The Infertile Gourmet

Guatemala, Adoption, Bonding Yada Yada Yada

If one were to go back and see a few posts like this one or this one and even this one, one may see that I have not taken a Pollyanna-everything-is-perfect attitude regarding my daughter's mental health.  I shall preface that there are no serious bonding or attachment issues but I will say there were truly some transitional moments that had me concerned. 

When I interviewed Scarlett Gourmet she had this to say about her changes "This is some fucked up shit.  My birth-mom whips me out at home into the arms of Sylvia the facilitator who promptly drops me off at the home of Yolanda whom I would find out later was something called my foster mother.  Yolanda would keep me for three months just as I was decorating my room and dating the cute boy next door, off I go to a bed and breakfast with this crazy white lady and someone she kept referring to as Daddy-O.  I mean come on.  Just as I was settling into this posh setting Yolando pops back in and takes me back.  What the hell?  What is all of this birth-mom, foster mom, and adoptive mom crap.  A couple of months later in pops crazy long hair white woman again and takes me to a hotel, then to a babyhouse, then to an apartment and yet to another apartment.  Months later we fly off to cold weather hell.  I had had it.  I was up to my diapers in confusion.  What do you people want from me.  Why if I could walk...."

My girl has obviously had some changes.  To say the very least.  I have done my best to handle the outpouring of emotions she has had.  Mostly all I can do with this age of a child is to hold her, sing some of our favorite songs, rock, and give little kisses on her head.  Obviously I cannot drop her off at the local psychologists office, right?  I have always whispered in her ear when she seemed upset that it was OK to cry and it was OK to be upset.  I was sorry that things seem so crazy to you. That was all I knew how to do.

Recently I happened on a blog that surprisingly was talking about some of the issues adoptive children acquire because I had this post floating in my brain.  JenEx wrote how problems can present themselves even after one assumes life has moved on from the dramatic events of pick-up.  Many of us adoptive parents are clearly aware of the problems that can occur from the small habit to the huge obvious and full blown case of attachment disorder and beyond.  Most of us accept that our children will not be perfect and will, in fact, fall someplace in the middle of this spectrum.  We read books, talk to experts, and then dive in knowing that our child will need extra help or comfort and alway keeping in the back of our minds that even a biological child comes with no manual or money-back guarantee.  Spirit decided what our child would be and hopefully guides our intuition to know how to be the best parent for that child.

So back up a few months.  I was living in Guatemala with Scarlett in the depths of PGN hell and we were having a few issues.  When I picked her up this time around I think she remembered me....I am quite sure of it.  She calmly, but reserved, came to me with no crying which was very unlike the first time in which she screamed for what felt like an eternity to my ever-desiring-to-be-a-mother heart.  Not knowing her well at the time I assumed things were going so smoothly but little did I know that Scarlett usually does not open up her lungs for just anybody.  She keeps her crying to those that she is the most comfortable rather than with strangers.

Over the next few weeks she would wake up crying as if she were having nightmares.  Uncontrollable.  Sobbing.  But once she was in my arms and over my shoulder she would quickly calm down.  Finally I felt like I was doing things right, right?  I was soothing my daughter and achieve quiet.  Was this not my job?  Then it seemed to get worse.  She would not sleep well unless she was on me and on my shoulder.  But, I had to be upright to make this work.

It got to be a problem because a woman needs her sleep and I could not stand all of the time.  If I knew what I was doing helped her and was the best thing I would have dealt with the lack of sleep but something nagged me that their was more to this problem.  So the progress was wake up and scream and immediately I would pick her up and calm her down.  Then gently try to put her down without waking her.  I felt it very important that she know I was there to comfort her so I did not want her to cry for long.  My gut said make sure she always sees that I respond to her when she cries.  This is what I did.  I would grab her quickly and do what I knew would calm her down....walking, rocking...you know typical baby stuff. 

The problem was that I was being woken up at least once an hour.  Sometimes more.  I had to do something.  I was sleepless in Guatemala.  Emotionally I was under alot of stress just being there and then lack of sleep.  Ahhhhhh.  I talked to several people about what to do.  Do I keep picking her up everytime she cries or do I lay next to her and try to soothe her and let her cry.  Even if I sat up in bed she would still cry.  She wanted me to stand up.  This is all that would calm her. So like a Scarlett puppet I would stand up a large portion of the night.  And you all wondered why I posted so little....

