Rotten Eggs

They Are Totally Kicking Me out of the Infertility Club for This One

2007-07-16T12:04:00.003-05:00

All Is Well

2007-06-28T13:41:00.000-05:00

The King's bloodwork came back, and all is normal. Apparently, despite eating french fries nine time a day, he is healthy as a horse, and with a good blood glucose level to boot. Yay for him.

Now that that weight is off my shoulders, I can scootch off to the hospital for work this afternoon with a light heart.* Hopefully I won't kill anyone today.

______
* All those weight metaphors are kind of weird, aren't they?

Blood Work

2007-06-25T15:00:00.001-05:00

The King and I went to a health and wellness fair this weekend (by accident--it was billed as a solstice festival), and there was a lady giving free blood sugar tests to screen for diabetes. She told us our sugar level should be between 80 and 100, given when we had last eaten. My test showed 89, just perfect.

The King's number was 302.

I called a friend of mine who has diabetes yesterday, trying not to panic. She said that with a number that insanely high, in someone who is healthy and has no other signs, it was probably a testing mistake. The King had some ice cream earlier in the day, and if he had any little smidgen of it on his finger where they drew the blood, it could have affected the result like that.

The King is supposed to go to sick call today and schedule a fasting blood test so we can make sure he's okay. In the meantime, I am just going to sit here and try to breathe slowly and deeply and not panic.

This Was Supposed to Be a Really Funny Story About a Naked, Demented, Old Guy, But Then He Died

2007-06-22T12:19:00.001-05:00

I started volunteering at a local hospital as a nurses assistant on the Medical/Surgical ward. I want to be an RN and thought this would be a good experience. All I did the first day was paperwork, which sucked. But yesterday, I got to do real patient care! The nurse manager asked me to sit in the hallway in front of the doorway of a patient who likes to climb out of his bed, even though he's partially paralyzed and get help if he tried to get out of bed. They call it "sitting," because, well, that's what you do.

Naturally, about three seconds after the nurse left me alone, the guy, an 85-year-old man, started yelling and trying to pull himself up. I grabbed the nearest nurse and got her to calm him down. She did, and left. Then the guy sat up and saw me in the hallway. He yelled, "Come in here, hey, come here!" I didn't want to, but I felt weird just ignoring him. So in I go.

As I get to his bedside, he flings back the sheet, revealing his completely buck-ass naked 85-year-old self, and yells loud enough for the whole ward to hear, "Hey baby! Jump on, you're hot!"

Yeah. So that's how I got this really funny story for my blog about how a naked, demented, old guy wants to have sex with me.

Except that after I sat back down at my post, the guy calmed down. I thought he fell asleep, until a few minutes later when a nurse when to check on him. She shook him once, did a double-take, shook him again, then looked up at me and shouted, "CODE BLUE!"

It was just like ER. Two dozen nurses suddenly appeared, running into his room with carts and needles and stands. One of them jumped on his bed and I watched them pound on his chest over and over while another pushed about a gallon of something (atropine, I think, but I don't really know) into his IV port. They pumped and pumped away at him for almost an hour. It was insane. The half-dozen nursing students who were on the ward all took turns giving him CPR, which they were clearly terrified about. But it didn't work.

At 1:22 pm, he died. The head nurse asked, "Who do we notify?" The RN checked the chart and said quietly, "No one. He doesn't have any friends or family. We just call the coroner."

Sorry, Mr. Ethan. I'm sorry you died alone. I'm sorry the last words you ever spoke were embarrassing and dirty. I'm sorry I saw you take your last breath and didn't even know it. Maybe if I had known and told someone a few minutes earlier, they would have brought you back. I'm sorry you don't have any family. I'm just really, really sorry.

To the Babysitter Who Won't Go Home

2007-06-15T11:52:00.000-05:00

You know the couple you're babysitting for, the two who just got home from celebrating their wedding anniversary with an incredibly romantic candlelit dinner and a walk on the sands of Waikiki in the moonlight? They don't want to hear about your new boyfriend. They don't want to hear about how you think Sanjaya never should have been on American Idol, and they don't want to know who you think is the prettiest America's Next Top Model. THEY WANT TO HAVE SEX. GO HOME!

Turn Left at the Polaris Missile

2007-03-19T11:26:00.000-05:00

I was running an errand on Pearl Harbor last week, and I didn't know where the office I needed to visit was, so I called the King at work and asked him. Only in the military can you get directions like these:

"Come up Kamehameha Highway and turn in at the main gate. Stop at the gate so the armed guard can check your papers and search the car. Then go through the gate and turn right. About two blocks up, make a left at the thirty-foot-tall Polaris missile on the side of the road. Then drive until you see the three-story building with no windows, ten satellite dishes on top, and barbed wire all around it. Turn right after that building into the parking lot, go up to the third deck, and show the staff sergeant your ID. Don't worry, she's really nice."

Open Letter to an Animal Abuser

2007-03-15T11:51:00.000-05:00

To the person who abandoned this dog on my street yesterday:

You are a miserable excuse for a human being. I can't think of awful-enough things to call you. Because there is a forest at the top of my hill where people go to shoot wild pigs, I suspect you are a hunter. When your dog didn't hunt well enough, you simply left him up there to starve to death.

You sick bastard. This photo really does not show the horrific extent of your dog's absolute emaciation. I've seen starved dogs before on Animal Cops and been pissed off, but seeing it in real life is a hundred times worse and absolutely sickening.

He is clearly someone's dog, not a stray. When I found him staggering down the street, I ran and grabbed our old dog's leash. Your dog clearly has been walked on a leash before and seems to understand a few commands. And despite his agony, he was sweet and good-natured. The Princess was almost falling out of her stroller to play with him, and he gamely wagged his tail and smiled at her and tried to lick her hand, although he was barely able to stand up.

Too bad I couldn't let her play with him, because not only did you let him starve, but he has a massive infestation of fleas and mange, and he was bleeding freely from several places on his body, where he scratched all his skin off to escape the agony.

I thought he would probably die last night, even though we fed him about ten pounds of food. But he managed to get through another night, so your dog is probably going to be euthanized today after the Humane Society comes to get him. I wish we could keep him, but we just don't have room. At least his death will be quick and painless, unlike the slow horror you sentenced him to.

I suspect you haven't missed many meals, you scumbag. I wish I could lock you up in a closet for a week or two with no food so you would have a tiny inkling of what this sweet, friendly animal has been going through.

Most sincerely,
Queenie

I Do Have a Life Outside of Mommyhood

2007-03-09T13:55:00.000-05:00

I got a new publishing client this week, a journal of drug research. To that end, I spent the week editing two articles for them. The first was on how giving the chicken-pox vaccine to 70-year-old men can help keep them from spreading herpes to their presumably 70-year-old sex partners.

The second was on a women who got a horrific, life-threatening infection from a vaginal cream.

Do I know how to party, or what?

I Feel Like I'm in a Japanese Game Show

2007-03-01T20:47:00.000-05:00

The Princess hates vegetables. Vegetables are good for her. Therefore, I spend at least an hour a day begging someone who speaks no English to eat a freaking carrot.

Don't Catch the Poop

2007-02-16T13:30:00.000-05:00

If your squirmy baby kicks her poopy diaper off the changing table, let it fall! Do NOT instinctively reach out to catch it before it hits the carpeting. Why?

Because no matter how many times you wash your hands after catching poop in them, they will never feel clean again. You can get new carpeting, but you can't get new hands.

Wordplay

2007-02-02T15:27:00.000-05:00

The Princess is now old enough and coherent enough that we can actually communicate. We don't just exchange poop and dribble anymore, we actually talk to each other. It's wonderful. Here is an example of one of our conversations:

The Princess: Ma ma ma ma ma.

Me: [joyously] That's right, honey! I'm your Mama! Mama loves you, sweet girl! You're the sweetest, smartest, most wonderful girl in the whole world! I love you so much! Come give Mama a kissie!

The Princess: [wandering away to find someone less annoying]

Please Be Specific

2007-02-02T15:24:00.000-05:00

If I send you a set of questions that you have to answer before your book can be published, and you tell me you'll have the answers to me on Monday, I assume that means "this Monday."

If in fact you mean, "three weeks from Monday, maybe, if I don't decide to take off on a spontaneous skiing weekend in Vail, thus completely disregarding your deadlines, extra printer charges for a rush job, the print schedule, and in fact, your entire life," please say so. Don't just say, "I'll have it to you Monday."

