Poop-a-geddon 2012

So. Much. Poop.

I’m sorry. I know you have no idea what I’m talking about. Well, I’m sure you got the poop part. But what exactly, you ask, is poop-a-geddon??

I will back up a little.

Over the last month or so Baby G has gone from pooping in EVERY diaper to going a day or two without pooping. Apparently this is pretty normal for breastfed babies. Normal it may be, but fun it is not. It generally results in a blowout (yay…) which means an outfit change and some Blue Dawn (more on that later).

There have been several poop scares… several incidences that we THOUGHT were the end of the world as we know it. But we were wrong. Oh, so wrong. The first poop-a-geddon scare was about a little over a month ago and was so bad that I decided to do Baby G’s bath in the middle of the day. Pulling his onesie off resulted in poopy hair among other body parts. It was pretty bad. Then there was the bath that Baby G pooped so much it it turned the water yellow. It was pretty gross. But Sunday, dear friends… Sunday had the most poop I’ve ever seen.

Sunday marked the longest stretch that Baby G has gone without pooping. We’re pretty sure it had been at least 4 days. Can you imagine going 4 days without pooping? Ok, well I have been there and done that but that’s another story (thank you C-Section). I can tell you it’s no fun.

Sooooo Baby G had been super fussy all night so while we were getting dinner ready we put him in the jumper for a bit.

{Side note: He LOVES the jumper. It’s amazing and the most fun he could ever ever have. I think he loves the jumper just slightly less than he loves his baths.}

He started to fuss so Husband got him and sat down with him. A few minutes later I heard him shout and I look up to see…. POOP-A-GEDDON! There was poop everywhere. It was up the back of G’s onesie almost to his hair, oozing out through the fabric. It was on Husband’s shirt AND shorts. We stood there for a minute trying to figure out logistics of how we were going to clean this up. I carried him upstairs by holding him out under his armpits.  There was no other way to do it without smearing poop all over me. Somehow I managed to get a waterproof liner down onto the changing pad and got the diaper off. Husband ran his bathwater and I ended up giving up trying to clean him off and just went and held him up under the faucet. I rinsed and rinsed and rinsed until the very thick layer of pasty poop was off the fabric (and the baby) and peeled the offending garment up over his head.

Husband suggesting throwing the onesie away. Since I hate wasting clothing I pulled out my trusty Blue Dawn (which apparently works better on poop stains than other detergents) and scrubbed and soaped and rinsed until most of the poop was gone. I wasn’t overly confident of it being stain-free but was pleasantly surprised after the (impromptu) load of laundry (including Husband’s shirt and shorts) was done.

So now we are to Wednesday night and there has been no poop since Poop-a-geddon. I’m hoping that this last incident wasn’t just the first of many escalating poop explosions and that things will go back to normal. Really hoping. Really really hoping.

Just call me Yzma

You know that scene in “The Emporer’s New Groove” where Kuzco is talking about Yzma and the camera zooms in to her face and her eyes are baggy and she’s all wrinkly and he asks what’s holding her together?

That’s how I felt when I looked in the mirror a few weeks ago.

I’m 30. I’m supposed to be in my prime, right? And all of a sudden I’m noticing wrinkles and creases and stretchy looking places where smooth skin used to be. So I ask you this:

WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO ME??

I’m only 30. Seriously. I’m pretty sure a year ago I didn’t look like this. Yeah, I put on a little weight while pregnant but that didn’t affect my eyelids or my upper arms. Where did this stuff come from??  I mean, I’ve noticed my thighs looking a little more dimply over the past few years (sneaky cellulite), but wrinkly eyelids? Crepe-y arms??

{Side note: I never used to have cellulite. My thighs were nice and smooth even if they were a little… thick. But the cellulite has moved in and it’s not a pretty sight.}

My eyelids used to be taut and fresh looking. Now when I put on my eye shadow I can tell that the skin has started to loosen. WHAT CAUSES THIS?? Seriously. I have, like, 50+ more years to go. WHAT WILL I LOOK LIKE WHEN I’M 80?? I’m going to have to use duct tape to hold my eyelids up so I can see. I’m going to have to start wearing 3/4 length sleeves all year round. I’ve already sworn off shorts for the most part. Plus, in addition to all these lovely things, I’ve started getting zits again. Right now I’m sporting two doozies that of course are not hidden under my bangs. So I have the complexion of a 13 year old and the skin of a 62 year old.

Great. Fantastic. I’m falling apart. 30, I hate you.

I have a pet. His name is Peeves. He’s my pet, Peeves.

We all have those little things that annoy us. Things that, if we were on a date with someone, would be deal breakers. Things that we tolerate in family, but only because we have to. And because we can actually say something about it because, hey – we’re family! Pet peeves are really hard to deal with at work. Whether it is a co-worker or a customer, you can’t very well tell them to cease and desist whatever violently annoying thing they may be doing.

