March 9, 2006 | Offspring: ecstasy and agony

My Chickadee is something of a perfectionist. I, of course, have NO IDEA where THAT comes from. Ahem. She walked late, which may have been partially due to her poor vision, but I think was more symptomatic of what would turn into her typical pattern: She doesn’t like to do things until she can do them flawlessly. She had a very short period of time as a wobbly, lurching Frankenbaby. She waited and waited until I was convinced that she had cerebral palsy and I’d just never noticed, somehow, and then she got up and just… walked.

Same thing with reading. She was clearly smart, and capable, and yet, she resisted until she could sit down and devour chapter books. And that’s just what she did. The child is usually reading no less than four books at a time, and she leaves them strewn throughout the house and piled around her backpack like a trail of breadcrumbs.
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March 8, 2006 | Offspring: ecstasy and agony

Sometimes, I get a wild hair and decide to make a nice dinner. Sometimes, I am not very bright.

(Also? Wild hair? Just one? I mean, I have a dozen or so wild hairs on a GOOD hair day. That expression was clearly coined by a man. Perhaps a bald one.)

The children are having a Rough Week. The transition back to routine and school after vacation is always a painful one. They are slumping into the house at the end of the day as if they’ve been away at boot camp, crawling on all fours under barbed wire before scaling a 40-foot wall, and collapsing on the couch. Then they either watch television or whine to watch television (if I decline) or touching each other or threatening to touch each other and generally just being the Pitiful-McBickersons.

So I thought I’d try to have a nice family meal. HAHAHAHA!
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March 7, 2006 | It's not a regret, it's an "experience"

I’ve just noticed tonight that my hair is at that lovely stage where I’ve got two botched colors growing out, as well as enough new growth to leave me plenty of grey-spiked natural brown. It’s the Amazing Technicolor Dreamhead! But I’m sure many of you will be pleased to learn that I’ve decided to be a big girl and stop screwing up my hair. For a little while. I’m growing it all out, and then I’m going to sell my body on the street corner just prior to BlogHer and let my stylist do my color.

That way, when I’m sitting up there with Alice and Tracey during our panel with a blank look on my face and drool trickling out of the corner of my mouth, people will point and whisper, “My GOD but her hair is FANTASTIC!”

I think it’s good to have goals, that way.
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March 6, 2006 | Offspring: ecstasy and agony

I know we’re all really enjoying how it’s All Oozing Mammary, All The Time ’round here, but for a change I’d like to focus on something other than my Very Famous Misbehaving Boob. I KNOW! It’s craziness, what I’m suggesting. But sometimes I need to talk about other things.

Like yeast infections!

But lucky for you, I am the picture of health right now, other than the boob thing. [And tomorrow I'm going in to see the surgeon and be checked, so we can return to our favorite topic if that yields anything interesting. In the meantime feel free to google atypical ductal hyperplasia, which is what my biopsy revealed. I am the proud winner of yearly "tracking" mammograms, but no turtle wax, which was something of a disappointment.]
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March 5, 2006 | Health is overrated

I used to think that mail carriers had it hard, what with the delivering the mail no matter what thing. That was before I started blogging, though. Now the postman can suck it up, because it’s far worse being a blogger. I skip one day and my mother calls to make sure I’m not dead. Sheesh.

Sometimes I skip a day. I’ve noticed that it doesn’t seem to alter the rotation of the earth any, so I thought it was alright.

But hey, it’s nice to feel loved.

Now, let me tell you what a moron I am. (That’s why you came, right?)
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March 3, 2006 | What do I do all day?

It became clear this morning that I needed to get up, get showered, and leave the house. My fragile shreds of sanity demanded that I peel myself away from the television and see about rejoining society. Of course, it would’ve been much more appealing if said society was not encased in 5 degree wind chills and whipping winds, but I do not make the rules. Or the weather. Alas.

No matter. I would grab the bull by the horns! I would seize the day! I would take some advil and scrub the YES off of my breast!

I am a woman of lofty plans. Do not hate me just because my life is fabulous.
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March 2, 2006 | I'm dating the television

I’ve had an incredibly busy day. First, I had to sleep late. After that, I had to watch a bunch of television, interrupted only by bits of food choked down with some advil and a few phone calls which invariably came while I was napping. (I especially enjoyed the follow-up call from the hospital. Perky Voice asked me “And how are you feeling today?” and seemed unfazed when I replied “Like someone ran over my chest with a truck, thanks!”)

Part of me feels like I should be making a greater effort to get up and moving today, and part of me remains firmly convinced that this is my opportunity to catch up on quality programming I’ve not had time for while feeling human. And the television distracts me, somewhat, from staring in horror at the bloody mess of bandages on my poor boob. (The boob, it still proudly proclaims YES! It’s such a trooper!)

But friends, I feel that I must come clean. I’ve… hit bottom. Seeing Kelly Ripa with hair extensions this morning was bad enough, but now I’ve been sucked into this atrocity. On the upside, it makes a breast biopsy seem like small potatoes. On the downside… well… I just feel DIRTY being so fascinated. Note that this is not stopping me from eating kettle corn while I continue to watch.

I swear I’ll leave the house tomorrow. This is obviously a cry for help.

March 1, 2006 | Health is overrated

This won’t be terribly long (ha! no, seriously) because it turns out that Darvocet makes me feel like ass. Or maybe the after-effects of anaesthesia make me feel like ass. More to the point: I agreed to let them stab me in the arm repeatedly, and I agreed to let them slice open my breast, but I do NOT remember agreeing to let them trap me on a very small boat on a very turbulent ocean. So, just a quick recap as I cling to the railing for dear life.

Anyway! Hello! I am back, minus one “area of inflamed tissue” which has been sent for biopsy but the surgeon doesn’t anticipate it will tell us anything unusual or scary. Hopefully removal of said naughty area will be enough to end boobpusapalooza and its associated fun and games once and for all.
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