When A was pregnant with Cakie, our birth educator asked each person in the class to describe how they deal with pain. That’s when I realized that for me, telling other people what hurts and how much it hurts really helps me cope.
So let me tell you about my belly.
It has hurt on and off since March.
I finally went to my holistic-yet-still-traditional doctor yesterday. And would you believe her holistic-yet-still-traditional ass? She told me to go dairy-free for two weeks. But I’ll tell you something about lactose intolerance, it will not be tolerated. I can’t have that. I love cheese. I’m facebook friends with cheese for god’s sake. I had a retirement plan to become a cheese expert. Plus, I’m not even sure I believe in it. At least not for women with as much Britain in them as I have. I’m about 1/4 Scottish, 2/4 English and Irish (more English than Irish) and the rest Luthuanian, with a little French Canadian. My point being, my people eat cheese. We eat cheese. We eat cheese on our deathbeds.
Needless to say, my first dairy-free day hasn’t gone so well. Considering last week I quit drinking coffee to help my stomach, I’m already a royal bitch. But I pretty-much lost it when my colleagues ran into the room where I was eating lunch with birthday cake for my friend. Red-mother-F’ing-velvet cake. I’m proud of myself for not bursting into tears. But I’m about to right now just remembering the cupcake I didn’t even taste. Everyone’s life should be so hard. Ugh. I’m so spoiled.
Anyway, if it isn’t lactose intolerance, which it isn’t. It might be IBS which has such an ugly name I’m not going to spell it out. I have most of the symptoms for that. The thing that sucks about that one is that it is chronic. And you can’t have caffeine. Frankly, I’d rather have cheese. And ice cream. And pizza. Of course my disgestive issues also might be a few other things.
As if to prove that there is no possibility in the world of my having a lactose intolerance, my whole digestive system is out of whack right now and I’m in pain, topped off with a no-coffee headache.
I am grateful for everything I do have. Grateful and cranky as hell.
Good night, dearies.
We went to SN’s birthday dinner at a scrumptious Thai restaurant in Queens. Trucker has been considered by his moms to be unrestaurantable for so long, that I just couldn’t take it anymore. Besides, we had that test run with grandma at the local diner and he did just fine. He sat in the high chair, flirted with the servers, and generally didn’t make too much noise. My cabin fever got the best of me and we ventured out. It was a kid-friendly restaurant with a lovely garden and we were a three-high chair party.
Alas. The boy… the boy remains on the U-list. They had a lovely fountain. I thought this would be a great distraction, if he got bored at the table, we could go over and look and play at the fountain. It was too much of a distraction. There was very little sitting at the table. If he was at the table, he only sat in the high chair for a total of five minutes, where he did actually devour some dumplings. Then it was on to my or A’s lap, where he lunged and twisted about in a concentrated effort to get back to the fountain. Once at the fountain, he would do everything in his power to attempt to climb in to the fountain. Yeah. I’m not going to be that mom. I already am the one who was letting him stick his hand in the water and get his shirt all wet. Cakie was pretty good, though, aside from the two mad dashes to the fountain from our table, before I gave him a talking to about running in restaurants. I hate when kids run in restaurants. That said, there was no food thrown. No actual loud melt-downs occured, and no waitstaff sent a platter of plates flying into the fountain because of tripping over my children. It was more about the fact that it just wasn’t entirely relaxing.
On the up side, I did actually get time to sit at the table and chat with grown-ups. I enjoyed that quite a bit. And I have my honey to thank, since she took longer boychick-tending shifts than I did. I love her.
It is a happy day in blogland. I want to send a happy birthday shout out to one of my long-time readers and a blog-to-irl friend, SN. Happy birthday, friend.
Speaking of friends, I am also happy to send laser beams of sunshine and supersonic crossed finger action out to Eva, who is so close to finally being a mom (I feel like she always has been) to her actual baby, that I can practically smell the poopy diapers from here. She’s been skipping the twisty turny yellow brick road to motherhood for so long. I’m thrilled for this possible field of poppies where she can (not) fall asleep.
Here’s an update on the bottle weaning. Wait for it. Wait for it…
It never happened. Yeah. That’s right. What? Like he’s going to go to the prom with a bottle of milk tucked in his cumberbund? I think not. He’ll totally be weaned by fifth grade, the latest.
I miss you guys. Don’t worry, come July I’ll post so often you’ll be sick of me.
I haven’t blogged since April 16. Dang. That’s a new record for me. But I did write 30 poems in 30 days. Which is also a record.
I don’t have anything wonderful to say right now.
I just wanted to let you know that I still exist.