August 31, 2006

My Kid Has a Death Wish

These are the Princess's favorite toys:

--Plastic grocery sacks, the kind that say "SUFFOCATION HAZARD: Do not give to children!" on them



--Electrical cords (best for chewing on)

--Electrical outlets (preferably in conjunction with forks)

--Sharp coffee-table corners


--Magazines printed with toxic ink (best for days when you need to chew something with a bit more give than an electrical cord)

Being the world's worst mother, I let her play with all of the above. Except the forks. I'm very firm on them. (Remember Dirty Rotten Scoundrels? "Why is the cork on the fork?")

Do You Trust Your Doctor?

Do you support organ donation? Most people do. That is, most white people do, and most of us in blogland are white, and a lot of us tend to get testy if other people refuse to donate organs. "How can you be so selfish?" people ask. "You could save a life!" But what if we were black? Or rather, if you are African American, are you an organ donor? "How can you not be?" some people wonder.

Only 12% of organ donors are black. Why? Mostly, it seems, African Americans don't trust doctors. They fear that if they are in an accident, they'll be allowed to die so their organs can be given to white people. We white folks may think that's ridiculous, or some kind of racial paranoia. But seriously, is it?

Most people know about the Tuskeegee syphillis experimentation. That's an ugly enough story to make anyone afraid. But what about a heatstroke study done in Georgia, in which black men were buried in the ground up to their necks, in the sun, to see how long it would take them to lose consciousness.

Or how about the "father of modern gynecology," a Dr. Marion Sims, who performed 30 to 40 operations, with no anesthesia, on three women slaves, to figure out how to repair vaginal fistulas after childbirth.

So how about that fear that a black person's organs will be given to a white person? It's probably a myth, albeit a scary one given the above historical atrocities. However, what about this statistic, from MSNBC: "Blacks comprise 18 percent of U.S. organ recipients, while whites comprise 63 percent, according to the United Network for Organ Sharing." Kind of makes you wonder, huh?

August 29, 2006

Attachment Issues

I'm a little embarrased to write this post. The thing is, when the Princess was born, it took me a long time to feel attached to her. A long time. Like, months. I felt incredibly protective of her--I would have thrown myself in front of a train to keep her from getting a paper cut, really. I just didn't feel like I loved her the way I thought people were supposed to love their kids. I didn't have all those goopy, Valentine-y feelings I thought I would have. And I felt like an absolute idiot saying "I love you" to a shrieking four-week-old who couldn't care less about me and who just pooped on my leg.

You see why I am embarrased? What sort of evil hag doesn't love her kids? What if she reads this someday? The therapy bills will be ridiculous.

Things changed, of course. She learned to love me as I learned to love her. Now I tell her I love her a hundred times a day (except on the days she spends screaming in rage because she can't have a cookie--then she only hears it ten times a day). And she reaches out to me with a big drooly smile and likes me better than the King. We've grown on each other.

I never thought there would be so many different ways of being attached to your child. There are the Attachment Parenting people who say you have to be with your baby every minute to grow the feeling between you, and others who think that's just silly. There is Karen, who loves her daughter more than anyone else I know, even though they've never met, and Steve, who's adoptive mother decided he just wasn't good enough after she had a child "of her own."

It's really hard for me to admit that I didn't love the Princess on sight. I thought I would, I really did. I hope she never knows that it took me a while to warm up to her. But I think that it's probably okay, even normal. I may be slow, but I get there eventually, and now I love her more than myself--even on the no-cookie-rage-screaming days. Even when she poops on my leg.

Paranoid Much?

How much of a paranoid parent would you have to be to make your child wear this? When the Princess topples over and bonks her head on the floor, I generally laugh hysterically. Although photos of her in this helmet could be great for humiliating her in front of future boyfriends.

August 28, 2006

Will They Call Child Services if Your Kid ODs on Vitamin C?

The little Princess now eats solid foods, at least, inasmuch as any seven-month-old does. Which is to say, she manages to simultaneously shriek with rage and clamp her mouth shut while the King and I try to shovel pureed green beans (which smell like the underside of a donkey's ass) into her mouth. After a month of chasing her face around with a tiny, tiny spoon, we now need new carpeting.

She hates green beans, sweet potatoes, cereal (both cheap, metallic-tasting cereal and the fancy organic stuff), and any other vegetable that can be turned into mush. She tolerates bananas and apples, although she has to inspect them thoroughly before they are allowed into her maw.