Birthday Girl

2007-02-02T13:08:00.000-05:00

My girl turned one year old yesterday. I am stunned. Shocked, even. I don't really understand how this could happen. How can she have been on earth for an entire year? And how can I have been a parent for an entire year? Parents of one-year-olds are haggard, strange folk who drift up and down the mall, speaking to random strangers because they are so desparate for human companionship that does not involve the transfer of poop.*

In celebration of the Princess's birthday, I am going to break the anonymity that I carefully preserve on here (anonymity that is now mostly pointless because most of my readers now actually know me in person), and post pictures of her so you can see the transformation for yourselves.

Here is my girl on the day she was born:

And here she is now:

See? It's unbelievable. How did I make something so wonderful?

__________________
* Okay, yes, I have done that. But only once or twice.

Punk Isn't Dead

2007-01-23T15:47:00.000-05:00

I've been trying to post for ages, but Blogger is being a butt again. However, its' back now, and so am I, and I've got the Next Big Thing for you. Check out the Dresden Dolls. Seriously, they're fantastic. They call themselves cabaret punk, and I don't know what that means, but I love it. Get their album.

They're probably most likely to make it big due to "Girl Anachronism," which really is a catchy and fun song--how can you not love a song with the lyrics, "Please excuse her for the day, it's just the way the medication makes her?"

Then there's the syncopated, hilarious, calliope beat of "Coin-Operated Boy" and the delightfully pedophiliac "Missed Me," which starts out, "If you kiss me, Mister, I might tell my sister."

Seriously, they're fabulous. Get their album, listen to it, and be cool for the first time since you bought those black, high-topped Reeboks with the two sets of pink and white laces in eighth grade.

Solid Waste

2007-01-17T14:04:00.000-05:00

This weekend, we bought the Princess a baby-size potty. It makes realistic flushing sounds (if you consider a singing frog realistic). She has yet to put any actual pee in the potty, but she has put the following into it:

--My car keys
--My cell phone
--Her toy phone
--57 Little People
--Nine baby crackers

Thank God we don't have a puppy--I know we'd find him wedged into the potty next to three well-chewed Little People.

Proper Documentation Is Required

2007-01-12T13:11:00.000-05:00

The King and I have a baby book for the Princess. It's big and pink, and it was the fanciest one I could find; it cost $80. We carefully fill in every one of her firsts, from her first step to her first bath to her first swallow of food that didn't come out of my over-taxed boobs. I seriously considered putting her first pee in the potty in there, but that seems like a step too far, even for me.

Yesterday, we were discussing our potential second child, and I said, "You know, we're going to be so busy--and so much more relaxed--the second kid's baby book is never going to get filled out. The kid's going to be like ten and he's going to find his completely blank book and say, 'Hey, what's up with this? Why didn't you fill this in?'"

The King said, "Yeah, and we're going to say, 'Hey, you can talk? When did that happen? Well, if you're so smart, fill it in yourself! You remember doing all that stuff, right? Here's a pen.'"

Crappy Things I Have Done to My Daughter Today

2007-01-11T14:26:00.000-05:00

1. Scratched her face with my engagement ring.

2. Let her fall off the changing table onto her head.

3. Dropped a bar of soap on her head while getting it off a shelf.

Seriously, if she turns out to be mildly retarded, it's totally going to be my fault.

Gag-Inducingly Sweet Mommy-Blogging Moment

2007-01-10T14:06:00.000-05:00

When I went in my daughter's room this morning to get her out of her crib, she looked up at me and said, "Ma-ma-ma?"

It's her first word.

I clearly win the prize for best parent ever, since she said my name first, despite the fact that during her first year of life I have let her:

Eat a Raid-filled millipede,

Pull a heavy stocking holder onto her forehead (she still has a mark),

Choke on a Band-Aid,

Stay in the car while I returned a movie, and

Taste vinegar, horseradish, and pickled ginger.

Ask a Stupid Question, Get a Stupid Answer

2007-01-09T13:54:00.000-05:00

Because I have a singleton baby and not twins or triplets or anything hideous like that, I don't get a huge number of stupid questions from people, unlike these poor folks. And for the most part, I don't mind at all when people ask about the Princess. I'm fully aware that she's bald, and I understand that it's hard to tell if she's a girl. And really, who cares? If she is dressed in blue, green, yellow, or even some pink with other colors mixed in, I couldn't care less about the nineteen people a day who will ask me, "Is he a boy?"

But if my daughter is dressed entirely in pink, from head to foot, including a pink bow glued to her bald-assed head, and you still ask me, "Is he a boy?" I'm going to give you the look I reserve for people who blast their car stereos and those who take 47 items into the express lane at the grocery store.

And then there was the teenage girl who waited on me at the shoe store last week. All cracking gum and cheap lipstick, she looked at me and my all-pink-clad baby and said:

"What is it?"

Because I am basically a polite person, I did not answer:

--"A golf cart!"
--"An alien"
--"A lifelike toy I ordered off E-Bay--Doesn't her skin look touchably soft?"

Instead I just smiled, said "She's a girl," and mentally added, "You imbecile." Then I didn't tell her when she under-charged me by $10.

When I Grow Up

2007-01-08T21:42:00.000-05:00

Many parents make predictions about what their children are going to do as adults based on things they do as babies. I am no exception. These are my current predictions for the Princess's future:

What She Does	What She Will Be
Opens the toilet and sticks her hand in it. After I have used it.	Sewage maintenance technician
Picks up things and smashes them together.	Quarry worker, or possibly professional wrestler
Stuffs all her Little People into the Little People dollhouse and then slams the door on them and holds it shut.	Warden in a women's prison
Takes all her clothes off and dances when she hears music.	Well, strippers make good money, right?

New Love

2007-01-08T14:05:00.000-05:00

I have a new favorite blog, courtesy of Finslippy: Looky, Daddy. I love it not only because Looky, Daddy is hilarious and smart, but because he is possibly the only person who had a worse Christmas trip than I did. You knw the evil of trying to travel on a plane for 21 hours with a baby? He did it with twins. And an older daughter. That would be THREE. Three children on a plane. So he gets today's award for my new favorite, and for being the person I now think of when I think, "Well, it could be worse. I could be that guy." Congratulations, Looky Daddy.

Can You Say "FDIC Insured?"

2007-01-06T19:37:00.000-05:00

I don't get a lot of opportunities to say that I think the federal government is fabulous and is doing a great job, but they definitely made my tax dollars worthwhile today.

After being gone for two weeks, I checked my bank balance today and found it $4,000 short. Hmm. I know we spent a lot on Christmas, but that seemed a bit extreme. Plus, all the charges were in New York, and sadly, I haven't had a chance to visit Manhatten in two years.

Turns out that someone got a copy of the King's debit card and had a lovely time at our expense. They spent about $2,000 at Duane Reade, which appears to be a cheap, tacky, New York-area pharmacy. Maybe they have a lot of medical expenses; who knows? Then, when the card worked so well for that, they made several trips to Target for Christmas gifts, and finished up with $1,100 in purchases at Best Buy. I'm thinking someone got themselves a nice, new computer for Christmas.

Luckily, the money is all insured and will be back in our account by Wednesday. Thank you, Uncle Sam! For once, you did something right.

And to whoever thought it was cool to steal from people at Christmas: Karma is going to kick your ass, jackhole.

I'm Back

2007-01-05T12:29:00.000-05:00

To cap off our "vacation," our final flight home was delayed for three and a half hours, and when we finally arrived in Hawaii, we found that our stroller had been smushed into small pieces by Delta Airlines. Nice.

But now we're home, throwing out dead poinsettas (who gives someone with a baby a toxic plant for Christmas?), unpacking the Princess's ten thousand new toys, dusting off the old toys that she screamed bloody murder about when we tried to retire them, and doing nine loads of laundry.

I need to drum up some work to ensure that we can pay for the many dentist appointments I have scheduled (I need FOUR crowns. Four.), so I'm off to shill myself to the publishing companies who occasionally give me some work. Happy New Year, y'all!

I'm Not Dead, But I Kind of Wish I Were

2006-12-28T22:34:00.000-05:00

We're still on our holiday vacation, but I finally got a chance to check in and say "This is the worst trip EVER." Ever, ever, ever. Really. Imagine travelling with a baby. On a plane. For 21 hours. And then spending two weeks with 36 different, scary, new, way-too-enthusiastic relatives who all want to hug, kiss, and generally terrify your very shy baby.

And then the baby gets a cold. And then you get a cold. And then your husband gets a cold.