You can also not throw things at them or stab them with a pencil. Trust me. If it were allowed I’d have already done it. Well, maybe not the stabbing part but definitely the throwing part.

Sister had a problem with a guy at work who drummed on stuff. He wore headphones and felt the need to keep the beat for everyone else to hear utilizing items on his desk. This is unacceptable. You should be fired for things like this. I might have had to “accidentally” feed his iPod through the paper shredder. I’m passive-agressive like that.

Drumming is another form of tapping which is high on my annoyance list. Yes, I have a list. I will list them for you. In no particular order.

  1. Whistling. I hate it. HATE. I find it to be very very annoying and it makes me feel stabby. There is a person at work who whistles very loudly and shrilly and to the music in his own head that no one can hear. If you’ve ever made the lamaze breathing noises around a cat (the “hee hee” part) and seen their crazed reaction… well, that’s how I feel about whistling.
  2. Tapping. Drumming, clicking (like the end of a pen), etc. Makes me twitchy and also a little crazed. I have the urge to remove whatever the person is tapping, drumming, or clicking with and throw it across the room. I’m normally not so violent.
  3. Loud bass. I don’t generally like the music attached to loud bass. I don’t listen to it. I don’t want to listen to it secondhand either. I especially don’t want to just hear the “boom boom boom” and the very possible rattle of your crappy speaker installation that goes with it.
  4. “Supposubly.” Dear heavens there is no “B” in supposeDly. It’s a “D.” A D!
  5. Phone keyboard sounds.  Why do you need your text messages to sound like morse code? Or worse, a weird tapping. If you have a smartphone you don’t have a real keyboard. There’s no physical button. Why does it have to make noise?? If you have an old ancient phone, the keyboard makes enough noise on it’s own.
  6. Wearing sunglasses inside. It’s rude, ok?? It’s just rude.
  7. Scuffing feet. Ugh… pick up your FEET!! I have known overweight people who managed to pick up their feet when they walked.   So there is no excuse. Pick. Up. Your. Feet. And if you can’t pick up your feet because you’re wearing crocs, well then you should just be ashamed of yourself.
  8. Smacking. Whhhyyyyyyy??
  9. Um. I had a manager who said “Um” approximately 412 times in any give oration. Once I actually counted. I believe he said it 62 times in 6 minutes. That is not an exaggeration. At that point all you can hear from the person is “Um ummm ummy umumum. Um um umm um-um-um.” Anything pertinent they have to say (he basically never did) loses all meaning.

That’s all I have for now. I’m sure there are more. It’s not that I’m intolerant… Ok, I’m slightly intolerant. I just hate twitchy noises. And incorrectly pronounced words. And whistling. I really hate whistling.

Another post about the Job.

My first full week back is over. I wish that meant I was done and I didn’t have to go back next week.

It’s been hard. Erratic scheduling (one of the things the job does best) is difficult on you without having a child. With one it goes beyond difficult and starts ranging into eye-twitching-sleep-deprived-mental-instability territory. I spend every minute there waiting for it to be time to punch out. I’m only there for the paycheck and sometimes (very very frequently) it doesn’t seem enough. The cost of working doesn’t seem to be equal to the payout. I know it’s going to sound silly but my heart actually hurts while I’m away from him. I feel a physical tightness in my chest.

Then there is pumping. Pumping is obnoxious and uncomfortable and isn’t fun. It’s also awkward. My locker isn’t big enough for my pump so I have to carry it back and forth to my desk. Then I have to clean out my pump parts in our filthy disgusting vomitous breakroom sink. I make sure nothing physically touches the sink though. Then I’d have to burn it.

Overall it wasn’t terrible, just boring and frustrating. My schedule this week and next pretty much sucks and I have a feeling its going to be a fight for me to get treated fairly as far as scheduling goes. I’m not asking for special treatment, but I do expect to not be taken advantage of. Or punished because I didn’t do what they wanted me to do. Did I ever tell you what they decided? I don’t remember if I did or not. If I didn’t, I’ll tell you some day soon. But not tonight. I’m too tired to bother.

So (since I’m apparently not going to ever work on Mondays) tomorrow starts my second week back to work. I feel ill thinking about it. I wish I knew if this would go away or if I will still feel ill about working 6 months from now. Will I get used to leaving my sweet baby at home? Will I stop hating going to work everyday and just be resigned to doing it? I wish I knew. Because right now I have to talk myself into going each day. And some days I just can’t bring myself to fathom that this is long-term and that it won’t be over soon. I have to believe there is some light at the end of the tunnel and that I won’t work my baby boy’s childhood away. But until the day comes that I can stay home with my sweet one I’ll stock up on kisses and hugs and savor every possible second with my little one. Because I need those moments to remember to get me through each day I’m away from him.

