A Brief Rant

So here’s the news… Both Crazy Girl and my newbie BFF from work… Who still needs a Blog name… Let’s call her… Um… Newbie for now… I’m just not clever enough to come up with a good pseudonym for her right now. ANYWAY, Both Crazy Girl and Newbie are preggers. Due within a month of each other. Both unexpected. Crazy Girl is 37 and had basically just thought she couldn’t have kids. Not that she ever tried specifically, she just had a string of long relationships and wasn’t particularly careful about contraception. Newbie never wanted kids and had a one time spur of the moment “oops,” with her husband mind you, and got pregnant. So I get to live vicariously through their new motherhood and hold brand new babies again without risking death (literally) and getting pregnant again myself.

Crazy Girl is doing okay. Her man is a sweetheart and he has several jobs. He can easily quit one of them and take care of their new babe while Crazy Girl continues to work. Things will be tighter for them, but they’ll make it since Crazy Girl also has a huge family who are willing to come chip in and help.

Newbie? Not so lucky. She’s been spending the past few weeks trying to find daycare spots for December. She’s called about 20 or so. No spots. And the one or two that do have spots are charging $1000 or more per month.

So here’s the rant…

Newbie is college educated, as is her husband. She works with me, secure, decent pay… Job. Her husband is a teacher. Between the two of them, they make a very good wage. But due to the expense of daycare and the fact that our job has no maternity leave, just unpaid FMLA (all that means is you can be out of work for an extended period for medical reasons without losing your job), and she’s due in August, right when her hubby goes back to school, she may actually have to quit her decent-paying, middle class job and get a part-time job at night, just so they can avoid trying to get blood from a stone to pay for daycare and still be able to afford to live. Because they’d actually come out ahead that way.

How fucked up is that?

How is it possible that in this “wonderful, free country,” a country in which friends of mine have fought overseas for, a country that purports to be the greatest nation on earth, how is it possible that an intelligent, college-educated, working couple cannot afford to have a child? How is it possible that the only way Crazy Girl and her man aren’t in need of assistance is because her man is quitting one of his jobs to care for their child? In that respect, how is it possible that a hard-working family of four can’t survive with both parents working at minimum wage without food stamps, medical and rent assistance from the government. How is it then possible that Congress can take away these benefits from these already struggling families, middle class or poverty-stricken and complain about the “Welfare culture” in this country?

It’s unfair. And there’s nothing we can do about it. Because Our government is not For the People, it’s For the Rich. So if you don’t make enough money to buy a couple of votes, you are pretty much screwed.

I told you it was brief.

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A break for once

 

How sad is it that I finally have a break, only because The Peach has the flu (or something flu-like)…

She sits here in the bed next to me, watching preschool songs on YouTube because she doesn’t actually want to do much else.

My Peach hasn’t gotten really sick since she was a baby. Even now, with this her temperature is only hovering around 100. The puking last night was epic unfortunately. Our downstairs toilet is currently sitting in the hall, waiting for the spackle to dry from the huge hole the plumbers had to cut into the wall. Only at that point will it be possible to put it back in and have more than one functioning bathroom. Not complaining. I know we have more than a lot of people. Just explaining why The Peach spent 20 minutes in the kitchen last night throwing up, first all over the floor, then into a bowl. After about 5 minutes, The Zen Master and I stood there, alternately patting her back and emptying out the bowl between each round of retching. After about 10 minutes, The Peach’s seemingly neverending puke became interspersed with profound weeping and pitiful requests to wipe her mouth, and ultimately, to take off her shirt. I mean seriously, who wants to throw up for 20 minutes. When she was all done, she stood in the kitchen, crying, while I rubbed her back and The Zen Master finished cleaning up the mess.

She then went upstairs with her daddy, reluctantly, as she wanted to stay with me. I was cooking dinner. Gross right? I promise, no puke in the mac n’ cheese.

Ok, only after I had thoroughly convinced her that I was unavailable. Then she settled for dad...

Ok, only after I had thoroughly convinced her that I was unavailable. Then she settled for dad…

After awhile, she insisted on coming downstairs to tell My Mom what happened. My Mom apparently has some killer headphones because she had not heard a bit of the disgusting cacophony that had transpired directly outside of her door.

“Mima. I pruked. I pruuuuked in the kitchen.”

“You what honey?

“I PRUKED”

“Ummmm.”

“She puked. In the kitchen. A lot.”

“Ohhhh…”

“I pruked all ober de fwoor. It was scawy. I don’t wike to pruke. I don’t hab a feber.” (She did have a fever, but was, for some reason, insisting that she didn’t)

“Oh, I’m sorry honey. (then to me) She looks like crap.”

Then I took her back to our room. And called out to work for the next day (that’d be today). My Mom is perfectly capable of caring for a sick child, but she has no car. If something were to happen, I’d rather there be access to a car so she could take The Peach to the doctor. Besides, I wanted to be home with her. Like I said, The Peach hasn’t been sick with more than a 100.4 fever for 24 hours since… ever.

snotShe’s a bit better. She had some toast this morning. She’s hungry, but it’s hard to tell a 3-year-old that you don’t want her to eat gogurt because she might puke and mommy really doesn’t want to clean up vomit with a strawberry smell from her bedsheets. Ew. Now I’m gonna barf. Plus she has this wet, croup-y sounding cough and is maintaining a low-grade fever. Plus she’s all… Not-Peach-Like. She’s quiet and cranky and all she wants to do is snuggle. Which is fine by me although it will probably lead to my own sickness in a few days. Joy. Oh, and the snot-faucet is on. But her nose hurts, so she is phenomenally resistant to The Snot Nazi. Every time I come near her with a tissue, it becomes a mini-wrestling match to see if I can actually wipe her nose before she flips her head away, leaving a trail of snot-slime on my arm, the blanket, her shirt or whatever else she might be in close proximity of. I’m pretty sure she got snot on Fairy Dog last night.

 

 

 

You know what? Sick kids are gross. I’m just waiting for The Zen Master to get it now.MjAxMy0yNjhiZWMyYjkzYjYxYzM3