And then the baby decides that this is the best possible time to get her first tooth, and spends six days in screaming agony as it cuts its razor-sharp way through her tiny gums.

That has been my vacation so far. I'll check in again when I have gotten more than three consecutive hours of sleep and my brain starts functioning again.

Into the Woods

2006-12-19T12:42:00.000-05:00

This is the big day--we're heading off for our Christmas trip. We're heading off to the woods of central Georgia to visit the King's family for a week, then flying to California for a week with my family. It should be fun--the Princess decided that just before 21 total hours of flying time, she would get her first tooth and catch a cold at the same time. Last night she screamed for 45 minutes while waiting for the Baby Tylenol to kick in, every three hours, all night long. We're flying a red-eye tonight. If you see two adults and a baby falling out of the sky over Idaho after being kicked out of a plane without parachutes, that's us.

I'll be out of touch this week, because my mother-in-law has AOHell dialup, and using it gives me hives. But I will try to post when we get to California--undoubtedly there will be much fun to report on the King's cousin, who is divorcing her husband of 20 years to become an evangelical missionary in Africa, and his other cousin, the deer-hunting, bear-shooting preacher man who likes to tell dirty jokes during his sermons. It'll be good times.

See you next week.

I Have a Mosquito Bite on My Ass

2006-12-18T12:12:00.000-05:00

How did it get there, you ask? The King and I went hiking this weekend. We started at Pali Lookout and hiked down the mountain and then back up again. He carried the Princess down in this fabulous carrier, which I feel terribly guilty about buying from Evil-Mart, but I highly recommend, and I schlepped her all the way back up again.

In between the down and the up parts, we stopped by a lovely stream for a snack and some water. We had carefully slathered sunscreen and bug spray all over our exposed parts, knowing that here in Hawaii, the sun is fierce and the bugs are many.

Then we drank three bottles of water. And had to pee. The King did his thing as men do, standing up and without the slightest bit of awkwardness, difficulty, or nudity. Then it was my turn.

It's been a while since I had to pee in the rough, but I managed to do the necessary without getting any pee on my shoes. But there were mosquitos. And that was when I realized that if you think there is any chance you may need to disrobe so you can pee in a wild mountain stream, you should apply the bug spray before getting dressed, not after.

I Was Starting to Think I Harp on Evangelical Fundies Too Much, But Now I Know It's Not Even Close to Enough

2006-12-15T12:03:00.000-05:00

From sfgate.com:
"'Convert or die' game divides Christians Some ask Wal-Mart to drop Left Behind"

"Liberal and progressive Christian groups say a new computer game in which players must either convert or kill non-Christians is the wrong gift to give this holiday season and that Wal-Mart, a major video game retailer, should yank it off its shelves.

The Campaign to Defend the Constitution and the Christian Alliance for Progress, two online political groups, plan to demand today that Wal-Mart dump Left Behind: Eternal Forces, a PC game inspired by a series of Christian novels that are hugely popular, especially with teens.

The series by Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins is based on their interpretation of the Bible's Book of Revelation and takes place after the Rapture, when Jesus has taken his people to heaven and left nonbelievers behind to face the Antichrist.
Left Behind Games' president, Jeffrey Frichner, says the game actually is pacifist because players lose "spirit points" every time they gun down nonbelievers rather than convert them. They can earn spirit points again by having their character pray.
"You are fighting a defensive battle in the game," Frichner, whose previous company produced Bible software, said of combatting the Antichrist. "You are a sort of a freedom fighter."...

The Rev. Tim Simpson, a Jacksonville, Fla., Presbyterian minister and president of the Christian Alliance for Progress, added: "So, under the Christmas tree this year for little Johnny is this allegedly Christian video game teaching Johnny to hate and kill?" ...

In Left Behind, set in perfectly apocalyptic New York City, the Antichrist is personified by fictional Romanian Nicolae Carpathia, secretary-general of the United Nations and a People magazine "Sexiest Man Alive."

Players can choose to join the Antichrist's team, but of course they can never win on Carpathia's side. The enemy team includes fictional rock stars and folks with Muslim-sounding names, while the righteous include gospel singers, missionaries, healers and medics. Every character comes with a life story.
When asked about the Arab and Muslim-sounding names, Frichner said the game does not endorse prejudice. But "Muslims are not believers in Jesus Christ" -- and thus can't be on Christ's side in the game.

"That is so obvious," he said.

Plugged In, a publication of the conservative Christian group Focus on the Family, gave the game a "thumbs-up." The reviewer called it "the kind of game that Mom and Dad can actually play with Junior -- and use to raise some interesting questions along the way."

Frichner said that is precisely his company's ultimate goal in offering the game: to bring parents and kids together to talk about the Bible. He said most teens are playing video games, so it was natural to turn the books into one."

At Least None of Them Are Gray Down There

2006-12-13T19:11:00.000-05:00

I was recently brushing my hair in the bathroom one evening. I was thinking about coloring it, so I was inspecting it closely in the mirror. Suddenly I saw something awful. I shouted, "Aah! Honey! I have a gray hair!"

From the bedroom, my husband yelled back, "What are you talking about? You have LOTS of gray hairs!"

A Cross-Shaped Pentagon?

2006-12-12T15:29:00.000-05:00

In the latest news from the "What separation of church and state?" front, you can now attend prayer meetings on Wednesday mornings in Washington, DC, held by an evangelical Christian group.

So what? Of course you can. But these ones are special: They're inside the Pentagon. Specifically, they are held in the Executive Dining Room of the E Ring, a dining room reserved for only the most high-ranked and important people in the Pentagon, such as the Secretary of Defense.

This evanglical group, the Christian Embassy, has gotten permission to turn this taxpayer-funded dining room into a prayer hall once a week. They've even convinced military officers to appear in uniform in their advertising videos (which is a violation of the Uniform Code of Military Justice).

If you find this somewhat totally terrifying and completely illegal, listen to the story on NPR's website.

At Least I'm Not the Only One

2006-12-11T15:06:00.000-05:00

Recently, my sister called for a chat. She is eleven years older than me, so I often tease her about her advanced age. However, our most recent conversation focused on my age, instead:

Me: I totally hate it, I'm starting to get wrinkles! I have these little lines around my eyes, they're awful.

My sister: That's ridiculous. How could you have wrinkles? I'm way older than you, and I don't have any wrinkles!

Me: Are you sure?

Her: Of course! Hold on, I'll go check...

[clomp, clomp, clomp] I hear her walk to the bathroom.
[thwick] I hear the light switching on as she peers in the mirror.

Pause...

Her: Aaahh!!! What happened to my face?!!

Me: [hysterical laughter]

Maybe She Can Do IVF Instead

2006-12-10T13:11:00.000-05:00

The King: You're such a good mom. Princess, you're so lucky to have such a wonderful mommy!

Me: Aww, how sweet.

The King: Too bad the baby's not going to be able to be a mom herself.

Me: Huh? Why can't she be a mom?

The King: Because she's not going to be allowed to have sex. Ever.

My Kid Can Play With Small Appliances if She Wants To

2006-12-08T18:19:00.000-05:00

I just got a haircut; it was only my second one since the Princess was born 10 months ago. Whoo hoo! Of course, she was fussy the entire time, but I celebrated and got an actual hairstyle, as opposed to just saying, "Chop off two inches, all the way around. Sure, use a bowl. Why not?" Of course, being the style maven that I am, I got a Rachel cut, which is approximately 12 years out of date, but it was still an improvement.

Because the Princess was fussing while I got all beautified, the stylist gave her a curling iron to play with. Not plugged in, not hot, just a plain old curling iron that was sitting on the table near her. She was having a ball waving it around and examining it.

Then this little old woman with freshly colored blue hair walked up to us and grabbed the curling iron out of her hands. As the Princess waved her arms for it, about to start shrieking at the loss of her new toy, the old woman spit at my stylist, "I saw the baby playing with this, and I was SO WORRIED! You know, she could wrap the cord around her neck and DIE!" She threw the curling iron on the table and stalked off, pausing only to shoot me an evil look, clearly thinking, "You're the worst mother ever, you neglectful cow."

She almost got that curling iron in a very unexpected spot, and I don't mean the flat area her stylist missed on the back of her bitchy, blue head.

Holiday Greetings from Your Proctologist

2006-12-06T19:33:00.000-05:00

The Princess's pediatrician is at a clinic at the local hospital. We were there for a checkup, and I saw that they've put up their holiday decorations. On the walls are large, hand-painted signs, wishing you Merry Christmas from each department.