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas…

But only on my Pinterest board. Seriously. It’s still about 4,000 degrees here. Not very conducive to all things Christmasy.

I have a deep love for all things Christmas. Christmas music, decorating, baking, wrapping, gifting… cheesy Hallmark-made-for-TV-movies… It all makes me giddy and excited.  I like to put my Christmas tree up the day after Thanksgiving and I’m ok with it ringing in the New Year still standing in my living room. I program the Christmas stations into my radio the week of Thanksgiving and only change them back once they stop playing Christmas music. Which, surprisingly, is usually a few days to a week after Christmas.

My husband does not share my Christmas spirit. Don’t get me wrong; he likes Christmas. He doesn’t specifically love Christmas music (or actually like it at all). And he doesn’t particularly care about the decorating part. He hates wrapping and puts that off as long as possible even though I only make him wrap my presents. And he prefers to limit his involvement in the baking process to taste-testing the goodies I make. He will though watch the Christmas movies with me – the good ones (Muppets Christmas Carol anyone??) and the bad ones (insert any made-for-TV-Hallmark-movie) – without complaining. But my sister, dear friends, my sister feels the way I do about Christmas.

It’s like my Christmas soul mate has arrived.

I feel like Christmas this year will be epic. Off the charts. Fantabulistic. Between the two of us we have enough ideas pinned to cover every wall (and window) in my house. Since there are two of us we might actually make one or two of the 86 things we’ll “definitely accomplish.”

{What’s funny is that I started writing this post several days ago. But between work and being able to only type with one hand most of the time while I’m holding Baby G, Sister got a Christmas themed post written before I could finish mine. You can read it here if you’d like. Great minds think alike and all.}

So if you read the comments on Sister’s blog, you’ll know that I also suffer from Christmas-in-August Syndrome. In fact, I recently received a code for free address labels from Shutterfly. So I ordered ones for my Christmas cards. I also ordered some Christmas themed Tupperware (just helping out a friend’s Tupperware party!).

Truthfully it’s not just Christmas that I look forward to this time of year (even though it’s what I look forward to the MOST). I really love Fall and Winter (when they actually feel like Fall and Winter, unlike our overly long Summer and early Spring of last year – what was THAT about?).  I love being comfortable in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. I love scarves and gloves and coats and boots. I like sweaters and sweatshirts. I like being able to wear my hair down without sweat ruining my hairdo. I love the smell of cinnamon (except in the form of cinnamon pine cone stinkies**) and I love drinking cocoa, apple cider, and coffee to warm me up. I love my Snuggie (don’t judge me) and my slipper socks. I love going to sleep under a pile of blankets. And I love Christmas.

Oh wait. I said that already, didn’t I?

Ok, I like Halloween and Thanksgiving too. But they aren’t nearly as much fun as Christmas. They don’t excite me as much. And this year excites me more and more every day. This year will be Baby G’s first Christmas. I will get to take him to see Santa. I will get to help him open his first Christmas presents. I will have Sister to help me decorate and put bows on presents. Last year my tree was sadly lacking in bowed presents. My parents will be here. And hopefully, so will Brother, Sister-in-Law, and Nephew. We’ll eat pinch cake for breakfast. We’ll have ham and scalloped potatoes for lunch. We’ll spend all day in our PJs opening presents. And probably a good portion of the day trying to keep Baby G away from the tree. And everyone else’s presents.

So anyway… The Christmas Crazies have started. It’s only August and Sister and I are already making plans. And getting excited. And some of us (who shall remain nameless but are the nanny) listened to a little Christmas music today. And somewhere in Florida Brother’s eye started twitching at the first strains.

I will refrain from the Christmas music for now. But I’ll keep pinning and planning. I can’t wait. 133 days left ’til Christmas. Have you started YOUR shopping yet? I have.

**Pine cone stinkies are the bags of pinecones you can get around the holidays. A good friend of mine dubbed them that a few years back. Most of them are cloying and overly sweet-smelling. The job carries them and last year they were literally outside the building and I could still smell them inside. I like cinnamon – both to eat and to smell – but those things are an abomination.

I feel a little sick

So tomorrow is my first full day away from Baby G. Today I was away for 5 hours.

I didn’t die.

I didn’t cry.

Hey, that rhymes!

I went in yesterday at 8am to talk about the “options.” I use that term loosely because it turned out there weren’t options, just a decision. Please keep in mind that is probably the earliest I’ve gotten up (without going back to bed) in months. MONTHS. Almost 6 of them. I didn’t sleep well the night before because I was so nervous. And nauseous. Long story short is they were trying to bring me back in as a supervisor. Which I didn’t want. And the department(s) they wanted to give me were a hellacious mess 6 months ago before I left. I have it on good authority they aren’t much better. So again. Don’t. Want.

