No escape

I wanted to go home early yesterday. But honestly? There wasn’t really any point. My head was hurting (and still does) so bad it was making me sick to my stomach. But I thought about the logistics of going home and I realized that staying at work would be less stressful than going home early. Because I would have to pick up The Peach from My Mom’s house and I’d have to walk down the driveway. And then I’d have The Peach to chase and entertain and feed and whatnot. And because it was Wednesday, The Zen Master had class so no help from him. And Princess Punk was staying after school so I’d have to pick her up as well and then when she got home there’d be her chores to do and her attitude to deal with. So the chances of me getting an actual break, in quiet, to lay down and try and beat back a teeny bit of this pain were slim to none. So wasting my leave time on two extra hours of home stress seemed kinda stupid.

And I kinda need a break. I think if maybe, if I can get a few hours of quiet, without responsibilities yanking at my pant leg, or maybe one night of uninterrupted sleep, I might be able to get this overwhelming soul-sucking pain to ease up just a bit.

But I’m kind doubting that’ll happen. So basically right now, I’m just pushing along until my head explodes, which, given how I feel right now, should be pretty damn soon.

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Yuck

OK… So I love my Peach. But babies make it necessary to engage in verbal exchanges that should never EVER happen. Remember the diaper rash relief outfit?

She looks like a fat midget streetwalker

She looks like a fat midget streetwalker

 

This is the resulting conversation… Or whatever since you can hardly call a string of frantically uttered grosstastic phrases “conversation.”

Zen Master – “Oh NOOOOOOO! OH MY GOD!”

Me – “What’s wro… Oh Jesus.”

“Oh! Oh gross.”

“Princess Punk! Turn on your bath NOW! And get a towel and a washcloth…(to The Zen Master) Strip her and bring her into the bathroom and I’ll get it off the floor. Oh Ewwwwwwww… I think some of it is under the couch.”

Princess Punk – (still standing in the hall having done nothing I just told her) “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Your sister just shit on the floor and then smeared her hand in it, now GO RUN THE GODDAMN BATH!”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“That’s gross.”

“Ya think? TURN ON THE FUCKING WATER!”

“Ohkaaay… Jeez.”

(The Zen Master is standing in the hallway looking distressed with a cheerfully wriggling naked Peach, hooked under the armpits as far away from his own body as possible) “Um…”

“Just keep her hands out of her mouth, I’ll be there in a sec. PRINCESS! Go get me some more paper towels.”

After a gag-worthy clean up in the living room, on to the bathroom…

“Get me some wipes so she doesn’t smear poop on the tu… Too late. Ugh. I think it’s under her fingernails now. Really? How does the hot water run out that fast? At least I got it all scrubbed off her but now she’s covered in soap. NO! Don’t rub your eye dummy! Yes. That hurts doesn’t it? For fuck’s sake. YOUR daughter. Get the towel ready, her lips are turning blue.”

“Mo-omm! I’m not getting the poopy socks off my sink. You do it.”

“Just hang on. Shine the flashlight on the floor there to make sure I got all of it… Oh, ew, she got it on the frog. I’m so bleaching that.”

And then? Then I made dinner. Good times.

My Poor Little Peach

The Peach has diaper rash. Really bad.

Technically it’s a yeast infection. We have lots of gooey prescription ointment to slather on her bum. She pretty much has one all the time, but usually it’s just a little bit of pink kept at bay with cornstarch baby powder. Right now? The puffy, angry, redness of her ass rivals that of a baboon.

She hasn’t been this bad since she was an itty bitty baby. She pooped FIVE times yesterday.  Started out as hard little turds that I had to speedily snag with a wipe to keep from rolling onto my bed. By the time she got out that last poop, it had morphed into a consistency resembling slightly dry play dough. And it was vividly orange. Which any mom can tell you means higher acid foods, namely, in The Peach’s case, carrots.  Which means more irritation. Which means a kid screaming and crying and thrashing so vigorously, it took both of us to clean her up and change her.