For instance, there is a sign that says "Merry Christmas from Pathology!" It shows Santa bent over a microscope, presumably inspecting a slice of enlarged prostate, or perhaps a cheery holiday cyst.

Then there's "Happy Holidays from Human Resources!" It shows holiday elves, delivering pink slips and warning letters with sleigh bells a-jingling.

And my favorite: "Season's Greetings from the Emergency Room!" I imagine the ER Santa, ho-ho-hoing at drunk driving victims, people with tragic nail gun injuries, and those clutzy souls who have managed to fall off a ladder while hanging the Christmas lights.

Merry Christmas, indeed.

Objectification

2006-12-06T19:28:00.000-05:00

Some women complain about being objectified by men. "He always stares at my tits!" they cry. "I have eyes, you know!" (Myself, I was always rather fond of objectification. It makes for better sex, in my opinion.) But these women don't know a thing about being objectified--just wait until you breastfeed.

A breastfed baby doesn't give a crap about any part of you except the bits where the milk comes out. This is a snippet from a breastfed baby's thoughts:

"Tits tits tits tits tits Up, Mommy! Tits tits tits Cracker! Tits tits Again! Again! Tits tits tits tits tits Ooh, a bug!"

And babies aren't sexist. They objectify their dads just as much, only it's generally the arms they want, not the boobs. For instance:

"Up, Daddy! Hold me rock me walk me hold me bounce me Again! Again! AGAIN! Up! Hold me rock me walk me hold me bounce me Again!"

I'm fairly certain babies don't get over this kind of objectification until they're old enough to start asking for money, and then all they want is your wallet.

Tact, Anyone?

2006-12-06T13:54:00.000-05:00

For the love of God, if Person A says to you, "My daughter is ten months old, and she still can't wave or clap her hands. I'm starting to get a little worried," do NOT say to her:

"Don't worry, my son couldn't wave or clap until he was fourteen months old..."

[Person A: huge sigh of relief]

"...but of course, he's mildly retarded."

Apparently My Genes Are Weak

2006-12-06T12:43:00.000-05:00

I was terrified of roller coasters as a kid; I didn't ride one until I was 17 years old. In fact, I am afraid of all things remotely dangerous--sky diving, bungee jumping, improperly cooked chicken.

My daughter's favorite thing to do in the entire world is be flung out of my arms, shooting skyward, until her head snaps back and she falls back to earth. The higher and more horrifying, the better. She hasn't smacked her head on the ceiling yet, but that's only because I threatened the King with a knife that if he ever threw her that high, I would eviscerate him.

Mexican food is my favorite food ever, ever, ever, and applesauce looks like beige glop to me. The Princess thinks refried beans are a pox designed to make her throw up, and applesauce is the forbidden fruit, puree style. She can't get enough of it.

I'm starting to think maybe the King had a little fling with our mailwoman.

Disease-Ridden but Smart

2006-12-04T20:24:00.000-05:00

I let my daughter play with other kids so she'll get socialized and not grow up to be a serial killer. But now that she's had three colds in six weeks, the serial killer thing is starting to look really attractive.

________________
She has also learned some new tricks recently: put my hand in the toilet, empty the trash can onto the floor, and pull the fishtank over. Yay!

When I Grow Up, I Want to Be a Writer

2006-11-21T20:28:00.000-05:00

So, I haven't been posting much lately not just because I'm a huge lazy slacker whore, but because I've been working on a new project: a book!

That's right, I'm writing a book. The manuscript is finished; I'm just editing it now. I already have a literary agent (Faye Swetky, she rules), but I don't have a publisher. Hopefully someday. It's a book about parenting kids from birth to one year of age--it's for new parents who, like me, got all their pre-baby parenting experience from "babysitting" as teenagers (that is, sticking the kids in bed early so you can sneak shots from your customers' liquor and riffle through their bathroom cabinets).

Yes, I didn't think the eight million parenting books already out there were enough, so I'm creating a new one. Wish me luck.

Party at Foodland

2006-11-20T12:11:00.000-05:00

So I was at the grocery store Friday night, picking up some beer and bratwurst for our dinner, and they had one of those little sample tables set up. I wasn't at Costco or Sam's Club, so I was surprised to see it. The girl at the table held up a little cup with about half an ounce of bright pink liquid in it. "Want to try?" she chirped? "Sure!" I said, not being one to turn down free random liquid.

I tossed it down--and it burned like cough syrup on fire. "Is that LIQUOR?" I asked. "Yep! It's a new cognac! Want to try Blue Flame?" she asked, holding up another little half-shot. "Hell yeah I do!"

That's right--they were giving away liquor, for free, at the grocery store. This frat-boy type got on his cell phone and was going, "Dude, seriously, you have got to get down to here! They're giving away free shots!" I don't think the sample girl was even old enough to drink herself, and she certainly wasn't checking IDs or keeping an eye on how many samples people took (I only had two, mostly because they tasted like crap). It was awesome, except for the whole 'drunk driving home from Foodland' thing.

Welcome to the Jungle

2006-11-19T18:16:00.000-05:00

Last night, I was sauteing some chicken on the stove for dinner. Just as I tossed in a handful of minced onions and celery, a baby gecko FELL OFF THE CEILING AND INTO THE PAN.

Poor baby gecko. I rescued him from a steamy death by arroz con pollo and deposited him outside on our lawn. Having a gecko fall into one's dinner probably seems odd to those of you who don't live in Hawaii, but for us, it's pretty normal. It's just life in a tropical rainforest. Geckos and all.

Should Have Voted Absentee

2006-11-08T13:53:00.000-05:00

I registered to vote here in Hawaii when we moved here, but now that the Dems need every vote they can get in Virginia, I wish I had registered absentee there so I could have helped them out. But my sorrow over that is definitely mitigate by the fact that RUMSFELD IS OUT!

That said, although I'm thrilled that the Democrats are back in power, I hate it that this just means that a different half of the country is going to be miserable for the next few years. But I'm glad it's the other half for once.

Rumsfeld Gets the Ax!!!

2006-11-08T13:52:00.000-05:00

Whoo hoo!!! Perhaps the administration of evil is finally realizing that their reign of terror is coming to an end...

Cough Cough Sniff Sniff

2006-11-06T19:01:00.000-05:00

I haven't been posting because the Princess has an evil, evil cold. She has been a sneezing, sobbing, coughing, sniffling, miserable wretch of a baby for a week. And because she coughs and screams all night long, the King and I have been pretty miserable wretches ourselves.

So our pediatrician* recommended a nasal spray to help clear her nose and let her get some rest (and by her, I mean us). Have you ever tried to spray medicine up a baby's nose? It's really, really fun! Here are some easy steps to get you in practice:

Step 1. You will need to acquire a small, live octopus. I recommend trying the local aquarium.

Step 2. Dip the octopus in vegetable oil to make it extra slippery.

Step 3. Use one hand to pin all of the octopus's tentacles down at once. Do not let any escape.

Step 4. Hold the nasal spray in your other hand. With your leg and possibly a small stick, pin the octopus's head down and do not allow it to move at all.

Step 5. Squirt spray up both the octopus's nostrils.

For added realism, put on headphones and blast a tape of screaming, shrieking baby into your ears at top volume. Now you're ready for a baby head cold!

_____
* Ha. "Our pediatrician." By which I mean, whoever the pediatrics clinic has randomly wandering the halls that day. Pediatricians, nurses, janitors, odontologists. You know, whoever.

I Loves Me Some Semi-Pornographic Photos

2006-10-31T12:58:00.000-05:00

I read this article this morning how Cindy Margolis, the so-called "Queen of the Internet," has finally done a Playboy shoot. Finally! Whew! Now I can stop holding my breath.

Seriously, my first thought was, "Who the hell is Cindy Margolis?" According to the Guiness Book of World Records, she's the most-downloaded chick ever, and she's never even done a double-penetration anal with a German shepherd! Or gotten naked, even!

That news didn't wow me either (although I found it a tad hard to believe), but then I read that Cindy has decided to bare her derrier for Playboy as a charity event. She has three children from fertility treatments--one from IVF and twins from a gestational surrogate--and she's raising money for RESOLVE, a national infertility organization. That is totally awesome. You go, Internet Queen. I think I'm going to go download you now.

No, She Didn't Actually Eat Cleanser

2006-10-26T11:57:00.000-05:00

Raising a young child is a bizarre combination of utter boredom and super-heightened attention. Babies are basically boring. Twelve hours a day you do this:
food diaper food diaper sleep food diaper sleep
But then there's this:
food diaper food diaper HIT HEAD ON TILE FLOOR food sleep diaper food EAT CLEANSER call Poison Control food diaper sleep food

It's rather like being a TSA luggage inspector. Godawful boring job where you stare at stuff all day, but you can't let your attention wander for a second, or you might miss a bomb.

