Sooo I'm trying to set the record for Mastitis occurrences following the birth of a single baby. What number am I on? Oooh... number FOUR. And my baby is almost 4 months old. So I guess Mastitis is replacing my monthly period. Hmmm… I don’t know that I like the trade. But we all KNOW a lady can't EXIST without bodily dysfunctions... if she DID she would cease to be a female. (And I’ll take ALL my sick and feeling icky over being a smelly, hairy BOY).
AND, not to be outdone, Brooklyn has yet ANOTHER ear infection. She's totally smokin me in the ailments department... she's in her TEENS with ear infections. The poor little Squirt was MU-OOO-DEEE yesterday.. and when Boston showed up and she didn't immediately melt into his arms and start giggling like a yippidy hyena, I knew SOMETHING wasn't quite right. But then… she’d cheer up when Boston did something funny. THEN she’d come sit on my lap and say, “I just want to HOLD you.” Yeah. She doesn’t want to HOLD me when Boston is here. She couldn’t care less if I’m even in the same STATE when Boston is here. So I said, “What hurts?” And she said, “I hurt my EEA-er.” She wouldn’t let me touch it OR look too close at it, but when I held her down and attempted to move her hair that wouldn’t BUDGE because it was glued to the side of her face with gunky, orangey white PUSS (which is the NASTIEST word in the English vocab if you ask ME) I knew her eardrum had busted. AGAIN. And the girl HAS TUBES. So once the ear drum busted she cheered up a bit.. the pressure being released.
I tried to call her in some antibiotics but NOoO… ‘I have to take her IN’. Well… at least I got some antibiotics for ME without having to go pay $100 bucks to see MY doctor. So I took the kiddos to PetSmart to look at animals (which they LOVED) and we told Boston farewell and headed to the doctor. I told Brooklyn that she’d get a sticker. You would have thought I’d told her she was going to get her legs amputated. She bolted upright, her eyes tried to hop out of their sockets, and she began frantically saying, “I don’t want them to pinch my finger! I don’t want them to pinch my finger!” She’d be referring to them PRICKING her finger to test her hemoglobin (which is LOW like MINE- she’s getting ALL my good genes). Then the nurse who pricked her said, “You’re okay. Here’s a sticker.”
So- in retrospect- a sticker may NOT be the motivating word to use when trying to reassure Brooklyn the doctor is FUN! She was whimpering the entire walk to the doctor’s office with BOTH her hands protectively stuffed in her armpits. When the nurse took us back Brooklyn was shaking like a McDonald’s salt shaker and telling the nurse, “But I don’t want to! I don’t WANT you to pinch my finger.” The nurse, having NO clue what Brooklyn was talking about, said the magic words, “But after you let us check you out… you’ll get a STICKER!” This sent Brooklyn over the top. Her tear ducts opened wide and her little lips went to quivering. I forewarned the doctor of Brooklyn’s anxiety, so she was EXTRA nice and took time talking to Brooklyn BEFORE giving her ear a yank.
Just as Brooklyn was opening up and answering the doctor’s questions about liking her baby brother and wearing a pretty purple flower in her hair… the doctor said, “Well- I need to look in your ear REAL quick.” Brooklyn turned pale but didn’t RUN from the doctor. In two seconds she’d examined both ears and chipper as a spring songbird announced, “YOU’VE got MONKEY POOP in your ears!” Now this was comical and a fabulous attempt at bringing a smile to Brooklyn’s face. BUT- we ARE talking about the kid that freaks out when GRASS touches her FEET. She looked utterly and completely HORRIFIED. “Monkey poop??!!” She asked, almost hysterical. “I want you to get it OOOUUTT!!” So the doctor wrote her some special “letters” so that she could get the magic potion that would clean out the monkey poop. Needless to say… I’ve had NOOO problems getting her to take her medicine or putting drops in her ear. SO THANK you, Dr. Myers. We normally see Stanford, but we sure appreciated seeing her. SUPER good with kids. And when Dr. Myers finished up she told Brooklyn, “You were SUCH a big girl!” and Brooklyn turned to me and said, “And I’m gonna get a STICKER!!!”
Today, on our antibiotics, we are BOTH feeling peachy. Brooklyn helped me make Banana Pudding. Starling helped us eat it. (That is RIGHT… it was edible. Actually turned out RATHER scrumptious… of course HOW can you really screw up bananas, cookies, and instant pudding?) I’ll tell you how… you accidentally buy the COOK kind of pudding. But I made CERTAIN that THIS time the package said INSTANT.
And NOW Brooklyn wants me to roll over so she can ‘lasso my bum.’ WHICH, translated, means BEAT me with a ROPE she found in her Daddy’s shed and scream at the rope to “PULL STRAIGHT!!” When I gave her a look, her voice turned sugary sweet and about 6 octaves higher, “You need to pull straight, honey…” I’m SOO glad she has SOO many toys. When I walk in on Brooklyn playing, she is usually holding a ROPE, a TaPE MEASURE, a HERMONICA, or a GUITAR.
When I drug out ALL the Barbies I brought home from my parents house THRILLED to have a little girl to play with them again, Brooklyn said, “The Barbie wants to be an AIRPLANE.” And that was that… She took ONE Barbie and it flew around like Superman until she grew bored with that and asked if the Barbie could throw the ball with her. She helped it throw a SOCCER ball fairly well… But the Barbie couldn’t catch so well. The ball splattered the Barbie which Brooklyn thought was HILARIOUS.
And NOW Brooklyn is running around blabbering random things I can’t understand. I FINALLY caught ON when I realized she’d turned Pinnochio to Spanish mode and, since she has the entire movie MEMORIZED in ENGLISH, is now finding joy in memorizing it in SPANISH. Starling plans to do this with all her favorite cartoons. He said it’ll teach her Spanish. I hope he’s right. It sure hasn’t taught me anything. They need to have a SLOW-MODE. While I’m trying to translate one Spanish word, two scenes have already passed. Pin-o-cho is a REALLY cute Spanish boy, though.
And then there is my angel boy Brighton. He’s become QUITE the handful. NOT in a bad way, exactly. He is just so MOBILE for an almost four month old. I’ve rescued him TWICE today from jumping off the couch and a hundred THOUSAND times from eating the floor. He rolls onto his stomach EVERY time I lay him down. I don’t know WHY because he HATES being on his stomach after about 6 squeals of delight.. and he can NOT roll back onto his back. SOOO he gets frustrated and starts grumbling. When he shouts, “Ma! Ma!” I roll him back… and then four seconds later I roll him back over again. But I can’t imagine him EVER being able to crawl with his JOLLY FAT self… But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get where he’s going… he’s NEVER where I left him. Good thing he’s LOUD so I don’t forget about him… No more sitting him on the couch or leaving him to play by himself. He’s still content to DO so… but I have to keep moving him back to SAFETY. And every time I have to move him, he giggles… so then I CAN’T just go back to what I was doing… I have to spend thirty minutes with a camera stuck in his face trying to catch the perfect grin. AND then he starts COOING so I have to VIDEO for another thirty minutes. And by the time he either decided he is hungry or falls asleep HALF the day is gone and I’ve only done one load of laundry. BUT… my chores will be there TOMORROW! MY BABY won’t be this EDIBLE and PRECIOUS forever! He’ll turn into a teenager in only 12 years and 8 months! YIKES… I shouldn’t think of those types of things… it makes me nauseous.
My mom just got here to entertain my babies so I’M going to take this opportunity to CLEAN!! Or… facebook…
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