I decided one night to sit in my bed and hold her in my lap to cry.  Soon my friend was knocking on my door at CCH and asking what she could do.  I was at wits end.  I did not want my baby to cry but I could not stand most of the night.  She cried because she needed  comfort...

Or so I thought.  It was part of it.  I went onto mothering.com forums and started reading.  I read under the adoption part because I did not want to only hear from bio-moms.  I felt this was all tied in to all of the changes in her life.  Finally I found, surprisingly enough, another family who adopted from Guatemala and their baby was seven months old as well with the exact same problem!  This at least assured me that things were somewhat normal. 

Then I found an article that changed my whole mindset on her crying. The first part is about attachment parenting and discusses the whys and the history of this philosophy.  I am not fond of labels because every parent needs to find what works best for their family but if I were to lean towards a so called "method" it would be AP.  It fits me the best but still I think most AP parents would not say that is what I am doing so let us call it Alex parenting shall we.  So scroll down on the article until you get to the part labeled The Recognition Of Stress-release Crying.  This is what twisted my thinking.

It made sense.  When I have a good cry and I mean a gut-wrenching cry I feel better....all soft inside and spent but uber-calm and then I can go on to solve my dilemma.  What hit my like lightning was that I had not let Scarlett cry....really cry.  She was easy to quiet down.  But my job as parent is not necessarily to get my child to stop crying/being hurt/feel better.  Sometimes our job as parents are to let our children feel their emotions/let out their emotions/and to just feel whatever it is they need to feel.  Including letting them cry!

I do not mean that I left her to cry on her own.  But the next time she started crying I held her in my lap and told her sweetly and gently that it was OK to cry. I understand baby, that you are sad.  I am sorry you are hurting.  I promise to never leave you.  I am sorry that you have lost people in your life.  She cried. And cried.  I cried quietly next to her as she screamed.  I held her so softly so that she could do what she needed to do.  Then I started singing ever so gently as to not take her away from her emotions.  As she cried I felt as if I connected to her deeply and she to me.  She stared into my eyes and cried.   A babies words on my ear said that she knew I was mom.  She was safe.  Safe to cry.  Safe to mourn.  Safe to be.  How can I explain that connection that we had.  It was a feeling ever so bittersweet and warm.  How do you explain that feeling when you look into your lovers eyes or the feeling that you feel when your baby was born?  How do you explain the feeling of a loved one dying?  Intensity?  Love?  Feelings. Emotions.  Connections. Grace. Depth.  Soul.  Amazing.  But on I sang and sang and finally after about an hour she started quieting and fell asleep.  She slept better that night than she ever had. 

The next night I thought she would be back to her old routine.  But, I was surprised she again slept very well.  I think for that whole month she never had a chance to work out her stress and once she had she was better.

I noticed the same pattern pop up again when we moved to the new apartment.  After about a week she had her crying breakdown and again I sang to her while she cried and rocked back and forth.  She was better!  Again!

So all of the worrying I did that she was transitioning badly was probably not necessary.  But, there is still a chance she may suffer from all of the changes at such an early age.  I have to be vigilantly aware of this.  Access these issues and find the best solution when they arise.  This is all I can do. 

Scarlett is healthy, happy, and generally easy going.  Hopefully, I have lucked out and skipped over major attachment issues.  Chances are I have because she is attached to me and very much to my husband. 

I remember before I got back to Guatemala I continued to worry that I was not there for prime bonding time which many experts say is between 5 to 7 months.  But, what are we adoptive parents to do except to love our children when we get them.  There is also something that reassured my concern which is that as long as a child has had someone to bond with before they reach two they usually will bond fine with whomever is their new caregiver.   

When we returned to the States she again had a crying fit and was better. 

Maybe the point of all of the concern is to just not worry.  Love your child with all of your heart and do the best that you can do which might just be God-inspired.  After-all it was spirit who placed that child in your lap to keep warm and loved...divine?  I think so.

A mother's love (and father's of course) is strong, deep, and unyielding.  Truly a special relationship is that of motherhood.  How amazing is it that we are blessed with tiny souls to nurture and grow? 

So much planning and thought goes into the creation of our children.  How many of us have written letters to our children before we ever gave birth to them or physically held them?  We did this because we did love them before we physically knew them.  However brief their stay was on earth, however long it took to get to hold them, no matter how humanly challenged they are or will be, no matter what they look like and how they behave, whether or not they attach quickly, no matter if they are biological or adopted, no matter if they are alive or dead, we all love our children.  Perfection in our children is a moot point.  We love whatever ice cream scoop we are dished up by the hands of spirit.