The Peach is a drama queen. We’ve established that. But when you’re a parent, you know the difference between ohmigodyoujustsaidnotomeIhateyounow and ohmigodthishurtssobadmommymakeitSTOP! She was in pain. Serious, horrible, breaking my heart pain. And we cleaned her up and let her air out a bit and slathered her red, swollen tushie with medicine. And hugged her a lot. And she calmed down and went to bed and she was OK. And when I changed her this morning, it looked moderately better and she didn’t wince when I wiped off the pee.

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You know... I don't think I want your finger near my baby's ass.

And then, about an hour later, she pooped. Sitting in the living room happily playing and then, like someone flicked a switch, stood up, looked at The Zen Master and wept.

It took both of us again. The Zen Master held her little legs open and I gingerly cleaned her now bleeding little heiny. It was awful. For all of us. She wobbled around the living room, naked as a jaybird for the next 2 hours until she got too cold. Then, being as brilliant as I am (and modest too), I rigged her up a free-the-tushie outfit with a pair of shrunken Princess Punk socks pulled up to her crotch and a long sleeve t-shirt. She looked pretty odd, but hey,  it did what it needed.

So she’s still miserable and we’re trying to keep her as dry and comfortable as possible.

I hope it clears up soon, I hate it when my babies hurt.

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The Peach’s Guide to Mommy’s Morning Off

Step 1 – Slam self in face with plastic phone.

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Step 2 – Put on The Pout

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Step 3 – Ramp up to full blown screech… Make sure you are within 2″ of Mommy’s ear!

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Step 4 – Throw yourself dramatically on the nearest surface… Floor is best, but in a pinch, Mommy’s knee will suffice

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Step 5 – Squeeze out some tears… And snot. Lots of snot.

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Step 6 – Proceed to… Oh look! A plastic phone!

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I’m not emo, I promise…

I was driving home the other day and a brief thought swished through my brain…

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“What if I just gave up?”

Not suicide or anything awful like that, just… Give up. Give in to the constant pain. Quit my job and stay in bed zonked out on muscle relaxants and get food stamps and Medicaid and let The Zen Master handle the teenage angst and toddler frenzy. Let someone else deal with the bills and the housework and the cooking. Just… Let it all go.

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I get it. I get why people apply for disability when, on the surface, they look just fine. I get why sometimes, you just can’t do it anymore, that the pain becomes a full time job that pushes aside everything else in your life. I get that it’s hard to be a nurturing mom when every time your children hug you it feels like you’re being run over by an 18-wheeler. I get that your marriage is strained because the idea of any physical contact more than a brief kiss makes you literally cringe. So yeah. The thought crossed my mind. And ever so briefly, it felt like I could escape. But just as quickly, I realized that this is not something to escape. It’s there, it will be there and sometimes, like now, it will be bad. But it isn’t me. And I’m not going to be a martyr. I’m just going to deal. Because that’s what I do.

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Ohh shiiiii…

The Zen Master is reading my blog.

OK… I told him to… A couple times actually. But now that he is

I hope he actually comes home after work tomorrow… Instead of, ya know… Driving to Canada.

He knows me… Better than pretty much anyone except possibly my therapist. He’s seen me at my worst. But this blog is… Raw. It’s me, laid out, good and bad and sad and happy and crazy and angry. And sometimes doesn’t paint him in the best light. I mean, no matter how totally awesome he is, how perfect a fit, we’re married. And that is not always wine and roses and love poems and sap. It’s real, and sometimes it’s ugly.

So hon… When you read this…

Don’t run, kay?

Cuz that would really suck.

That’s it… I suck.

I think I’ve turned my kids into junk food junkies.

funny-men-hungry-sammich-sandwichOk, The Zen Master totally doesn’t help, he tends to eat a large amount of food and is constantly bringing home Doritos and Snickers and Kit Kats and various other processed food crap. The man has a worse sweet tooth than a PMSing fruit fly. Hmmm… Wow, that was a weird analogy even for me.

