let’s talk scalding hot cooters
cuz i almost lost mine this morning. yes, my cooter came THIS CLOSE to dying a horrific and blistering death this morning thanks to scalding hot coffee and sleep deprivation.
if you saw my tweets this morning, you may have experienced the aftermath of my near-cooter-demise…
mind you, i am not currently covered in lower abdominal boils, nor are there any pinkish, tender areas of said cooter region… but HOLY CRAP YA’LL it was traumatizing, and most definitely NOT how one wants to wake up in the morning, especially a monday morning.
because, mondays suck. no matter what takes place during your day… if it’s a monday, it sucks. sorry, but it just does.
if the week began on a tuesday, tuesdays would suck. alas, it begins on a monday, thus mondays suck.
back to my cooter…
i’m lucky enough to have one of those fantastically hot husbands who gets up before i do in the morning and brings me coffee in bed. ((((swoon)))) i know, and i love every second of it, especially when he brings me a dark chocolate covered biscotti along with the coffee.
paul knows i need AT LEAST one cup of coffee running through my veins before i can begin to contemplate my day with the magoo. on special occasions, like president’s day, or mondays when paul needs to get to work early because he has a class to teach at 7:55, he’ll add not one BUT TWO shots off espresso to my coffee.
a friend of ours once told us this coffee beverage is referred to as a “hammer head,” but we prefer to be crude about it and create out own names using both the words “hammer” and “head” on an individual basis in order to create such inappropriate names.
it’s fun.
so, this morning, paul gets up with his alarm… he shaves… and then proceeds to make my “jack hammer” out in the kitchen while i continue to sleep peacefully. he places the delicious beverage on my nightstand along with a dark chocolate covered biscotti, and then wakes me up…
BY SHAKING ME VIOLENTLY BECAUSE OTHERWISE NO ONE WILL BE ABLE TO WAKE ME FROM MY SLUMBER!!!
once paul sees me adjust myself from the position of fully laying down to sitting somewhat upright and sipping my coffee, he goes to the bathroom to shower and continue his morning routine.
little did he know that i would fall back to sleep while sitting up…
AND SPILL FUCKING COFFEE WITH FUCKING ESPRESSO ON MY FUCKING COOTER!!!
i mean for christ’s sake, i close my eyes for ONE SECOND and the coffee mug goes…
give me a break!!!
so my lower abdomen that houses my c-section scar, thereby giving me two bellies, is scalded through my tshirt. and then i raise the tshirt and see BELOW…
and the underpants (don’t worry, they were boy-shorts, not granny panties) were soaked…
my cooter was MAGENTA with fury.
i lept out of bed, but this of course meant that i spilled that much more of my “head jack” on the bed, wasting that much more of the lusciously caffeinated beverage and soaking our sheets.
the now 1/4 cup mug of coffee is placed on my nightstand, the dark chocolate biscotti still awaits tantalizing my taste buds, and i disrobe. i strip down, leaving my coffee-soaked tshirt and underpants on the sheets and light blanket that have been covered in the “jack hammer” that paul made for me to enjoy.
i knock on the bathroom door. paul opens it.
HIM: “hey.”
ME: “move over. i spilled the fuckin coffee and i’m soaked.”
HIM: “that sucks.”
ME: “no shit. move over.”
HIM: “are you hurt?”
ME: “well, it didn’t feel good.” (then showing him my MAGENTA pink abdomen)
HIM: “dang.”
ME: “yeah, thanks. shampoo please.”
and thus began my monday… how was yours???
a knee brace, constipation and a drafted book rolled into a burrito topped with awesome sauce
the magoo is constipated. this happens occasionally with his GI issues. his former pediatric GI specialist in jacksonville had a sign in his office with a sad face on it that said the following…
“when somebody is constipated, everybody is unhappy.”
and it’s so true. so very very true. i just want my kid to shit. that’s all. just take a dump for crying out loud. i’ll stop feeding you so much dairy (though lately you have a thing for yogurt). i’ll put the string cheese on hold.