 

A Week At The Gourmet's

Shall I update you on the going-ons of the Gourmets?

Miss Scarlett turned one on the 20th and for her birthday she got Roseola which of course is way better than anything  Barney...that little purple bastard.  God how I hate that purple thing.   I digress.  She asked to go camping so the day before the big day off we went with the dogs and the Perry clan (our pals).  The usual camping stuff was had....smores, swimming, tick infestation, fires, and too much food.  Scarlett, who absolutely loves to swim, stuck her feet happily in the freezing cold water and played with rocks.  She had a fabulous time. 

Saturday we packed up to head home and by the time I took her out of her carseat she was burning up.  The thermometer read 105.5 and I promptly flipped the fuck out, through her in the bathtub, and dosed her with Tylenol.  Called the doctor who sent us to the ER at Cardinal Glennons Children Hospital.  Who does not love a Saturday night visit to the ER.  The only problem with this was it was so PG.  At least if you are going to camp out in an ER for an eternity you at least want to see some action.  The occasional gun shot wound, the obvious gang member with his pants to his ankles, the psychotic screaming old guy, and the token bitchy ass nurse who hopefully gets smacked by said gang member.  But no.  Barney was playing on the TV instead of Jerry Springer.  There was a nice concerned grandmotherly figure tending to the child in her arms.  Kids were sneezing so politely.  And the damn nurses were so friendly.  WTF.  Boring.

The doctor was very un-alarmed by Scarlett's fever. I guess she would have needed to have Scarlett fever or a gunshot wound to get any serious attention.   I even got the "new parents, huh?"  What annoyed me about getting the neurotic first-time parent award was that fact that my doctor sent me out of concern for the high fever.  I gladly would have stayed at home if my doctor said to do so. 

So all week Scarlett has not left my lap except to go to Daddy-the-God.  Essentially I have been on house arrest with a Scarlett ankle band.  Which is why you have seen my commenting and visiting your pads. We have had a continuous spiking fever up to 105.5 and have cleared Walgreens of their Tylenol.  Stock tip....Buy Tylenol stock....retire next week.  This is so old considering she has been sick for like a month.  After almost two weeks of the rota-virus-esque thing she got Impetigo which looks like an invisible flesh eating monster is attacking your child.    Then two more teeth came in much to the disgrace of my delicate ears and well worn nerves.  Then, oh glory, she gets this fever disease.  Blllaaaaaaaahhh. 

I am numb from all of the illnesses....come on chicken pox show me what you got.  I will sick Barney on your ass.

Quite honestly the saving grace has been the box set of Einstein videos the drug dealing grandparents sent.  I swear it is baby heroine in a box.  My child has officially been Einsteined.

In other news, did I mention I turned thirty and yes I have one gray hair thank you very much.  Moving on.

I am not sure you all know this about me but I enjoy cursing.  Sure, sure once upon a time I looked down my stuck up nose at any heathen who could not come up with more clever words than those that were rated R but then I became infertile and a sailor.  I daily exercise my bad word muscles.  But, hey even this heathen knows that I have a child and soon, oh so damn soon, she will be saying more than duck duck goose, kitty, doggy, and daddy.  (For her safety it had better be mommy  m-o-m-m-y  you know that lady who changes your diapers all day long...yeah that one) I can see it now...talking to our rabbi my one year old daughter will say Fuck or shit.  Much to my ever lasting shame or well at least until I can get to my blog to write about it and laugh.  I would like to pretend the rabbi would be appalled and shocked but even I know that he knows me better than that.  I digress. 

So, it is time that I start trying on some new words.  I have tried a few already.  Jokingly Zut Alors! was used for a bit.  It had some punch to it.  Rolled off the foul tongue rather easily but was lacking.  Then somewhere under the rainbow came the word Smurf.  Now, even as a child I sensed their was something sinister about Papa Smurf and his gang.  Something just under the surface which is why I had no problem using the word in vain.  SMURF YOU!  See has a nice ring to it.  Or something like SMURF OFF ASSHOLE!  Even better.  Instead of shit....SMURF!  I rather like it.  It has a certain Je ne sais qois. is this correct...Pardon my french.

I have removed 14 ticks who hitched-hiked a ride on my dogs to the burbs.  They chose terribly.  Location, location, location.