Baby-raising is even more like TSA inspections when it comes to diaper changes--those bombs are definitely chemical weapons.

She Doesn't Love Me

2006-10-25T01:24:00.000-05:00

Today, when the King came home from work, as usual, the Princess flung herself out of my arms trying to get to him. She does this every day. However, as soon as he is holding her, she immediately jerks her head around looking for me. She shrieks when she sees me and shoves her chubby little body away from him, sobbing and reaching for me.

Except today. Today, for the first time ever, when he picked her up, she looked around for me. He started to hand her back, like always, and instead of reaching for me, she clung to him. She had no interest in coming back to me--she wanted him to hold her.

And then I cried because my baby didn't love me best.

Ha! Did I get you there? It was AWESOME! I took advantage of my newfound freedom to hit the bars, get smashed, and have meaningless sex with strange men! Okay, no, I didn't, but I totally would have if dinner wasn't already on the stove. But I did pee without an audience for the first time in months. It was glorious.

You Are What You Eat

2006-10-24T01:59:00.000-05:00

Living in Hawaii gives one the opportunity to sample new kinds of food not usually available on the mainland. Given that 60% of the state is Asian, primarily Japanese, there is tons of Asian food. There is also lots of traditional Hawaiian food, most of which is very good.

Some of it, however, is revolting. Do you know about poi? Poi is made by digging up the root of a taro plant. The root looks sort of like jicama or a coconut--it's brownish and dirty and covered with what looks like brown 1970s-era grass wallpaper.

You peel off this brown, furry stuff and the inside is purplish. You smash it up, and then you let it "ferment." "Ferment," in this case, is a euphemism for "rot." Poi is rotten taro root. It even comes in flavors. You can get it in extra-rotten or only a little rotten. You can eat it as thick, gloppy, rotten stuff, or you can add water and make it runny, watery, vile stuff.

Another, even more evil concoction, is a Filipino delicacy, often sold by street vendors, called "balut." Balut is a fertilized duck egg. That is, there is a tiny, baby duck inside this egg. It dies. Then it sits on a shelf for about 17 days. It gets rotten and molded and disgusting. Then you buy it from a street vendor and eat it. Yum!!

Nicknames

2006-10-20T14:32:00.000-05:00

Some of you may be wondering if I refer to my daughter as "Princess" in real life, as well as on here. Let me assure you that Princess is purely a blogging-anonymity name. My online name has been Queenie for years, so Princess was a natural outgrowth of that.

Normally, in the real world, I refer to her as "Isn't she asleep yet?" or "God, please stop screaming!" And occasionally as, "Do you think she can crawl over to that bug and eat it before I can get a paper towel to kill it with? Oh. Yeah, I guess so."

Random Notes

2006-10-20T00:32:00.000-05:00

Here's a tip: If you're trying to look really manly and tough by blasting your car stereo so everyone on the block can hear it, it helps if you aren't playing something by Peter, Paul, and Mary.

Also, the Princess has learned that if she doesn't like what she's wearing, she can yank it off over her head. This skill will come in handy when she runs away from home and becomes a stripper.

Home Makeover: In-Law Edition

2006-10-18T01:01:00.000-05:00

Why do people buy you gifts that have to be displayed in your home? That should be against the law. My mother-in-law, who I really do adore and who is a wonderful woman, insists on giving us gifts of home decorations, although she knows we have different tastes.

She likes blush pink, lemon yellow, and that weird, chalky blue they make those plates out of. She enjoys making--and hanging on her wall--those wreaths made of dead flowers.

She has been to our house. She knows we like black. And more black. And maybe silver. She knows anything with a floral print gives me hives.

So why does she insist on giving us stuff like this?

Kill Your Television

2006-10-17T17:15:00.000-05:00

I was just listening to NPR, and they were reporting on the increasingly fundamentalist and ultra-conservatism of the government and laws in Egypt. The interviewee pointed out that, in contrast to some of the other media, there is a tv station in Egypt that, to celebrate Ramadan, shows nothing just American sitcoms every night for a month. For all of Ramadan, all this station shows is "Frazier," "Friends," and "Seinfeld."

A month of mindless, white, New Yorkers making bad jokes about how hard it is to be rich and live in Manhattan? (Okay, Frazier lived in Seattle. Like that's much different.) And that's supposed to be a celebration? It sounds more like punishment to me.

Why I Should Not Shop at Bath and Body Works

2006-10-16T12:07:00.000-05:00

My soap is raspberry-and-cream scented. My shampoo has melon and cucumber. My conditioner has "hints of pineapple," and my face soap smells like orange juice. When I get out of the shower, I smell like a freaking fruit salad.

Should be an Overheard, But I'm Too Lazy to Write a Real Post

2006-10-13T20:09:00.000-05:00

Me: Look! The Princess just pulled a new diaper out of the box and is chewing on it!

The King: Dude. Talk about cottonmouth.

Fatherhood

2006-10-12T00:41:00.000-05:00

The King: I'm not kissing the Princess on the lips anymore. I'm only kissing her on the cheek from now on.

Me: Why?

The King: Because she doesn't know how to do it. She always opens her mouth. I don't like it when she slips me the tounge.

Me: Err...yeah.

Chastity

2006-10-11T16:48:00.000-05:00

I really am back, but the Princess has been getting up at the ass-crack of dawn every day, and I've got two different books I'm editing simultaneously, which is making posting difficult. Plus, I'm trying to have lots and lots of sex with my husband. You see, I had a period (yay! First one since the baby, third one in the past three years). Then, just as that was ending, I got a terrible cold. Then he caught the terrible cold. Then my relatives came to visit. All in all, it had been FIVE WEEKS since we, a happily married couple, had celebrated our intimacy with some wild monkey love. Far too long. So now we're trying to make up for it, in between the two-book editing, his 80-hour workweek, and the whole up-at-the-ass-crack thing. Once that's done, I'll be here more regularly, I promise.

I Got Lost!

2006-10-10T11:22:00.000-05:00

While my sister and her husband were visiting last week, we went on a hike into the Hawaiian jungle. We saw a huge, stunning waterfall cascading over a cliff, enormous tropical trees completely encased in creeping vines, and many beautiful birds. But who cares? Lost was filming!

That's right, I saw the big cages, I heard the director yell "Action!" and I saw Sawyer, Kate, and Charlie in real life! Sawyer is even hotter in person. Charlie looks nothing like himself, and Kate isn't as pretty as on tv, although you'd definitely give her a second look if you saw her on the street. They were filming right at the trailhead, and as I stared and drooled at Sawyer, I noticed a large, low building off to one side. It was the bunker that the hatch is in!

It was totally awesome. I confess to being an insane Lost-ite. I'm currently watching the second season as fast as possible so I can get all caught up and watch the third season on tv. Practically everyone I know has seen some of cast at the grocery store or eating at a restaurant, but I never had. Until now!!

More Things You Learn

2006-10-03T12:56:00.000-05:00

In a pinch--like, say, at 3 a.m.--those crackly, pre-sealed spermicide inserts make great toys for a wakeful baby. Also, you know it's been a bad night if your child's first midmorning nap occurs at 7 a.m.

Notes From the Underground

2006-09-30T13:32:00.000-05:00

--Child sick.

--Husband sick.

--House dirty.

--Sister and brother-in-law coming to visit tomorrow.

--Sister's birthday Thursday. Gift not wrapped; card not bought. Also, gift purchased in ten-minute sprint through mall with screaming baby. Gift sucks, and she will hate it.

--Refrigerator empty. Wrapping paper drawer probably also empty.

Would anyone like to trade lives for a couple of days? Just until, like, Friday? Prefer someone whose life involves frequent massages and regular visits to Tiffany. Must do floors and change diapers, as well as minister to the sick.

Is That a Ten-Inch Lollipop or Are You Just Happy to See Me?

2006-09-28T12:25:00.000-05:00

As I was sitting here typing, the Princess was getting into a half-open box of stuff we never unpacked after our last move. You know those boxes? The ones that have stuff in them that you just can't bear to get rid of, like a mixed tape your seventh-grade boyfriend gave you, and an old plane ticket for that trip where you went to visit the old boyfriend and ended up dumping him and sleeping with his roommate?

