Bleh

There's nothing like some dental surgery, some constant pain, and two days of rainy weather with a side of screamy toddler to make me feel... really depressed.

Added Functionality

Dear Universe,

Kindly direct your programmers to add the following features to:

1) Facebook: Ability to filter out everything my sister types that involves the words "Israel", "Holy Land", or "American Jews".

2) Phone: Ability to tune out and hear bad elevator music when talking to my sister (see above) yet still be presented with a choice of appropriate replies ("Really?", "Oh", "I see").

3) Life: Ability to not be annoyed by sister's a) constant, unquestioning, blind devotion to Israel's divine right to do whatever it wants, regardless of legality, morality, or international treaty; b) belief that anyone who questions Israel hates Jews and therefore wants her babies to die in terrorist attacks; c) perpetual view that all my problems in life would be ALL BETTER if only I would move to Israel. Because nothing is ever wrong there! And America sucks! (Literally: Over my dead body.)

Seriously, sometimes... actually, every time I talk to her, I want to never talk to her again.

Dentally, Again

If my car mechanic said that my car was leaking gas because the air filter was clogged, I'd fire his ignorant ass.

However, the specialist dentist has told me essentially the same, and am I firing him? No. I am going to pay him a couple thousand dollars. Because the only thing better than painful dental procedures is paying for them yourself. And the only thing better than that... is having a dentist who's an idiot.

Here's hoping he's a competent technician, which is all that really counts.

Also, WAAAAH.

People in $500,000 Houses

I was recently at a garage sale. The woman was selling a very nice carseat - from 2002. I gently pointed out to her that it was expired, that the local toy store would give a discount for recycling it, and that it was very unsafe, so perhaps it would be better to dispose of it. She agreed. I paid for the winter boots I was buying and walked Bug back to the car.

I looked back as I was driving away. The carseat was still there. The woman was walking in the other direction. Because, you see, the $30 she would get for it was far more important than a child's safety! People who shop at garage sales don't count!

I am tempted to start bringing a scissors and, very politely, forcing them to cut the straps.

Poverty, Part II

To me, we're poor, but we're not living in real poverty. Real poverty is lacking for what you need. Hunting squirrels and rabbits for food. Wearing old shoes that are no longer warm or comfortable. Being cold in the winter. Going hungry.

So we are poor, and in part by choice. Either of us could go work for industry, tomorrow (really: I could walk back into my old office), and earn twice a postdoc's salary. And, in fact, 70% of postdocs end up in industry. Now, it was my choice to quit my fancy job. I'm not now complaining about the consequences; I am describing what that choice means.

I'm not talking about "can't take that vacation to Tahiti."* I'm talking about working poor. I'm saying that with every penny, we have to make choices. Will I pay synagogue dues, or start a college fund for Tot 2?** Will I drive two hours to go visit my relatives who I haven't seen in years, or put that money towards the dental crown I need? Can we afford meat this week? Can I afford to buy a pregnancy tank top (for a total of... four) or should I get Bug new shoes instead?*** Can I afford this, can I afford that, an endless litany.

Sometimes it's hard to live with, even though it's my choice. Life is like that.


*True complaint from a well-paid, on-strike union member, speaking on the main stage: "And in ten years I've never once been able to take my family to the Bahamas!" Aaaand there goes my sympathy for that strike.

** They wish to base it on my pre-tax income, and take a sum equal to my grocery budget for a third of the year, or roughly HA HA HA HA HA. Sigh. I'll talk to the 'Budget Committee' eventually, but honestly? A tenth of what they want, and they can take it or leave it. I never liked High Holiday services anyways.

**Don't worry, he presently has three pairs of shoes that fit, plus two in each of the next sizes up. I'd never stint my child if I could help it.

Industry, science, and technology!

Courtesy of the local fire department, we have a sealed, ten-year smoke detector in each room.

Last night, one (only one!) started beeping uncontrollably, in the basement office, at 9 PM. Assuredly, nothing was on fire. It refused to be silenced by pressing the 'silence' button. The toddler was asleep. The battery compartment is sealed, and I couldn't pry it open. There is something you probably shouldn't inhale inside, making hammers impractical. Removing the 'disable' tab did nothing (also, I was in a hurry).

BEEP BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP BEEP!

We dropped it in a bucket of water. That's 23 years of scientific training at work, people.

Poverty, Part I

We are presently living on... one postdoc's salary. Since Dr. S got a small raise along with his fancy fellowship, we now (narrowly) miss qualifying for food stamps. And don't get me wrong, through acts of severe frugality, we are not starving. We're getting by. But... how poor is poor enough?

There are several local agencies that will provide small quantities of food or clothing, no questions asked, if one is in need. The kids' clothing center is right up the street. Of course, a little help would always make it easier. But are we really poor enough? What if I am taking that food from the mouth of someone who is truly hungry?

Out of Control (With Food)

I like food. I like eating. I hate eating as a chore. Yes, fine, I'm gestating, whatever. I don't like it.

I am nauseous, sedated, in pain, or asleep all day. Some days I can barely eat. I have no control over what I can and cannot bear to eat. I think I had a hypoglycemic episode today: I fell asleep while Bug whacked me with a hardback Where The Wild Things Are.

To add to the joy: I am terrified, terrified of gaining too much weight. Last time I gained 35 pounds, which would be fine, except for the strange, very rare, and distressing complication* at 39-and-1. In and of itself, headache and diplopia are manageable... but not potential blindness.

How rare is it? My midwives work in a group of eight, have all practiced for at least ten years, and deliver 700 babies a year and they have never even heard of it.

The only known correlations are obesity, possibly PCOS, and thrombophilias. I almost certainly don't have the latter two, nor was I obese before pregnancy. That leaves... maybe I caused this by eating too much. And the worst part is, nobody has any evidence otherwise. Of course, neither do I have any evidence that it's so...

So far (16 weeks) I have gained 5 pounds. And I am terrified, because I feel I have no control over this, or anything else. I am so nauseous and miserable, and yet I must eat. I can't exercise, because I can barely walk down the street. I can't prevent this strange thing from happening again.

The illusion is, perhaps, that one ever can prevent strange things.

ETA: Thanks, nobody but me (and my mother) thinks the weight gain caused it, so it's mostly me beating myself up... and yeah, idiopathic: nobody has the faintest clue what caused it...

(P.S. The next person to ask, "Have you tried... ginger, acupuncture, homeopathy, eating more, eating less, eating protein...." will be kicked somewhere painful. Yes. It did fuck-all.)