Weasel Of Doom

Apparently, the only difference between working for a secular organization and a Christian one is that here people stab each other in the back in the name of Jesus. That, and use God as an excuse whenever convenient.

When the LORD commences His smiting, I hope to be there to watch.

Former boss: “If I could fire all of you and start over, I would.”

If we only knew what a psycho bitch you would turn out to be, lady, we would have gone away on our own.

(I read quite a few blogs written by mothers, and the writing there is exceptional. My blog is more of a personal journal, where I jot down things before I forget them, and therefore it is extremely boring for others to read, I am sure. Not that anybody reads it, but for the sake of those few who do, here’s my attempt at a post that is less sleep-inducing than my usual ones.)

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Scene: I am sitting on the couch, breastfeeding Squeeker. D. looks at me for a while, then points at the boob and says “apple!” Here’s hoping he was referring to its (pleasing) shape and the fact that it provides food — I’d hate to think that my almost-two-year-old thinks my breasts are small, hard, and green. Then again, he calls pumpkins and mandarin oranges “apple,” too, so I guess my breasts are now a fruit.

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Scene: D. and I are walking down the stairs. There are two steps at the top, then a landing, followed by a long stretch down, another landing, and one more step to the tile floor. D. jumps from the top of the stairs to the landing, grins, grabs the rail, walks down, and jumps down four steps to the next landing. Grins again, turns, and climbs higher. He is now five steps up. Turns around, at which point B. and I say “NO” in unison. Another grin, one step down, and a jump. He lands, and proceeds to jump over the last step and slide on the tile floor. New rule: if we are going to be jumping down the stairs, we are going to do so in our bare feet.

I told the story to my mom. Her reaction: “I would have a heart attack!” Coming to our casa in November – “How I gave my grandma a heart attack” by D.. Watch this space for details.

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Scene: B. and D. just got home. B. went upstairs, and I hear D. downstairs, saying “Su, su, su” repeatedly. Curious to know what is going on, I come down, to see little guy sitting on the landing, patiently waiting for somebody to take his shoes off. The moment they are off, he runs away to play. In some ways, we have a very well-trained child.

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Scene: Our kitchen. D. grabs the two puppy towels, puts them on his arms, and runs around the house, towels flapping. That goes on for two days, to much parental amusement. Also while in the kitchen, D. would attempt to close the child-proof lock on the cabinet that hides the garbage – because that door is supposed to be locked. Helpful little guy.

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Scene: this morning. While B. preps D.’s lunch downstairs, and I feed Squeeker in bed, D. comes to visit. He comes bearing gifts, two – in three trips, two pens, a piece of paper, and a DVD-R from the study are all laid on the coverlet for me to enjoy. D. then proceeds to pull pieces of shelving from B.’s closet. When he judges that a sufficient amount of squares have been pulled out, it’s time to jump-test them. More squares are added as needed, and my “D., that’s enough” is ignored – he knows that with Squeeker attached to my boob, I am not a threat :-)

Favorite movie: Russian Winnie-the-Pooh. D. comes up to the entertainment center and says “Pooh!” when he wants to watch it; for a while, the demand for Pooh was constant. Now he slowed down a bit, in part because we put our foot down (it is so easy to just sit him in front of the TV instead of playing with him, so now he only watches before bed). Right before the end of each episode, he says “All done.” He makes the “ssssssshhhh” noise when the air escapes from the shot balloon. He says “Boom” when Pooh falls and hits tree branches and the ground.

Favorite book: Go Dog Go by P.D. Eastman. Or at least it was until yesterday. Today he did not want me to read it, so who knows. He can follow along with the conversation between two dogs (“Hello” and “Good bye” parts, anyway) and says “Go go go” when he wants to get going.

Favorite toy: cars, in particular a little yellow car from a McDonalds kids meal and a little red car from a package of batteries. He walks around looking for them, saying “caw, caw” (sounds like “cow, cow”). Little red car is the current favorite (and a choking hazard, I strongly suspect ;-). B. bought him a megablocks set that includes a ramp, and now the cars ride down it every evening – lots of fun.

Things he can do: will put things away when told “Put it back.” Can point out his eyes, ears, nose, mouth, feet, and hands. Gets a bit confused where the tummy is, but working on it. Loves jumping down the stairs. Most he jumped over is four, I think. Fearless little guy.

New words he can say: apple (applies to just about anything loosely apple-shaped). no-no-no. thank you (but you have to know that’s what he is trying to say). please (ditto). car. puppy. doggy. fishie. He babbles in full sentences, but we often don’t understand what he is trying to say.

Can’t believe S. is already a month old. Wasn’t he just born a few days ago? Time is not just flying by – it’s “gone plaid,” to quote “Space Balls.” And here I am, falling behind on everything again – the story of my life, yet I am surprised every time it happens. Guess I just can’t learn.

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My Dad’s nickname for S. is “yozhik,” Russian for “hedgehog.” It is surprisingly fitting – the kid makes little animal noises when he is nursing and falling asleep. He also squeeks a lot, so B. and I have been calling him Squeeker.

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S. has settled into a nursing pattern – every two hours during the day, then a long break (sometimes 5 hrs, sometimes 6) at night. Yesterday he had the boob at 10 pm, then again at 3 am, then at 7 am, after which it was back to a meal every two hours. Of course, the feeding patterns may change again, but so far we really cannot complain. He does not sleep a lot during the day when I am home alone with him (maybe 30 minutes at a time, if I am lucky), so nothing is getting accomplished around the house during the day. This past Thursday I ended up asking my mother-in-law to come over and hang out with the baby while I cleaned the bathrooms and vacuumed. Can’t wait till my parents come – I am sure we will get into lots of arguments, but at least I will have a chance to get a lot of the house work done (seeing as we are still trying to unpack, after living in this house for over a year).

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At our two-week check-up, S..’s weight was 7 lbs 9 oz, 2 oz less than his birth weight of 7 lbs 11 oz (3 kg 487 g). I freaked out, and spent Tuesday through Friday worrying that he is not getting enough, that I will have to supplement with formula, that I will have to pump every hour, that my poor little baby is failing to thrive, etc. Finally on Friday, October 6, I went to have him weighed again, hoping that he had at least regained his birth weight. Imagine our surprise when the scale read 8 lbs 13 oz (3 kg 997 g). It appears that something was wrong with the scale on Tuesday, because it is physically impossible for an infant to gain over a pound in three days. Next Friday, October 13, he was 9 lbs 8 oz (4 kg 309 g). On October 20, 10 lbs 2 oz (4 kg 592 g). We shall see what this Friday will bring. I told the nurses and receptionists at the pediatrician’s office that I have no social life, and so Fridays are my day to get the baby weighed. I am sure they think I am a bit odd, but it comforts me to know that Squeeker is gaining weight well. The kid has a double chin, and I joke that he cannot hold his head up because his cheeks are weighing him down. On some unfortunate photos, he looks like a baby Jabba the Hutt. Eeep.

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He is not cooing yet, but he can smile very contentedly at the boob after a good feeding. He also seem to cry a lot more than D. did, but that is probably just us having selective amnesia *grins*

I wish I could be like other mothers I know – the ones who never raise their voices in anger, who always know how to comfort their kids, who seem to have an inexhaustable supply of patience, who don’t get easily frustrated…

I get angry and frustrated quickly. When Squeeker is crying or DemonChild is being fussy, I run out of patience in minutes. I say things I should not, and freak out my husband. In so many ways, I am a total failure as a mother and as a wife. Ten years ago, when I was a junior in college, I wanted to commit suicide. On nights like tonight, I wish I had.