But what she loves loves LOVES is pears. My girl can eat her some pears. She sees us crack open the tiny jar, and when a little pear-scented breeze floats by her, her face lights up like Rockefeller Center at Christmas. Then she opens her mouth and jabs her face toward us, usually slamming her chin on the edge of her high chair tray, attempting to get closer to the pear-y goodness.

She will ingest pears as long as we will feed them to her. I once watched a penguin at Sea World eat his entire body weight in mackeral. That's how the Princess is with pears. I presume someday we're going to go too far, and she's simply going to overflow. She loves her some pears.

I don't mind the pears. I like pears myself, once in a while. The thing is, I'm afraid she's going to die of whatever the opposite of scurvy is. The King assures me there's no such disease, but I am not so sure. If there isn't one already, I think my daughter is going to invent it. At least she'll get to be written up in all the big medical journals.

August 25, 2006

Statements I Have Made This Week

--Please do not pee on me again.

--Oh for the love of God, please stop screaming. I'm not hurting you that much.

--Have you taken a bath this week?

--Honey, don't be afraid of the big blue whale. The big blue whale is your friend. Please stop crying--he likes you.

--If you spray me with that WaterPik again, I'm going shove it up your ass. And then you really won't want to brush with it.

--Why is your head that color?

--Honey, just wait a minute. Mama has to poop.

--How much poop can she have on her shirt before we have to change it?

--Sweet potatoes are good, sweetie! You love sweet potatoes. Mmm. [sniff sniff] My God, these smell like ass.

--If you don't put your thumb back in your mouth, I'm going to put it in there for you.

--Are you sure you can't give babies Listerine?

--Look, I got five really ugly picture frames for only $10! They were on sale!


Three days ago I finished proofreading a 530-page book. Before shipping it back to the publisher, I thought, "I should make a copy of this in case it gets lost in the mail so I won't have to re-do three weeks' worth of work. Naw, that'll cost like forty bucks. UPS is great--they never lose anything."

I just checked the tracking info to make sure it arrived safe and sound. The UPS website said, "Tracking number not found. We have no record of receiving this package."

Oh dear God.

August 24, 2006

Ever Punch Yourself in the Face by Accident?

You know what totally chaps my ass? When you'd falling asleep, and you're all relaxed and starting to drift off, and maybe you're thinking about George Clooney naked (or perhaps Rosemary Clooney, if she's more to your taste), and anyway, you're almost asleep, and then...


You have one of those weird muscle spasms, and your arm totally flies up and smacks you right in the face. Damn! Then you're totally awake and your face hurts and instead of George Clooney, all you can think about is the fact that you just hit yourself in the freaking face, and how lame is that?

But you know what's lamer? When all of the above happens, but instead of smacking yourself, you smack YOUR WIFE. In the face. While you're sleeping. And you continue to sleep, while she is lying there, sore face and all, reflecting on the fact that George Clooney totally wouldn't do that to her if they were sleeping together.

August 23, 2006

The Return of Fun Search Terms

How about these recent entries?

love armpits
Ah, the armpit lovers are back. At least they aren't looking for Julia Roberts's armpits this time--I know my armpits aren't as gorgeous as hers, but I like them anyway.

eels in her
Okay, this one I don't get. I mean, I think eels and German Shepards are as sexy as the next crazy fetishist, I just don't get why I'm coming up on this search. Do I really write about eels that much?

survey folder vs. wadder toilet paper
This one came from someone at Texas A&M University. What are they teaching you folks down there?

I want to have a miscarriage
What, like, for fun?
But seriously, if you're pregnant and don't want to be, please, please do not attempt to induce a miscarriage. It's very dangerous. Go here and get help from a doctor.

August 22, 2006

What the Hell Was I Thinking?

Holy shit. I just gave the address of this blog to my ex-boyfriend, who reappeared out of nowhere after losing touch with me five years ago. (You know who you are. Hi! Please don't think I'm insane!) What was I thinking?

This is a guy who used to see me naked when I was 19 years old and had an absolutely perfect body. (Don't laugh, I did--you forget that I met that crazy girlfriend of yours. I was totally hotter than her.) Now he's going to be able to read about vomit, labioplasty, and lactation. Nice. (Hi, you! Thanks for visiting! Feel free to visit the archives, and please ignore the gross parts!)

You Know You're a Parent When You Have This Conversation

Me: You're never going to believe the incredible poop the Princess made today! It was bigger than she is!

The King: Wow! I wish I had been there to see it.

Me: Don't worry, I took a picture of it for you.