JUST FRIGGIN TAKE A CRAP!!!
trust me, we will ALL benefit.
miralax has been added to his juice and we’ll see if that gets things-a-movin…
(i know, i know… TMI… but that’s what’s goin on at the moment.)
in other news, i had my busted knee follow-up appointment today with my rockin’ douche-nozzle of an orthopedic. i refer to him this way because truly he is… and if the shoe fits…
honestly though, i have yet to come across an orthpod who isn’t ridiculously cocky, has no bedside manner, and just wants to pass you off to get an MRI or physical therapy.
for me, a few weeks ago, my MRI showed that i had a hair-line fracture in my knee cap and torn cartilage. whoopity do. so i take those results to my 6 week follow up today and the douch-nozzle orthropod wants to send me to physical therapy twice a week.
as he starts writing out the request/prescription/whatever paperwork one needs to receive PT, i object.
“i can’t do PT twice a week. i have a toddler… remember, that’s how i got the injury in the first place… tripping over the baby gate. i can’t do PT.”
“well that’s the course of action i am recommending,” dr. douche nozzle responds.
“isn’t there something else i can do? PT twice a week would mean i need to hire a babysitter twice a week for however many hours to get me here to bend and flex and strengthen and whatnot. i can’t afford that.”
so i get the brace. not the full-on knee immobilizer (ya know, the one that goes from your ankle basically up to your nether parts and barely allows you to move), but nevertheless it’s big ol’ knee brace. a “patella brace” is what the guy who fitted me for it called it as i rolled my eyes and thought to myself, “this thing won’t fit under my skinny jeans dammit.”
supposedly it will keep my fractured patella more stable as i chase after the magoo and avoid baby gates all together.
the upside is that quiet time and nap time for magoo means that while i ice my knee, immobilize my patella, i write. this is good because i’ve been working on a book… well, two books actually, but one that has the potential to go somewhere and it’s nice to have time set aside for that endeavor.
so, it’s off to work i go, typing away, elevated leg and all… and awaiting what i hope is a massive amount of magoo shit when he wakes from his slumber.
******
advice for at-home PT that i can do on my own so i can get out of this patella brace asap???
bumps, bruises and giggles
with the magoo being a year and a half old (i cannot believe i just wrote that), i find him constantly bumping into things, running into things, and banging into things.
he’s climbing, jumping, stomping, throwing… but not always in the “right” direction, though well intended.
as a result he gets the occasional toddler injury. a scrape. a bump on the noggin. a bruise on the knee. a bee sting.
ouch.
burn.
tender.
my mother-in-law said something to me recently about jackson that has resonated with me. she has noticed this new independent streak in jackson now that he has hit 18 months.
she told me how she watches him on the playground and he no longer needs her to guide him, protect him, watch his every move with an anxious eye. she told me that jackson will go play and then come and check in with her… then go play again.
and i witnessed this yesterday while i watched the magoo climb up the ladder to a slide by himself with my mother-in-law’s words in the back of my mind.
jackson never once whined for me to come assist him. he just did it, as though he has been doing it all along. i didn’t have to remind him to sit on his bum before sliding down. and he didn’t ask me to “puch mom.”
when he got to the bottom of the slide and hit the ground 1/2 on his diapered rear and 1/2 on his side, he looked up at me with his big brown eyes awaiting my reaction. i looked down at him and said “what hun?” then the magoo laughed and laughed and laughed himself into a frenzy.
the palms of his hands were a little scraped from the gravel. and today there is a small peanut-sized bruise on the side of his right thigh where he hit the ground.
but he’s climbing the ladder again.
sliding down again.
bump.
thump.
giggle.
when shit hits the fan
tuesday… right? today is tuesday?
yes, ok… the 6th. right? the 6th?
paul’s birthday is friday.
cards. can’t forget the cards. mine, jackson’s, and the dog’s.
