Crankiness, Assorted

1. Though I sound like a complete nut, one of the hardest things about deciding to stop working is contemplating the loss of power and respect.
2. Teething. Oh, the chewing. No, child, you cannot gnaw my collarbone.
3. Dr. S's former postdoc advisor, who has not been his employer for a year and a half, wants him to edit a grant. "No" or "Hell, No?" (I suggested "People in hell" or, alternatively, promising to do it and then never quite getting to it...)
4. Possibly the mini-pill is making me insane.
5. Possibly something else is making me insane. Or several somethings.
6. CRAAAAAAZZZZYYY.
7. No, really.
   

Things That Drive Me Crazy

1) My mother-in-law. Who has recently informed us that she just thinks daycare is bad for the baby. And yet! She is not offering to move across three states, abandoning her husband and elderly mother, and take care of him for us.

2) People who don't use common sense. For example: some people (normal, healthy people with normal, healthy babies, no preemies, no GODDAMN THRUSH) think you have to completely sterilize every part of your pump every time you use it. Hello!! Have you ever cultured a swab of a human mouth? NOT STERILE.

3) People who think pregnancy and breastfeeding mean you can't take any drugs at all. I even met someone who was afraid of taking antacids (the calcium kind), and not the whole bottle. She was afraid to take TWO. There are studies. Read them. This is what they are for: to find out if such things are safe.

4) People who think breastfeeding means you can't drink AT ALL. Let's say you have one beer- heck, let's say you have two! - and your BAC is 0.04. That's 0.04 percent. That means your milk is 0.04 percent alcohol. That means if your child drinks a whole lot- let's say it's the end of the day, so maybe 8 ounces- there's 0.09 mL of alcohol in the milk, or 2/100 teaspoons. Or roughly a third of a teaspoon of beer. Have a damn beer already.

5) My mother-in-law.


P.S. RIP Haloscan, by which I mean they're a bunch of weasels. Comment moderation, alas, is now on.

P.P.S. By which I mean that I broke comments and am trying to figure out how to get them back. Oops.

Yes, In Fact

We have come home from the hospital with THRUSH and pinkeye, but minus the pneumonia. It is probably still a net gain. The large doses of antibiotics definitely killed what ailed the Bug, but AAAAAGH THRUSH DIE DIE DIE.

Watch this space for fear and agonizing about being a stay-at-home mom. Then watch me decide to do it anyways.

(Also, got weighed at the doctor. Minus 5 pounds from before pregnancy, despite sitting on my tush all day, never exercising, putting butter on everything, and eating all food that passes within 5 feet of me. And yet. Still a different shape all over; nothing fits, and my pants are falling down. Sigh.)

My Bug has pneumonia, most probably secondary to RSV. We are all trapped in a medium-small room in the local Children's Hospital, with periodic invasions by the Droplet-Precaution Pod People.

The only highlight has been the doctor at urgent care asking if we were medical professionals. "No," I said, "we have doctorates in biochemistry."

"But... you can count respirations?"

And I did not say: "Yes, I can count past twenty, thanks."

Walking A Thin Line

Ladies and gentlemen! To your left, we have "AAAAH It's Cold Here" (a.k.a "No, really, it's 5 degrees out"); straight ahead, there's "I Don't Know Anyone And Suck At Making Friends"; and to your right, the ever-popular "Working Is Fairly Interesting (Plus, Other Adults!)" Watch their epic battle! Which one will triumph this winter? Will spring bring seismic shifts? Will the spousal unit despair entirely of academia? Will our Bold Protagonist ever live closer than 500 miles from her mother? Will the Mighty Munchkin ever, ever consume less boob?* Will any co-workers be set on fire? Will our heroine be able to hold out through N more months of never, ever going anywhere alone? Stay tuned!

*He's kind of maxed out. Only instead of reducing boob consumption, he just keeps eating more and more table food. Oy.

How Does Anyone Have Two Children?

It's not the working that's so hard. And it's not the child. It's the two together, specifically the part where "time to myself" comes out of "time to sleep". At least the spousal unit gets a couple hours while the Pumpkin nurses to sleep.

My one-year review is this month. If they tell me to work more, I think I'll bite someone. I'm still not sure if my boss keeps assigning me difficult projects as a not-so-subtle hint to work more, but HAH! I ignored much more passive-aggressive people for almost seven years. I scoff at this.

That is all.