Next Saturday we will be having a birthday party for the darling and you are invited. Yes, you.  And you and you too.  Please come. After 4.  No, not this Saturday unless you want Scarlett's fever for a party favor.  Next.  Let me know you are coming, OK?

I think that is it.  Until tomorrow.

Coming Clean

In the history of my blog I have never censored myself or went back and changed what I had written.  Many times I have gone back and read what I wrote and squirmed in embarrassment or shame for being outlandish, obnoxious, sentimental, or disclosing the depths of my vulnerable soul.  Well, that is until December and I wrote a post about how I dislike Scarlett...for mere nanoseconds.  I had gotten two emails from readers who were offended by the post and thought it was not a good idea to write what I had.  The first post is here and the second is here. 

I took them down because at the same time I was getting back-lash there was another Guatemalan blog that came down in entirety and it was rumored because PGN (the God of adoption decision making) had come across it and was causing problems for this family.  So in a paranoid run-from-the-law- kind of way we went incognito for the duration of my stay in Guatemala to just be on the safe side.  I had no right to jeopardize Scarletts station in life.  Now, she is mine and I will gladly repost the link to make myself look like the ass I am quite often.  I would have done it sooner but ummmm if you have been reading for anytime you would know about my great ability to procrastinate. 

I am re-publishing them because this was an honest part of my experience.  I was going mad from a lack of sleep, struggling to keep my head from thinking that Scarlett may never go home with me, and missing everything and anything that meant "home".  This is the whole story. 

In addition to posting the original brouhaha I thought that I would share another letter that I received:

Hi. I don't know you and you don't know me, but a friend of mine stumbled across your blog and sent me the link.

I must start by saying you are pretty gutsy to be going through the adoption process and be writing a blog where you state that you "dislike her" or that "she is like those pesky little burs one gets on their clothes." I have children of my own, I got pregnant at 16, I was young and stupid and knew absolutely nothing about raising a child. I was blessed with a gift to be pregnant, but somehow at 16 it took me a little while to realize that. GOD obviously wanted me to bear children. I got through it, it was rough, especially when my son cried for hours on end for no apparent reason and I had to get up and go to school the next day. The funny part about this story, unlike you, I never once said that I disliked him. I was his mother and I had to figure out what he needed so that we could go on with our night. That's the job of a mother.

Sure, you're going to get frustrated, it's a tough job. Did you ever consider that maybe you were not able to conceive on your own because you just weren't meant to be a mother? It's not meant for everyone!!!

I work with autistic children and like infants, they lash out and cry for no reason. I get the crap beat out of me at times simply because they have no means of expressing that they are hurt or in pain. It's not an easy job either, but I do it because like my children, they need love and compassion, they need to have individuals in their lives who they can rely on when they have a problem or when they're upset.

The bonding process with this beautiful little girl would go much more smoothly if when resting in your arms, she didn't feel the frustration and tension that you hold. I'm sure there are other areas in your life that cause you stress as well and she can sense those too.

I have two children ages 6 and 4. I can tell you right now that infancy with its tense moments, is no comparison for what's to come. The battles that you will have over eating dinner, cleaning bedrooms, doing well in school, not fighting, not back talking, the list goes on and on. I love my children in every way possible. They frustrate me and drive me crazy, but I love them and they love me. I am their mother. It's a cycle of life. They have to mess up in order to know what's right.
So I'm asking you to consider all of these things before finalizing an adoption. It is a long process and not a bur that you can just brush away. Children come with many faults as do we the struggle is overcoming them and raising incredible children that will represent your family.

Good luck with your endeavors and know that I am not writing this in order to battle back and forth with you. I felt that were posting a blog and had to realize that there would be comments on it, that is exactly what I'm doing.  Casondra

So, wow, where do I begin?

.

I must start by saying you are pretty gutsy to be going through the adoption process and be writing a blog where you state that you "dislike her" or that "she is like those pesky little burs one gets on their clothes."

I guess I am gutsy or just plain stupid to say something that could be taken out of context {context is five years of struggle).  I am proud to state she is still quite pesky and fiery...just the way I ordered her from god.  I, my soul, never could have a weak and straight-laced child who did not give me a run for my money.She will need all the peskyness in her to thrive and prosper in life.  And sometimes, just sometimes a little internal drama-queen goes to making one's life filled with passion.  I hope her life is filled with passion.                      

