The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

I work amongst some of the most ridiculous, petty drama you could imagine, considering these are all college-educated adults. This one de-friended this one on Facebook, this one screwed someone's husband and as a married woman, another one completely removed from the situation took complete offense. And because another one is BFF's with the defriended one, the de-friendee is now on her shitlist. And on and on, so it goes. I mean, really. And I try to stay out of it. I really do. There are going to be disagreements because we work long hours under stressful conditions, and we are all human. I've had my disagreements. But adults move on. And we are not going to like every person in our department. There are about 50 therapists in my department. Someone is going to dislike me, and that is okay. But be an adult. Be professional. And so this post is all about work.

Let's start with the Good, shall we? One of my coworkers asked if Zach needs any summer clothes, and since I have only bought about 5 or so summer outfits so far, I mentioned that we could use some, that I haven't really shopped. Well, she had us meet her and gave me bags of her son's cothes to go through. Oh holy crap. There were 4 pair of swim trunks, 6 pairs of sandals, 30 complete outfits and a ton more separates, 7 pairs of light pajamas, and even an unopened pack of swim diapers. All looking brand new, all designer labels. So while I had this huge list of stuff the boys needed for summer, all that is left for me to buy Zach is bigger-sized onesies. Seriously. Love it!

The Bad: Well apparently, I have upset some people and I do not know why. I shouldn't care but I do. I have always worried too much about what others think of me and have been insecure about it. But I keep noticing people from work gone from my friends list on Facebook. Unlike some of my coworkers, I will not start WW3 over it. Hell, I won't even mention it to anyone. But it kind of makes me wonder what it may be the result of. Am I just a bad person? Am I completely pathetic for even worrying about it?

The Ugly: Apparently a coworker had her annual evaluation at work and my name came up. My supervisor mentioned the "problems" we have like I would instantly know what she is talking about, and I honestly have no clue. This person is always nice to me and this was the first I had heard of it. I just played dumb when I should have spoken up. I mean, there are some people who just will not like each other, but to go so far as to bring it up to my boss? Really? And the only thing I can think of was when I first found out I was pregnant with Zach and, keeping in mind the experience I had with Evan, I was sort of upset about it. This girl had been trying to have another baby for sometime, and got very upset, to the point of screaming at me, for being upset. She now, after my pregnancy, understands, I think. But at the time she was downright mean about it. I don't know if it stems from this or not. But this worries me. What did I do?

So anyhow, that is what is on my mind. Just a little concerned.

Reunited

"Reunited and it feeeeeels so goooooood......" Ummmm, not really. Yesterday, dear bloggy friends, I reunited with an old friend. It wasn't my recess buddy in grade school or my BFF from high school. It wasn't my college confidante or one of my sorority sisters (yeah, I was one of those). It was....dun, dun, dunh....The Mart Kart.

Yeah, I know. These things are great, making it possible for the infirm and extremely elderly and handi-capable all to go buy important things like food. And medicine. And their Depends. Well, they're great and wonderful and convenient...until you have to be the one on it.

Let's start with how I became an expert driver of the Mart Kart (yes, that really is the brand name of the cart Wally World uses. (Thanks to Evan, whose young and agile brain is able to store vast amounts of such useless info.) I became an expert while preggers, when I was on either bedrest or modified bedrest, and John would shout out, "Honey, I'm going to the store!" And I would yell, "Oh hells no, I'm COMIN'!" And most times I would just waddle to the car and ride along for some scenery, windows down for some fresh air and sunshine. And sometimes, depending what was needed, I would actually go in. But aside from my team of doctors' orders, I was physically incapable of walking through any store, especially the huge box stores like Wally World, Target, BRU. He would drop me off in front before parking the car, and I would be moving so slow that people passing me on all sides would literally create a breeze effect. Because I had been in bed for months and also because as soon as I tried to stand upright, the contractions would pull my belly so tight that it automatically had me walking stooped over. I would hunch and hobble and waddle my way to the electric scooters and hop on. I had so many misadventures on those damned things and became an expert.

Target's sucked. They had the big bumper thing on the bottom to keep you from getting too close to anything in the store. But this bumper thing is what caused me to crash into everything. It is what put the feat of God in the people working the electronics and how I got the best service as they brought different cameras to me so I could look and decide on one. There was no way they were going to let me get that close to a glass case. This was, of course, the same day I took out an entire rack of newborn clothing, and I am not even going there. Click the link if you want to read about Mach 5 embarrassment like no other. It was also the week before Zach's birth.