So, the Princess was playing with stuff in this box, and, eagle-eyed mother that I am, I noticed (read: saw out of the corner of my eye while debating about whether organic oranges were worth the price) that a long stick was poking out of the box and threatening to stab her in the eye. She had grabbed the stick and was playing with whatever it was attached to.

So I went and pulled the stick away from her, and lo and behold, she had been playing with a large, candied penis.

No, I am not kidding. The King used to live in Japan, and they have these fertility festivals there, and they aren't all psycho-Puritan about sex like we Americans are, and they give kids big, candy genitalia to suck on and wave around. Like X-rated lollipops. I dug around in the box a bit more and came up with three more lollipops--two penises and one rather girlish vagina.

So now my daughter is playing with her penises and vagina and enjoying herself thoroughly. What, I was supposed to take them away from her? If they're good enough for Japanese kids, they're good enough for us.

The Human Garbage Disposal

2006-09-26T19:17:00.000-05:00

My daughter is just shy of eight months old. Last night, for dinner, she ate:

--One piece of chicken. And I don't mean one baby-sized piece of chicken. I mean an entire piece of chicken.

--One jar of organic carrots-and-peas baby food, size large.

--One dinner roll.

--Two slices of fresh apricot, mixed into the carrots and peas. I know, eww. But she loves it.

All in all, she ate approximately one pound of food. Given that she weighs about 18 pounds, that is roughly approximate to me eating about 9 pounds of food in one sitting. I like to think that she is only eating like this because she just learned to crawl, and is growing fast, and all that, but I'm afraid that really she is going to end up weighing 700 pounds and will have to be cut out of her couch.

Cough, Cough, Cough, Sniff

2006-09-26T13:10:00.000-05:00

I have a cold. It's not a major one, and if I didn't have a kid, I'd probably just go to bed with some Theraflu for about 14 hours and wake up good as new. Unfortunately, the Princess would undoubtedly spend that time figuring out how to catch and eat the fish in our fishtank and pulling bookshelves down on her head, so I can't do that. Being sick when you have a child sucks. Not only do you feel like crap, and you can't do much about it because of the whole "I'm responsible for keeping this small person alive" thing, but every time she makes the slightest cough, sneeze, or sniffle, I shout, "Oh crap! She's getting sick! Stick a thermometer up her butt!"

I really, really don't want her to get sick, because my sister and her husband, the race car driver, are coming to visit this weekend and I'm already nervous about them staying in the room next door to the Princess's. They have no kids of their own and don't want any, and although they like playing with children, they aren't so fond of the screaming, whining, and pooping that go along with them.

Hopefully all will be well. And hopefully by tomorrow I'll be all better and not all drugged up on cherry-flavored Sucrets and lemon tea and can think of something more interesting to write. Like about how I had a huge crush on the race car driver when he and my sister were dating when I was a little girl, and how when I grew up, I spent years dating this guy who looks just like him (remember the old boyfriend from here?), and how then after that, I married a guy who looks just like him, and how I really, really need therapy.

We Are Americans; Give Us Your Women!

2006-09-24T22:44:00.000-05:00

Remember the movie "Black Hawk Down?" The King was there, in Mogadishu, Somalia, just before the events that took place in the movie. His job was to drive around the city and take down roadblocks the militas had put up to keep American soldiers out of Mogadishu. When his plane landed in Somalia, each guy in his group was given a laminated card with translations of Somali phrases that the U.S. Navy thought would come in handy. Here is a selection of things he learned how to say in Somali:

--We are Americans! Put down your rocket launchers!

--The armed gang is coming slowly with the rice.

--Hello! Do you have dangerous explosives?

--Give me three villages!

--Can you lead me to six good women and some water?

Political Doublespeak

2006-09-22T12:20:00.000-05:00

This morning, according to CNN, the president was "'taken aback' by a report that a U.S. official threatened the United States would attack Pakistan if it did not help immediately after 9/11." Apparently, Richard Armitage, then-deputy secretary of state, told the Pakistani president that we would "bomb his country back to the Stone Age" if they didn't help us in the war effort. (Armitage denies he ever said that.)

The thing was, President Bush actually said, "I was taken aback by the harshness of the words."

The harshness of the words? Not the actual threat of destroying an entire country if their leader didn't do whatever we told him to? That's what upset you?!

Even better, Armitage says, he never threatened Pakistan with a military invasion because he "was not authorized to." But otherwise, sure! We'd be all over that!

Shakespeare in Suburbia

2006-09-21T11:59:00.000-05:00

My mother is moving into a nursing home. She needs more care now than my dad can provide, so she's moving a total of four blocks to a place near their house.

My dad called yesterday to fill me in on all the fabulous stuff she'll be able to do there. The local theater troop gives regular performances of Shakespeare, which means the Alzheimer's is probably a blessing, because they are so awful that it would be a mercy not to remember that you saw them. Dad is allowed to visit whenever he wants, and he was thrilled to announce that he can also eat in the cafeteria with her whenever he pleases. Yum! Nursing home food! Have a romantic dinner, and then share diarrhea with the one you love!

The nursing home has a keypad that keeps the Alzheimer's section locked securely. But my mother is very smart, and I imagine her watching people type in the code, memorizing it, and then using it to sneak out to the sports bar across the street on Monday nights to watch football--she was always a big fan. She'll be shouting at the tv, "Oh is football on? Who's playing? Great! Run, run, run, you idiot! Go left! Yes! Run, run, TOUCHDOWN!" [pause] "Oh is football on? Who's playing?"

My Most Recent Entry in the "World's Worst Mother" Competition

2006-09-20T13:43:00.000-05:00

This morning, I noticed there was some kind of gunk between the Princess's elfin fingers. Upon examination, the gunk showed itself to be bits of dried up peaches.

She hasn't eaten peaches in two days.

The Holiday Season Is Upon Us

2006-09-19T18:16:00.000-05:00

I always thought the fall equinox (which is on Friday the 22nd this year) marked the run-up to the holiday season, but apparently I was wrong, because today is National "Talk Like a Pirate" Day. In the spirit of all things festive, then, here are a few other bizarre days to celebrate this fall season:

September 23 is both National Hunting and Fishing Day, and National Fish Amnesty Day. Conflict of interest, much?

September 24 is National Punctuation Day, and September is Be Kind to Editors and Writers Month. That makes this editor very happy, but I don't think any of my authors have heard about it. because I keep getting hate mail from them about how I don't appreciate that they misspelled words in their book on purpose "to make it more casual," and that they aren't getting enough publicity, and why can't I get them an interview on Oprah?

October 23-29 is National Save Your Back week. I feel that the King is going to use that week to sit on the couch and drink beer.

October 30th, Halloween Eve, is apparently National "Create a Great Funeral" Day. Fun for yourself or someone you hope will die soon!

Yea, Though I Walk Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I Shall Fear No Evil

2006-09-18T19:33:00.000-05:00

Want something new to worry about? John Hagee, the minister for one of those bizarre mega-churches in Texas, has created a new religious group. It's called Christian Zionism. Basically, Christian Zionists believe that the creation of Israel after World War II was prophesied in the Bible and signifies that the End of Days is upon us. That's right, the end of the world is coming. (As a side note, they also support using all necessary force to eradicate Palestine from the face of the earth. Nice.)

Normally, I would blow this off as just another crazy religious nut who has managed to convert a few people by shouting "The sky is falling!" on a street corner. But these Christian Zionist folks recently had a big banquet to get together and celebrate how crazy they all are. One of the guest speakers was Republican senator Rick Santorum.

That's right, a U.S. Senator supports these wing-nuts. A senator, by definition, is one of the most powerful people in the world. A person whose every opinion can change the lives of hundreds of millions of people. Another speaker at the party was the head of the Republican National Convention.

But that's not the worst part. Not only did Santorum give a speech, but President Bush, the leader of the free world, sent a tape giving his greetings to the members of the Christian Zionist cult. A guy who could thinks global warming and the AIDS epidemic are beneath his notice thinks that Lo! The End of the World Is at Hand!

Somewhere in Texas, I think the separation of church and state just died a quiet death.

$3.02 a Minute?!

2006-09-18T13:21:00.000-05:00

If you're trying to read your blogs while your kid plays next to you on the floor of your office, she'll love it if you let her play with the phone. However, just unplugging the handset won't cut it. She will still be able to turn on the speaker phone, press the buttons, and get a response.

Then, when you hear a small, tinny voice coming out of the phone speaking Chinese, and you desperately hope she has only called Chinatown, you will quickly check the Caller ID and discover that, no, she didn't call Chinatown, she called China.