I have children of my own, I got pregnant at 16, I was young and stupid and knew absolutely nothing about raising a child.

It truly would be a struggle and a challenge to parent at this age and kudos to you Casondra for doing that.  But, on the other hand I have planned, dreamed, and thought out what kind of parent I wanted to be, what morals I would instill in my children, and the people I hoped they would become.  Our situations are very different but the end result for both our families is that hopefully our children will be happy, loved, and had every opportunity that we could provide for them.  Because, you see, we do see eye to eye on the love of our children.

I was blessed with a gift to be pregnant, but somehow at 16 it took me a little while to realize that. GOD obviously wanted me to bear children. I got through it, it was rough, especially when my son cried for hours on end for no apparent reason and I had to get up and go to school the next day. The funny part about this story, unlike you, I never once said that I disliked him. I was his mother and I had to figure out what he needed so that we could go on with our night. That's the job of a mother.

Sure, you're going to get frustrated, it's a tough job. Did you ever consider that maybe you were not able to conceive on your own because you just weren't meant to be a mother? It's not meant for everyone!!!

Being pregnant would be quite a gift...and in my world a cheap way of acquiring children because as you may not know since you have apparently not read my blog I have dolled out close to 80 grand or more to get my little darling.  So in this sense I am pea green with envy of your ovaries...because quite frankly mine suck.  I am not sure it is funny that I said I disliked my daughter.  I am sure you think that you are a better mother than me.  Hey, maybe you are.  I do not know.  Unlike you I assume you are a very decent mother doing the damn best that you can.  Me too.  I am doing the best that I can.  Quite frankly I think this comment is a little bit of a mommy-drive-by considering you have never been in my house to see how Scarlett is adored and her highness is reared.  I  am impressed that you could get up and go to school the next day.  That must have been very hard. I do know being a single mommy is terribly hard.  My guess is that you had someone to hand your child too or at least could speak to your neighbors in English.  When I wrote my incriminating post I was away from everything I knew....my bed, husband, neighbors, culture, family, and even Starbucks.  For this yuppy mom that was tragic.  Oh see there is that sarcasm again because you could take that wrong and think I am uber-shallow because all I cared about was Starbucks but in reality I just never mentioned the cliche struggle that I was really having...you know the stuff under the S.Bucks joke.  For the record I dig S.Bucks.  I was sick, with a sick baby, in a foreign country, with little contact from my family or husband, needing a place to live, find where to shop, how to get around, and god forbid I need to go to the doctor because I have not the slightest clue where the hell the doctor was.  Am I painting the struggle that I was in? 

When I said kudos to you there was not a drop of sarcasm.  From one mother to another I know how hard it is and probably was......good job for doing your best.

I do have one problem with your  thought on who God wants to have children.  I have a huge mega gigantic problem with your statement that I was maybe just not meant to have children.  So anything worth struggling for is not meant to be?  Then why undertake school?  Or attempting to find a new job?  Or moving to a new house?  Presuming to know what God intends for yourself much less a stranger is highly insulting and naive.  Under your theory of how God works....I was not meant to bear my own children did you stop to think that maybe God intended me to seek out this child and parent her when her mother was not able to do so?  Who else would have taken care of my Scarlett in this world?  I think I was meant to care for her.  May I make a few more examples of this line of thinking....so if one has cancer did God intend for them to not leave a healthy life?  Should they just commit suicide and cease to try to beat their cancer?  I tried beating my ovaries.  Ovaries= 1 point.  Me=0  Next game.  Adoption Me=winner

On a second thought maybe this idea rubs me the wrong way because, in fact, I have questioned whether God wanted me to have children.  It is a sucky line of thinking.  It takes one soul to depths I prefer not to think about presently. Been there, done that.  It is a rough ride and honestly it is something just about every infertile woman questions....infertility spirituality 101.  So your idea is so not new and is so cliche and has been hashed out on every infertile's blog at least once....

The bonding process with this beautiful little girl would go much more smoothly if when resting in your arms, she didn't feel the frustration and tension that you hold. I'm sure there are other areas in your life that cause you stress as well and she can sense those too.

The bonding with me is fine and was fine.....but I also wanted to allow her the room to mourn, hurt, and cry over what she has lost at her young age. She will probably not remember but somewhere in her psyche she will sense what she has lost. 

So I'm asking you to consider all of these things before finalizing an adoption. It is a long process and not a bur that you can just brush away. Children come with many faults as do we the struggle is overcoming them and raising incredible children that will represent your family.