THE BIG GIFT. must NOT forget THE BIG GIFT.
my knee resembles the balloon jackson got at trader joe’s.
even the reddish tinge. nice.
got an orthopod to see me today at 2 thanks to a cancelation.
someone must love me.
mother-in-law arrives tonight so i can be off my feet for the next 3 days.
magoo and i head to atlanta saturday.
sunday i go help with the twins. THE TWINS.
shit, my knee.
fuckin baby gate.
crap, i cussed twice in two sentences. mom will be mad.
i want my mommy.
new ottomans come today.
yes, ottomanS, plural… we got two.
our couch is 9 feet long.
we are big people. we need big furniture.
i hope this orthopod gives me better drugs than vicodin.
if i have to go in an MRI tube, i will lose my shit.
whatever, my shit is already lost.
i should start packing for seattle/portland trip.
returning from THE TWINS trip with 24 hours to repack and head out west for 10 days.
10 days no magoo.
cue tears.
but yay, cuz i’m getting this tattoo!!!
rowan tree branch (paul's birth tree)
dad will not like that i’m putting it on my arm.
“rut ro reorge.”
i’m an inked mom.
i LOOOOOOOVE being an inked mom.
no, i don’t see myself going back to teaching.
my master’s degree will not serve a purpose in the future.
i’m a writer.
i have 4 book proposals going.
i just started writing fiction!!!
holy crap, can’t believe i just wrote that.
I’M WRITING FICTION!!!
i’m stoked.
i’m a mom.
i’m a writer.
i’m a gimp.
dammit i better not need surgery on my knee.
*big sigh*
how do people do this with more than one child?
honestly?
how?
oh, and how do people do this with their placenta???
tom… katie… suri… scientology… whut???
no, i didn’t just say that.
eyebrow wax thursday.
CANNOT forget that.
i need an agent.
really need to get on that and make that a priority.
need to call in some favors…
need to have my fuckin knee not make me want to drive an ice pick through my eye cuz maybe that would hurt less.
don’t trip over baby gates.
don’t get your foot caught on the handle of the baby gate as you step over it.
just take the damn thing down to walk into the next room.
sure, it might be more of an effort… but heed my words you parents of not-yet-toddlers.
don’t trip over baby gates.
seattle/portland bloggers, i will be out there oct. 17-27th.
let’s hang.
i think i’m running out of last minute favors to ask of my mother-in-law.
seriously. she should start running a tab on me.
i’ll have to be bed-ridden the next three days in order to help with THE TWINS come sunday.
oh i can’t wait to see my rach.
nana will have three straight days of magoo… and then return with pops to have 10 (yes, TEN) straight days of magoo while i’m out west with paul.
i’m a spoiled bitch.
can i ask for percocet?
can you ask for stuff like that? just out right ask for it?
i mean all they can do is say “no,” right? and then look at you like you’re a pill-popping-mom-junkie.
awesome.
a case of the crazies
in an attempt to prove myself a super hero and get over my knee injury, i went sans vicodin yesterday afternoon and evening. i have a tendency to do this when overcoming an injury.
i sum up my super-healing powers (paul thinks i have said powers) and prove myself to be a rockstar. this occurred when i was in the hospital, post c-section. i took nothing other than an 800 mg ibuprofen. i know. i’m a little kooky when it comes to this… a little competitive… and quite possibly on the verge of being certifiably nuts.
so last night, i go sans vicodin, and instead i ice my knee while watching a movie with paul and enjoying some good brews.
i know, i know, you’re not supposed to drink when taking pain killers… but i hadn’t taken one since yesterday morning. i was in the clear. totally in the clear.
or so i thought…
**********
this morning paul asks, “do you remember asking me ‘whose tiara are you wearing’ last night?”
i respond with, “you’re joking right. i mean seriously. i didn’t even take a vicodin!!! c’mon!!!”
“so what else did i say?” i ask paul, feeling like he will soon have me committed for my sleep crazies.
paul says, ” well, i was like, ‘what do you mean?’ and you said ‘yeah, just check the time and date on the tiara to see whose it is.‘”
i went back to sleep. my husband laughed at me and then rolled back over.
great, just another crazy sleep story to add to my collection.
**********
in terms of my knee, i’m totally challenging myself and going sans vicodin… reason being that sunday is octoberfest, and dammit-to-hell, i’m going. we live within walking distance (though this may be more of a negative than a positive in my case) and i’m determined to go and partake in the beers and sausages.
today will be my trial period… going sans vicodin. i mean, it’s for a good cause…
**********
so who lost their tiara and lent it to paul last night???
Have a Sip