Anyhow… I’ve kind of given up on the whole “keeping my kids away from overly-sweetened, processed, chemically foods” thing. i-wish-this-was-a-source-of-tasty-healthy-food-that-I-could-afford-700x468Partly because when you are feeding a kid with an appetite like Princess Punk, you gotta pack A LOT of lunch and chef boyardee and baloney on white are cheaper than whole grain bread and carrot sticks. And… partly because I want the stuff myself. And it’s unfair for me to tell The Princess that she can’t bring a pop-tart for her snack at school when that’s what I had for lunch today (true story). I think part of the reason The Princess was sneaking food was because I was doing that. So, instead of cutting out the junk myself, I just gave in and let her have it too.

poptarts and bacon

And The Peach? Princess Punk thinks it’s funny to give her sweet stuff because she shrieks like a banshee and claps her hands and it’s really adorable. And I gave her take-out chinese food last night. And because she’s eating mostly table food now (that makes her sound like a puppy. weird.), she’s developing tastes and preferences and all kinds of weird eating habits, some of which are kinda annoying. She apparently doesn’t eat more than one kind of food at a time. If you put 2 different things on her tray, she will have a bite of each, decide which one she wants and carefully grab up the other and drop it on the floor for Fairy Dog. “UH ooooooooooooooo…” Fantastic.

I never got to eat junk food as a kid. I don’t think I ate white bread until I was in grade school. I know I didn’t eat sugary cereal until middle school at least. I was in my 20’s the first time I had fruit loops, no lie. Sweets was never a big thing for me anyway because I’ve always had a taste for more of the savory… Pizza, tacos, pasta, hamburgers… Saturated fat and simple carbs… YUM. I used to stay home sick from school and order pizza. And eat the ENTIRE thing. Pizza Hut used to have this triple layer pizza where it was like thin crust, layer of cheese, thin crust, toppings… Holy crap, my stomach just growled. I think they stopped making it because it caused to many heart attacks.

Plus, my eating habits are weird… I don’t watch the fat in my food and I learned to cook in the south so fried chicken smothered in gravy with buttery mashed potatoes and collard greens cooked with some kind of pig part… A favorite dinner in my house. Goddammit I am HUNGRY.

Avoid my home between 6 and 6:30... Seriously.

Avoid my home between 6 and 6:30… Seriously.

~Noms Intermission~

I realize that reading this, there is no break in the content of the post, but given my brain… Where Was I? Right. Healthy eating is rarely a reality in my house. Good-for-you food also happens to be a little bit more time-consuming. Yes, it’s likely that some of the crap/processed food I buy could actually be cheaper if I made it myself, but driving 45 minutes to get to the whole foods co-op to buy bulk peanuts to make no additive peanut butter… Not gonna happen. A co-worker gave me really great instructions for home-made yogurt that is a LOT cheaper than buying store-bought, especially since we get a lot of our milk from WIC. But it’s a lot of work… and requires time, patience and following directions. I’m going to attempt it. At some point. Really. I swear.

MjAxMy01MDI1YmY2MzgwZjRjYWJlMeal time in general has actually kind of fallen to the wayside too. I’ve always tried to make a point of sitting together at the table as a family to have dinner. It is better for everybody, mentally and physically. It’s a proven fact. But lately we’ve been eating dinner together, but in the living room watching TV. This is not the example I’d like to set for The Peach. She’s going to be screwed up enough with her parental and sibling examples, she doesn’t need to add a non-cohesive family into the mix. Eating together is important, we talk, laugh and enjoy each others company. It’s a way to connect and it should be a priority right now especially since I’ve been feeling so disconnected.

I make a lot of excuses about healthy eating to myself (and others apparently since I’m blogging about it) because I feel guilty about not feeding my family decently. But a good portion of it is I’m just lazy. And broke. Because, excuses or not,  finances really are an obstacle with this. But I’m really going to try and do better. I want my kids to be healthy and not grow up with a weight problem like I did.

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