Long process?  Have you been through this.... are you telling me how this process goes....that is seriously annoying.  I cannot brush her away.  Did you assume you were reading the blog of an idiot?  I shall reiterate again that I had moved to a foreign country for an unknown amount of time,  I was spending my last two dimes,  and  was a few months from going home.  I could not commit anymore than that.

Good luck with your endeavors and know that I am not writing this in order to battle back and forth with you. I felt that were posting a blog and had to realize that there would be comments on it, that is exactly what I'm doing.

Fair enough....it is a place to comment however you sent it to my email not on my blog in the comment section.  Were you afraid that maybe you were not completely fair and you did not want the backlash?  I will give you the benefit of the doubt because maybe you just do not do the blogging thing enough.  I also want to admit I have been a bit snotty.  But, I am feeling snotty.  I hate when what I say is twisted or misunderstood.  But, you were not fair either in what you said. Did you even go back to read some of my blog?  Find out who I am?  I take responsibility for writing something that was a bit shock and awe rather than well thought out.  I do expect people to disagree with me from time to time but with respect.  What else can I say about this?

I questioned whether or not to even  respond to this email.  On one hand Cassondra made some fine points...none about my character but about parenting in general.  I can admit that for two days after I received her email I second guessed myself.  Why as parents do we have to do this?  Why did she read one post and write off this email?  I just felt like my character never got to defend itself.  My ego was a hair bruised as well which of course said something about my strength at the time.  I was low and felt kicked when I was down. 

So that is all.  I think I am done saying my piece.

Present Day Yippies and Mr Einstein

Let me tell you what the Einsteiny thing is about Baby Einstein.  For parents who are Yippies (part yuppy party hippy) we took pride in the fact that our children would not be evil TV watchers.  Yes, our children would frolick outside in nature, hugging trees, and plotting the next Kid Co. kind of money making scheme.  Oh yes.  Our children would be shielded from the over sexualized, visually stimulating, and mind mushing boob tube.

But now.  Well, now. All I can say is that when your kid is sick, your sick, and your mother-in-law has sent you a box load of Baby Einstein you use it.  And I mean USE it.  David plopped in front of the TV with a screaming Scarlett and she was transformed to quiet baby.  David sat and stared.  He giggled.  She giggled.  They were mesmerized by the music. 

They only returned to reality when the machine cut them off.  DVD over.  Pay up.  David stated quite clearly...This is BABY CRACK.  And grandma is the drug dealer.

So here I sit on the couch actually typing away sans baby trying to help because she is busy watching :)  Now that she is getting a healthy dose of autism-inducing stimuli I can blog.  Blog my concerns away.

This illness is kickin' my fecal-matter-germaphobe self.  Five outfits a day bite the dust.  I have done more laundry than I care to even give my mind a spin about, washed and decontaminated more surfaces, and discussed the quality of the poop more times than I have ever desired.  I fully have the grasp on what a blow-out means for the love of all things good.  I even have the homemade Pedialyte recipe in my head.  How is that for Gourmeting out this rota-virus-esque illness.

Now that I have watched this video in tres langues Je entiendo muchas stuff.  Scarlett has been playing along with the remote control and not only has my almost one year old figured out how to work it I believe she is reprogramming the remote to get our satelite back that was turned off...ummm bills :)  Yuck.  She has a way with electroniques.  Seriously.  She called someone cell phone the other night at 11pm and I lamely told the guy sorry my daughter was playing with the phone.  I swear he said yeah right because as you know most kids are not up at that time of night.  Which is yet another example of how addictive this Einstein shit is.  My techy one year old is not disturbing my computer usage....

duh

duh

blep

duh-uh

Oh sorry I uh stopped to watch some swirly color lava imbibed with music....damn that Einstein.

So back to what is so genius about this Einstein crap....I am not naive enough to think that this is going to make my child smarter or more cultured.  I am smart enough to know when I do in fact take her to the symphony she is going to look for the doggy puppet who makes an appearance in all videos. She will wonder where the visuals are in the beautiful hall where the symphony is played but I digress.  What is so smart about these videos is that it entices a one-year old to watch for an infinite time.  Nothing grasps the attention span of a one year old better than baby crack. And you can bet your ass that the creators know this. There is actually one more thing that entices my Scarlett...a random tube of Burt's Bees coconut foot creme.  Go figure. 