After that, you will learn to unplug the phone at the base, not the handset.

Circular Logic

2006-09-17T22:49:00.000-05:00

Me: So, I was going pee this afternoon, and the Princess was playing on the floor, and she kept opening the drawers where we keep all the razors and lethals poisons and stuff, so I dumped a box of Band-Aids on the floor and she had a ball playing with them.

The King: [annoyed] What?! My Band-Aids? That was a brand-new box! They were all arranged by size. Now how am I going to know which are the big ones and which are the small ones?

Me: Um, usually you can tell which ones are bigger because they are, well, BIGGER.

I don't think I'm gettin' any love tonight.

Things I Have Learned

2006-09-14T12:01:00.000-05:00

--That it's much more painful to step on a triangular block than a round one.

--That if you name your child "Zyler," people will think you're an asshole.

--That a child whose arms are 10 inches long can pick up a pair of scissors that is 8 feet away.

--That chicken and applesauce can be edible--even delicious!--when mixed together.

--That no matter how many times you swear you will never do it, you will at some point lick your thumb and rub it on your kid's face.

--That as your child begins to eat real food, his or her poop will get harder and more like an adults. Not only is this disgusting, but it means that if you are not careful, the poop can fall out of the diaper and onto the floor. Be especially aware of this if you are at your mother-in-law's house, the one with the white carpeting.

It's Hard to Be Interesting When You've Been Awake for 24 Hours Straight

2006-09-14T11:56:00.000-05:00

Sorry, no inspiration today. The Princess screamed and nursed all day yesterday. Then we put her to bed at her usual 7:30. She woke up screaming at 8:00, 8:30, 8: 35, and 9:15. She pretty much stopped only for a marathon 1:00 a.m. nursing session.

And today is a fancy Navy chiefs initiation thing, so Chris will not be home tonight. At all. I will be alone with the little monster for 24 hours. I'm thinking about just latching her on me in bed, popping a couple of Valium, and skipping today altogether.

These Are a Few of My Favorite Things

2006-09-13T20:34:00.000-05:00

Everyone knows that there are sacrifices you make when you become a parent: sleeping through the night, eating at fancy restaurants, sleeping in late, having long talks with your spouse, sleeping. But some things no one ever warned me about. I miss:

--Riding escalators, instead of waiting for an elevator and trying to wrestle a stroller into it next to three old ladies who won't move over and getting stuck in the doors.

--Getting out of the car, slamming the door, and walking away, instead of spending ten minutes trying to silently remove the 30-pound carseat with the sleeping Princess carefully ensconced in it without waking her or dropping it, only to wake her up by shutting the car door. And then realizing I've locked my keys inside. Again.

--Pulling open double doors and just walking through them, like it's nothing. Double doors are my nemesis. I pull one open, wedge it with my hip, press my ass attractively against the glass as I bend over to pull the front of the stroller through, get a wheel caught, wake the baby, yank the stroller free, and fall over. And fuck Blockbuster for having TWO sets of double doors.

--Having tiny, soft hairs on the nape of my neck. The King once said they were one of his favorite things about me, because they're so delicate and hidden. Now they are gone, yanked out by the Princess's grubby hands.

Forget the Denver II: These Are the Real Developmental Milestones

2006-09-12T11:53:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, my daughter learned that the bathroom cabinet has drawers and that she can pull them open. Just after that, she learned that if she pulls them open too fast, they will hit her in the head and knock her down.

I am really the worst mother on earth, no?

I Never Was the Popular Girl

2006-09-11T12:35:00.000-05:00

On Friday, I picked the King up from work so we could have lunch together, which was awfully nice of me. Afterward, I dropped him back off at work and went home. That's when I found his work cell phone on the floor of my car. I called him and told him I had it, and he said not to bother bringing it back; he'd get it when he got home.

So, being the nosy woman that I am, of course I flipped through his speed dial to see who was on there--and mostly because I wanted to see myself on there and feel all special.

I am SEVEN. Seventh, on the speed dial. Out of eleven.

There are six people more important than me on my husband's work phone. They are:

1. His favorite A/C repairman
2. Base security
3. The guy who sells burritos off a truck
4. His boss
5. The mailman
6. A co-worker he hates

Needless to say, we didn't have sex Friday night.

Blogiversary

2006-09-07T15:13:00.000-05:00

Today is my two-year blogiversary. In that first post, I dreamed I had a gorgeous baby girl, and I was afraid I'd never get to meet her. Now she's snuggled up in her Winnie-the-Pooh crib taking a nap and dreaming about pureed pears.

Toilet Training

2006-09-07T13:09:00.000-05:00

Like many parents, when I'm home alone with the Princess, I take her in the bathroom with me while I'm peeing so I can keep an eye on her (nothing makes it harder to go than your child's agonized shrieks echoing throughout the house). Apparently, watching me urinate has gotten less fascinating than it used to be, because she has started exploring things in the bathroom recently. She learned that she can pull open the vanity drawers. Shortly thereafter, she learned that if she pulls them open too fast, they hit her in the head. So I needed a distraction for her.

Is it wrong to let your kid chew on items from the bathroom trash can?

Fun with Psycho-Therapeutic Drugs

2006-09-07T12:48:00.000-05:00

It's been a while since I mentioned it, but my mother still has Alzheimer's, and it's recently gotten much worse. She's been wetting the bed, and now she doesn't like changing clothes and is afraid to take a bath. My dad is really upset, but I told him not to worry--she's just taking after her granddaughter! The Princess wets the bed all the time, she hates getting her onesie changed (and God forbid I try to dress her up in something with buttons), and she's afraid of the bathtub!

So my mother, who went stone-cold sober 30 years ago after a drunk driving accident, is now on Haldol, an anti-psychotic medication. I told the King about it, and he said, "Rock! I used to take that stuff to get high! Your mom's going to love it!" I can just imagine my mother, who was a straight-edger before there was such a thing, kicking back on the couch in her cozy adult diaper, watching soap operas and blazed out of her mind, going, "Dude! This stuff is awesome! Do we have any Doritos? 'Cause I have got the munchies, man!"

My dad is worried that he's going to have to move her into a nursing home. I think he ought to be worried that she's going to start sending him on 3 a.m. Taco Bell runs.

"Just Relax" Goes Global!

2006-09-06T14:00:00.000-05:00

I am editing a soon-to-be published book about health in Africa, and it has a chapter on traditional healers. The author includes a story from Nigeria:

The narrator had "a friend whose wife was having difficulty becoming pregnant." (Why not "a friend who was having difficulty getting his wife pregnant?" But I digress.) The couple had tried Western hospitals, with no luck, so finally they went to a traditional healer. The man spoke with them, then:

"[The healer] responded that there was nothing wrong with the couple. He proceeded to caution the wife that 'she worries too much' and needs some hot tea to help her relax...He also scheduled a weekly meeting with her for conversation. After the couple left, he asked...the husband to do all he can to keep the wife's mind at ease because 'she worries too much.'"

Now the happy couple has three children! And all it took was a cup of nice hot tea and a few deep breaths. I can't help but wonder if his "weekly conversations" with the woman were like my RE appointments--I show up the requested 15 minutes early, he is able to see me two hours later.

Looks like the misogynist patriarchy has gone international!

I Like Box Cake and I Hate Martha Stewart

2006-09-05T18:16:00.000-05:00

Sorry for the lack of postiness this morning--it's been a hell of a day. I was awakened at 5:30 this morning by the King's cussing and throwing of objects about the house. He had lost his military ID, which is a major problem because he had a huge meeting early this morning, and without his ID, he couldn't get onto the base where is office is. Very bad.

Unfortunately, his piss-offedness also woke up the Princess, two hours early, which totally sucked. So she's crying, he's cussing, and I had a ton of work to do today, which I was hoping to get going on while she was sleeping. It was not a good start to the day.

And I also volunteered to bake a cake for a going-away party this afternoon, and yes, it is a mix from a box, why do you ask? Because, no, I'm not Martha freaking Stewart, and I actually like box cake. I also unabashedly like Taco Bell and America's Next Top Model. So there.

Things That Piss Me Off, Part 1

2006-09-01T13:45:00.000-05:00

Two-thirds of U.S. funding of AIDS prevention programs overseas must be spent on the "A" and "B" of President Bush's "ABC" plan--that is, abstinence before marriage and being faithful afterward.

90 percent of women in India who are HIV positive are married and monogamous. Even worse, in 1999, an Indian researcher showed that "marriage was the single most significant risk for HIV transmission among Indian women." In India, being married is the most dangerous thing you can do sexually.