I hadn’t wanted to be a supervisor for awhile. But it got especially bad after I got moved last November. You remember. It was the catalyst that started my trek down the deep dark hole I fell into and couldn’t get out of. So I had already been toying with the decision to step down. So now it’s sink or swim. I explained that I wasn’t interested in that life anymore. Earlier mornings and later nights. A lot more responsibility and a lot more headache.

Tomorrow I go in again at 8. I will work until 5. I’m not looking forward to the day or the 8am meeting to discuss my fate. And my pay cut. I don’t like surprises and I hate confrontations. I’m emotional and I don’t want to be put on the spot.

A friend of mine today said she doesn’t think she could be a stay at home mom. That she’d need a few days a week to be around adults. I thought about this a lot today. And I’ve decided I could do it. I’ve been home for very close to six months. I haven’t missed working one bit. I’ve missed my friends but I don’t miss being away from the house. Away from my son. Some people need adult time. Outside-the-home productive time. I don’t think I do. I’d be content being a home-maker. Maybe I’d change my mind down the road but right now I’d be happy to stay home.

So tomorrow I find out what my new job will be. I’m praying God will help it be whats best for my family. And maybe one day I will be able to go part-time. Or maybe we’ll win the lottery. Yeah… I like that idea best.

The road to success is paved with rocks, potholes, and shards of glass. And you’re barefoot.

I hate my job. I really really really hate my job. And I haven’t even been there in almost 6 months. And technically, I don’t even know what my job IS anymore since my last position has been filled. And apparently, no one wants to talk to me about it.

For the last week I have been trying to get someone there to talk to me about my return to work. This obviously hasn’t worked out so well for me as tomorrow was supposed to be my first day back and I won’t be working. I won’t say I’m terribly disappointed to not be going back to work tomorrow. I’ve gotten a “free” week with Baby G and I’m excited about it. What I’m not excited about is the prospect of calling up once again to try to get someone to tell me what the heck is going on.

Let’s back up. Once Baby G came early I knew that 12 weeks off work wasn’t going to be enough with a baby in the NICU. He came home after 6 weeks but that only left 6 weeks of my maternity leave. Six weeks wasn’t enough with my brand new baby. It wasn’t enough and it wasn’t fair. Plus, my sister (the Nanny-Auntie) wasn’t coming until mid-July. So there was the question of what to do with Baby G in the meantime. I wasn’t keen on putting him in daycare (and his Ped didn’t recommend it) or letting someone else watch him in the meantime so I took an extended leave to stay home with him until she could get here. Then there was the question of my job. FMLA only protects your job for 12 weeks. Since I was going to be out quite a bit longer than that I went to talk to my Store Manager. She said my job would be there when I got back and I should be able to keep my same position. I never wanted that stupid position to begin with but whatever. So fast forward a few weeks. I had been praying for a better situation at work. No one is happy there and we needed a change. So I prayed for a change. Soon after I talked to the SM, the entire management staff got removed. Enter brand-new-no-idea-who-I-am management. Not sure if this is the right change or not, but I don’t remember if I specified a good change or not. **Note to self: Be a little more specific in prayers.**

Here’s the problem. Because they could (the newbies hadn’t, after all, been the ones to promise my job to stay), they released my position and filled it. Then, when I came in to talk to them about returning and tried to figure out what I was going to do when I got back they pretty much told me they couldn’t talk to me and things would be decided when I returned. Really? I’m not stupid. You’re not going to give me a random schedule and then decide what my job will be AFTER I get back. You will have decided my fate without giving me any say in the matter and I’ll just get to hear about it when I get back. Thanks.

So back to my current predicament. For the last week I’ve been trying to get some answers. ANY answers. All I’m getting is ignored. I have no idea what my job will be or what schedule I’ll be working. How do I prepare for going back to work without knowing what I will be doing or when I will be working? How do you, as a management staff, not understand that at this point, without ever working with you, I already have a bad taste in my mouth regarding you. How do you, in good conscience, string someone along about coming back to work?

So now I’m sitting here, dreading tomorrow, and feeling slightly ill. I hate this game. It’s already hard enough on me that I have to go back to work. Why does it have to be made harder? I don’t want extra responsibility. I don’t want notoriety. I just want to get a paycheck and then come home to my family. I have no intentions of moving up within the company. EVER. For the first time in my life I just want to be mediocre. I don’t want to stand out. I don’t want to shine.

I just want to go to work, give them my 8 hours, and then come home. Nothing more. Oh yeah, and I want my darn schedule.