Yet, I take full responsibility that my child's IQ has dropped 20 points and will not make it into Mensa.  But, hey, I am the genius because I am smart enough to put my naive pre-child assumptions aside to survive this bitch called motherhood.  My child is not screaming. 10 points to this Einstein mother!

Hurley Girly

Perfumed is a lovely way to drift through your day.  As a note of floral sweet goodness graces the nose, one can feel sweet themselves.  On an opposite note.....

David asked me last night if Scarlett had ever puked like her friend Leia has been doing (excorcist schmexorcist....the movie producers could take notes on her skill).  I gleefully with a hair of boastfullness said no! 

Shall I breach you on Murphy's Law?  No, you are already aware of it huh?  Good, cause' misery loves company. 

So you know where this was going.  Scarlett was caught drinking curdled raw goat milk this morning....you know the rogue bottles that infest sleepy parent's duvets at night?  Right.  Well I turn over to see Miss Scarlett swigging that bottle like a guy on his 21st birthday.

Fast forward four hours later when we were supposed to be helping out Lynette with her twins for the day.  Scarlett sits up on my lap and Bleeeeehhhhhhhhhhhhhsssssssssssssssssss  all over me and my friend's chair.  Ewwwwwwwww because I have a gag reflex like a ditzy blonde screams in a horror movie.  Chunks of goat cheese slid down and made a lovely presentation on all.

No help we were to my friend who now had to help do damage control with two screaming babies.  Bath. New clothes off the hanger and into the bouncer until I got the mess cleaned up.  Wait for it.  Wait for it.  She grunted her face as if she actually had to squeeze and had a blow out diaper on my friend's babies clothes and up her back.  EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.

When I arrived home I thought the worst was over.  Yes, feel free to laugh at my dumb ass now.

Gave her a bottle and not two shakes of a leg later she puked up more milk.  Oh and curds and whey.  Take that little Miss Muffet who should get off of her tuffet and help clean up. Miss Muffet was not help but guess who did.....my dogs.  Oh yeah.  I saw an exceptionally large hunk of curdled milk...otherwise known as goat cheese for you gourmets out there....a fine cheese indeed.  Vegetarians would be happy the rennet was from a child.   

So back to the bathtub my bathing princess went.  Dressed her in new clothes and you know where this is going as well, right?  More diarrhea.  I am thouroughly ready to jump off the roof by this point but oh how I would laugh at my naivete and wimpiness at this point later on. 

Clean.  Dressed.  Homemade pedialyte made to ward of the Prince of Dehydration Darkness.  Husband arrives home.  Laughing at me dealing with the dirty parts of a child.  Adoring child of Daddy sits in his lap and smiles and coos.  Takes a bottle of my potion which set off the mother of all blow-outs.  All.  Over. Daddy.  Down his pants.  Soaked through to his underwear.  Fell-to-the-floor-blowout!  Massive bio-hazard mess cleanup was undertaken.  Haz-mat crews arrived on scene.  Bodies were stripped.  Again.  Showers were at full steam.  Washing machine kicked into gear at our time of need.  Gag reflexes were on overdrive.  Me who is the most terrible germaphobe when it comes to fecal matter laughed so hard at David covered in ick.  Because what else can you do but laugh when your house turns into a bio-hazard and you can never kiss your husband again because you know what he was once covered in.

Then I suspected that maybe this was more than a little soured milk.  She was starting to cook.  Temp is now up to 103.  Blahh.  My poor girl.  But, do you know what she has been doing all night...except for the toxic spills?  She has been giggling.  Smiling.  Laughing.  Making airplane noises.   

Usually my girl likes to spread out onto the bed with no fanfare of cuddling.  Tonight, my sweet lovey, reached out to me wanting me to snuggle up next to her and she pulled me closer so she could rest her head on my breast.  She smiled at me as she fell asleep... pink cheeked from fever. It is moments like this when your child reaches out with the most sincerest innocence that takes the grit out of everyday mothering.  My child so innocently needs her mommy.  Melty melty heart good stuff. Kind of like a tuna melt on a rainy day or a good book and a fire on a snowy one.

Have you ever worn Eau du vomit?  I have changed, showered, and dressed in new clothes yet, occasionally I get the waffling smell of lingering floral tones of puke.  I have smelled everywhere but still I have yet to find the source of my smell. Really, not my best smell.   

So off I go to go cuddle my very own bio-hazard....