Sunday, December 13, 2009

week in review

-Anderbug would more aptly have been named Andermonster this week.  There was kicking and screaming and hair pulling and that was all before, like, 10am on Monday.  He was up and down all week and had me convinced it was the eye teeth poking through or some sort of toddler rebellion, the beginning of the "terrible one and a halfs" my friends warn me of.  Only today, Sunday, aka Day The Pediatrician is Closed, are we convinced it's the ears bothering him.  (We are convinced of such because we're geniuses.  And also because he was covering his ears and shrieking half the day while looking at us like we're total idiots for not getting the hint a few days ago.)  Ears, again.  Or ears, STILL.  Fantastic.  Antibiotic #3, fail, a mortgage payment worth of co-pays and antibiotics and gas money from the pedi office/CVS to-and-fro down the drain.  But worst of all (obviously) is the knowledge that poor A's in pain and there's not much to do about it but keep the Motrin and Tylenol flowing.  So tomorrow, I call Dr. C once more and I'm thinking we're ENT-bound to resolve this mess once and for all.  Poor, poor A.  

-Since I'm kvetching about our health, I'll also go ahead and admit I took a flying leap off the Gestational Diabetes wagon this week.  ("Fell off the wagon" sounds so passive.  It wasn't passive.  It was maniacally deliberate.)  You see, turns out a full time stay at home mommy can only handle so many consecutive days of kicking and screaming and hair pulling whilst kept indoors by rain and clouds before she sort of loses her shit.  So after the wee one is in bed, she runs to the pantry, whips out the PB cookie mix and chocolate kisses, and disobeys doctor's orders out of pure desperation for something comforting.  Since wine was out, this was the next best/worst thing.  And you want to know the kicker?  After shoveling down, um, a few cookies and waiting a few hours, I tested my blood sugar.  The target for a two hour post meal reading is 120.  I was expecting my number to be something shocking.  Like 23, 901.  But my number?  It was a 114.  ONE HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN.  People, I could eat nothing but dry lettuce and saltless nuts and boiled eggs for dinner and register higher than that.  But countless sugary PB cookies adorned with even more sugary chocolate kisses?  Apparently acceptable to my idiot pancreas.  Nice work, organs.

Okay.  That's pretty much our week, right there.  Tears, breakdowns, and misery all around.  Bet you wish you lived at our house!

Today, at long last, was Sunday.  J-Day.  We like our J days around here, as you very well know.  And it was an absolutely beautiful day, a random 70 degree sunshine filled afternoon.  After a stroll around Home Depot and some scrumptious Which 'Wich subs, we spent most of the day out in the yard.  There were a few tons of leaves needing to be raked up and bagged, and one of A's Christmas presents waiting to be assembled.  He received a super cool playhouse from his Mimi and Papaw, and while we're well aware that there are still a few weeks between now and the holiday, we had no storage options for the dining table-sized box, so we jumped the gun a bit.  J got it all put together quickly and the Mister was pretty curious about this fun new contraption out in the yard.  I foresee many fun hours for Mister and Bumblebee in the playhouse!

So to make up for the very boring post above, I give you pictures.

The playhouse construction foremen take a snack break.  (The big one on the left got a stick of low fat string cheese, the cuter one on the right munched graham crackers.  Unfair.)

Enjoying his al fresco snack time.

"Yep, dad, that screw goes right there ... you got it!"

"This is neat!  Thanks, Mimi and Papaw!"

2 comments:

Lisa said...

What a sweetie. I am sorry he's been so miserable! I hope the doctors are able to get him and his ears better soon. Hang in there, mommy!!

Sara said...

I just have one thing to say: NOBODY (especially while pregnant) should look that cute out in their backyard doing lawn work. Seriously.