So much for the ABC plan.

__________
(From Airhihenbuwa, Rowman & Littlefield, in press)

My Kid Has a Death Wish

2006-08-31T14:41:00.000-05:00

These are the Princess's favorite toys:

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

--Forks

--Scissors

--Electrical cords (best for chewing on)

--Electrical outlets (preferably in conjunction with forks)

--Sharp coffee-table corners

--Pencils

--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?

2006-08-31T13:09:00.000-05:00

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?

Attachment Issues

2006-08-29T19:30:00.000-05:00

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?

2006-08-29T12:20:00.000-05:00

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.

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

2006-08-28T14:49:00.000-05:00

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.

Statements I Have Made This Week

2006-08-25T16:30:00.000-05:00

--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!

Goddamnittohell

2006-08-25T15:36:00.000-05:00

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.

Ever Punch Yourself in the Face by Accident?

2006-08-24T21:31:00.000-05:00

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...

WHAP!

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.

The Return of Fun Search Terms

2006-08-23T19:36:00.000-05:00

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.

What the Hell Was I Thinking?

2006-08-22T21:12:00.000-05:00

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

2006-08-22T21:10:00.000-05:00

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.

Sorrow

2006-05-09T13:36:00.000-05:00

I thought I was being all funny and cool with my last post, and then I went and visited Cancer, Baby's blog, which I haven't checked out in quite a while. And found this. And now I don't know what to say.

I want it not to be true. I want some wonderful new drug to be used that will fix everything, and let her and her husband have a long, happy life together. I want it to be okay.

But she may not want that. She may be ready. And if she is, I hope that it is quiet, and peaceful, and holding her husband's hand. And I hope that all the children they never got to have, and wanted so much, are waiting to meet her.

Breastfeeding 101: For Cecily and Everyone Else Who Is Afraid of La Leche League

2006-05-08T14:15:00.000-05:00

The following steps will get you on your way to a happy and healthy breastfeeding relationship with your darling new BAY-BEE!

Step 1: Stop thinking of it as a relationship. The kid doesn't have relationships; it just doesn't want to starve to death. Also, do not put that "I make milk--What's your superpower?" blinkie on your website. I make urine; does that make me a superhero?

Step 2: Immediately after the birth, hold the baby completely horizontally, parallel to the floor, with her stomach against you and her ear, shoulder, and hip aligned. When properly positioned, she will not gaze into your eyes for any sort of mystical bonding. She will be looking directly into your armpit and will bond with the stubble you have been too tired to shave for three weeks.

Step 3: Hold the baby with one arm and grab your breast with the other. Drag your nipple down the baby's face, from her nose down to her lower lip. This will hopefully cause her to open her mouth, and will also pull her lower lip into a flanged position, which is good. When baby opens her mouth, stick your boob in it.

Step 4: At this point, nothing whatsoever will happen.

Step 5: Keep repeating Steps 1 through 3. Hopefully, about 24 hours after birth, the baby will get the idea and will grab onto your nipple and start sucking. When she does, try to keep perfectly still and don't screw her up or scare her by cheering, or you will be in a world of hurt.

Step 6: After the baby finishes eating, smear Lansinoh (or any other lanolin cream) on your nipple. Every single time. And use a lot of it--don't be shy. It will keep your nipples from doing any horrifying cracking/bleeding/other terrifying bad things. Trust me. Every time.

Step 7: Repeat Steps 1 through 6 every hour for the next six months.

That's it--you're a breastfeeding expert. It's really not so bad. Mostly, it's just really boring. Eventually you'll figure out how to read a book while breastfeeding. As long as you don't crack the kid in the head with the book, he or she probably won't mind. Good luck!

________
Edited to add: I love the LLL meetings in my town and highly recommend them to anyone. But if you've had eleventy-nine miscarriages or other infertility horrors and are afraid to do any sort of baby preparation before the actual baby arrives, wait and go to a meeting after the birth. Seriously, it won't make that much of a difference.

Did You Know...

2006-05-05T17:16:00.000-05:00

...that diaper-rash cream is made of zinc oxide? That means it's basically sunscreen for your ass. That information could come in handy if I ever run out of Banana Boat.

Speak the Truth, Samuel

2006-05-05T16:07:00.000-05:00

I love my country always, and my government when it deserves it.

--Mark Twain

I Should Have Been a Boy Scout

2006-02-25T15:32:00.000-05:00

If you really need one, those nursing pads that go in your bra make great beer coasters.

You Can Pick Your Friends, and You Can Pick Your Nose, But...

2006-02-25T15:30:00.000-05:00

You can't pick your baby's nose. The Princess has a huge booger stuck up her schnozz, and I can't get it out. It's a problem of the size differential between my finger and her tiny nostril. The only thing would be for her to get it out herself, but unfortunately, she's not coordinated enough to pick her own nose yet. Which means the scary, nose-sucking, medieval torture device. I hate that thing.

[tap tap tap] Erm, Is This Thing On?

2006-02-23T21:29:00.000-05:00

So, yeah, I'm not dead. I've just been very absent for like, five months. (Five months? Can that be right?) The thing is, I had a baby.

Did you hear that? A BAY-BEE! Me! I had one!

The little princess arrived February 1 after 28 horrendous and agonizing hours of labor, and all my Bradley-Lamaze-Zen preparation be damned, after 20 of those hours, I got me the greatest epidural ever and managed to survive the big shot of Pitocin that was needed to turn my crappy contractions into decent ones. You see, after 11 hours of 5-minute-apart contractions, I graduated to 9 hours of horrific, scream-inducing contractions 2 minutes apart, which got me to a grand total of TWO CENTIMETERS DILATED. That was enough fun for me. Drugs, please.

So, that's why I've been gone. I am now the proud owner of a 3-week-and-1-day-old baby who is absolutely gorgeous despite the baby acne that makes her look like a 12-year-old boy with a penchant for McDonalds and who mercifully seems to be learning the difference between day and night, and which one of them requires you to be awake and screaming, and which requires you to lay quietly for at least three hours, I hope.

Coolest Legislator Ever

2005-10-06T12:05:00.000-05:00

I sent out fourteen e-mails to members of Indiana's Senate yesterday regarding Patricia Miller's horrifying ART bill. Immediately afterward, I learned that Sen. Miller has withdrawn the bill. Oops. And yay! Although I was a bit embarrassed to have e-mailed all those folks for no reason, I got this lovely e-mail back from one of them:

Dear Queenie:

Thank you for your comments regarding State Senator Pat Miller's (Republican, Indianapolis) proposed legislation to establish a process by which some pregnancies would have to be authorized by the state. As you can imagine, it raised many concerns about the appropriate role of government in our lives.

As a member of the Health Finance Commission, I would have voted against this proposal. Thankfully, because of the public outcry over Senator Miller's legislation, she announced that she has withdrawn this proposed legislation from consideration. I want to personally thank you for your interest and your involvement in this important issue. I will monitor this subject closely during the upcoming legislative session in case this bill comes back in some other form.

--Senator Vi Simpson, Senate District 40

Oh, the Horror

2005-10-05T13:25:00.000-05:00

I know I've been out of touch for a while, but things have been going along fairly smoothly on the baby front, except for the 18,000 DBTs* I had when the baby stopped moving suddenly and didn't start again for 36 hours. But all is well now.
And now I need your help. Go here and read about the horrifying new law proposed in Indiana that would ensure that no single person or homosexual person will be able to use ART to have a child. It will also require married couples needing donor sperm or eggs, or a gestational surrogate, to provide proof of their "individual participation in faith-based or church activities" to prove that they deserve to have a baby.

One of Julie's brilliant commenters, Amy E, pointed out that this law would have prevented Jesus's birth, because Mary and Joseph weren't married. Ha. You can contact State Senator Miller, the lovely author of this insanity, here. Click the "to get a list of all Indiana elected representatives" button and you should be able to find her.

Updated to include:
I just found this at Susan's In a Holding Pattern blog. Thank you, Susan...

You can contact Senator Miller directly at (317) 232-9489 or s32@in.gov. But do use the link above to contact other Indiana representatives--as I understand it, this bill has already been introduced to the general assembly, which means we need all of them to know that we want them to oppose it.

Also, from Susan, "If you live in Indiana, the next meeting of the Health Finance Commission will be held at the Statehouse on October 20, 2005 at 10 am in Senate Chambers and is open to the public." Please go!

___________
* Dead baby thoughts.