling. I’m a man and not a woman. Which is bullshit because I think I’m a totally sensitive, intuitive WOMAN! Or, at least a chick.

Well, the other day, I was totally intuitive and even have proof. Proof in the form of vomit and diarrhea . . . but proof, nonetheless.

On Wednesday, I dropped Tessa off at daycare and it was actually okay. Okay in that she wasn’t screaming, crying, clinging to me and – otherwise – making my heart break. However, something was off. I couldn’t tell what it was and I just couldn’t shake it.

When I got to work, I jumped on IM and pinged Rob:

Me: yt?

Rob: yeah

Me: I’m worried about Tessa. Something just wasn’t right when I dropped her off. I’m freaking out that she’s not okay.

Silence

Me: yt?

Rob: yeah

Me: I’m going to call daycare

I have never called daycare just to check-in. I’ve thought about it but never have. But not able to shake this ominous feeling, I call daycare . . . and leave a voicemail.

Me: yt?

Rob: yeah

Me: I called daycare and left a voicemail. I’m really worried.

Silence

Daycare calls me back and says that everything is totally fine. That Tessa is playing with Connor and having a great time. Whew. What a relief.

Me: yt?

Rob: yeah

Me: Daycare called back and said that Tessa is fine. Thank goodness. I guess I was just being crazy.

Rob: yeah but I still love you.

Three hours later . . . daycare calls to tell me that Tessa is projectile vomiting nonstop and I need to come pick her up. This is the first time they have ever called me to pick her up. I was really freaking out then. But a part of me was like, “I knew something was off!” And I gave a big “f—k you” to those personality tests – ha, I’m intuitive!

And executive summary on Tessa: she has a stomach bug. Had diarrhea today and – after pumping pedialyte in her all day – is doing a lot better. The poor little angel. I’m really hoping that next week we can avoid pediatrician appointments . . . maybe even two weeks in a row? Now that would be awesome.

When there are problems in life, I blame Apple.

Yes, Mr. Jobs’ Apple. That Apple. That awesome, extremely superior, totally rad and amazingly amazing Apple.

My husband is a software engineer and we – therefore – are Apple snobs. We have an iMac, a MacBook, two iPhones, an iPad and Tessa knows how to work all of these . . . probably better than me.

Well, the other night I was working on an HTML newsletter. I like working on HTML stuff because it makes me feel all powerful. I AM LYNSI and I can change the Internet – hahahahaha!

Except this one evening – the evening before we are set to go on our one weekend getaway of the year – I’m not really rocking the HTML.

Rob enters the room with a bunch of swagger, What are you doing?

Working on an HTML newsletter.

What program are using?

Microsoft Front Page.

You should really use the Mac. It’s much better. I’ll find a free program to download.

A few minutes later Rob yells to me, Hey, want me to teach you how to use this program?

No, not really. I just want this done. Do you want to do it?

Sure, I can do it. I actually see in code. It’s a lot easier for me to just write it in notepad than to use that Microsoft program.

Okay.

Three hours later, Rob enters our bedroom where I’m packing, Um . . . can I see that Microsoft Front Page program? I think it would be easier to just start over.

Uh huh.

As a friend of mine said, Mac might be better but it’s a PC World.

Have you ever gone to a pediatrician appointment that kind of . . . well . . . sucked? Well, the one I went to on Friday blew.

It was Tessa’s 9-month “well-check.” Part of me wants to LOL and all that because “well-check” and “Tessa” in the same sentence is just not normal. It was her well-check appointment situated between rounds two and three of her latest ear infection antibiotics. Fun.

So three main things I learned from the 9-month well-check:

1- After three weeks on antibiotics, Tessa still has a double ear infection.

2- Tessa needs to start crawling or pulling herself to standing or receive the wrath of our pediatrician and a trip to the physical therapist.

3- Tessa needs to gain weight (I already knew this) and I somehow need to pack on the pounds (on her, not me): with olive oil on her solids, cereal in her milk, and snacks between her three solids and five bottles a day that I have already been feeding her.

It wasn’t a good appointment. But yet somehow I wasn’t overly disturbed. She still has an ear infection? So what? That’s the new norm for her. She is only doing the army crawl still? Don’t some kids never crawl and go straight to walking (she IS taking steps while assisted)? She needs to gain weight? Okay, this one I’ve been sensitive to. I’ve been worrying about it since she’s been sick. Since I’m at the pediatrician’s office every week to twice a week, I track her weight very well. And she even had a dip where she lost weight. It freaked me out. They said it was okay. That her throat was inflamed and it probably hurt her to swallow. But all I could think was “I’m starving my baby!” I feed her now until she screams . . . and then more. On days with me, she eats 30 percent more than she does while at daycare, with my parents, my husband, anyone. And yet my mommy guilt persists.

She was exclusively on breastmilk for eight months. Isn’t it MY fault if she isn’t big enough? I just transitioned her this past month to both breastmilk and formula. Was the formula poison to her little bitty infected body?

I can only tell myself “whatever.” I’ve never seen a happier baby: sick or not. She is happy. And occasionally healthy. She is enormously loved. And well-, almost too well- and completely forced, fed. She is my angel.