And then there was the time I thought for sure that I had been busted by the very one from my practice who finally told me, "No more, Andrea. You are to be on bedrest until you deliver. You're done." (I later 'fessed up and discovered that while he didn't see me that day, that according to him, he has busted many a bedrester that way.)

Or the day someone accused me of being on one out of laziness. Yep, I hate the things.

So here's what went down: I woke up just a couple of hours after falling asleep on Wednesday morning with my left foot filled with this intense ache in very localized places, yet still radiating up my leg, if that makes any sense at all. I honestly thought it was the weather because it was sunny and 70 here one day and literally 34 degrees and cloudy the very next day. And trying to storm on top of that. I have a bit of arthritis in that leg after having ACL surgery in 2003, so I thought maybe it was the beginning of that type of pain. I took some ibuprofen and went back to sleep. It got worse, but I went to work that evening as planned. Within 2 hours of starting work, I had no idea how I was going to make it through the full 12 hours. It was that bad. I did make it until all of my patients had been seen, though, and I handed off my pager to one of the other therapists. I had to make J0hn come and get me, and went home to ice and elevate my foot. Which helped. Until I tried to stand on it again. I ended up in the ER, getting it x-rayed. I felt silly and stupid and was seriously worried that they would think I was drug-seeking because there is nothing visibly wrong with my foot. Nada. Except I have the ugliest feet. Bunions, ingrown toenails, calluses. Because what I do for a living doesn't go hand-in-hand with sandal season. But I got people who knew me. And I turned down the pain shot I was offered and requested an anti-inflammatory injection instead. And they said it is bad tendonitis, that they could see hazy areas of inflammation on the x-ray, and that I may have some underlying stress fractures as well, but I won't know that until it fails to get better. But I am on crutches now. And spent last night drugged up enough that I slept through the entire season finale of Jersey Shore....Erm, I mean another show--a more high-brow show that isn't so embarrassing. Sucky sucky sucky. Because I apparently work too much. (In fact, it was Wednesday and I had already worked 48 hours this week....They may have been on to something!)

And so I am grounded for a couple of days. But Zach needed diapers because I never did manage to make the switch to cloth. And he needed formula. (Completely random tidbit and silver lining in all of this? That last night, I bought either the last or second-to-last bit of infant formula I have to buy for Zach! That crap is so expensive! And I have yet to decide if I am going to use the toddler formulas they make now.) And the fridge was bare here. And so I had to use the damned scooter. Again. And John laughed at me through the entire store, though Zach watched me from his perch in the cart and seemed to be fascinated that Mommy was motorized.

Such is life.

Thanks for Ruining the Lesson....

....A$$hole.

Today, we were making the trip home from the park when we encoutered a homeless guy. I am reasonably soft-hearted about this and will do what I can. And this guy said he just needed food. So we take a detour through a nearby McDonald's drive-thru because I'm sure he didn't care about counting calories and fat content at that point. We not only bought him a combo meal, but we also got him a $30 gift card with the idea that it would feed him for a couple of days. Evan was in the backseat making his sad Evan face. The kid has a bleeding heart like me and promptly wanted us to take the man home with us to live forever. I was setting a good example by doing this in front of Evan. My way of saying, "Evan Robert, you appreciate the things you have and you always do what you can for your fellow man who may have a lot less than you." I am feeling all uber-Mom-ish and proud that I am setting such a great example. And Evan is feeling proud that we are doing something nice for the man.

So we maneuver down one-way streets to get turned around in traffic so we can drive by the man in a way that allows John to quickly hand the man the food and gift card while in traffic. And we do, and he thanks us. And so now we have to turn around again to get to the direction we were originally going. Which means we have to drive back by him.

The Bastard! He was still there. With his sign that says "feed me" or whatever it said. After I spent $40 on him because he was starving. If he were truly hungry, wouldn't he have been eating the damned food?

So lesson plan averted. Instead, Evan learned that there are people out there who will take advantage of those willing to help, that this is probably why there are so few people willing to do so anymore. And this is what is wrong with humanity in general.

Not exactly the lesson I wanted my baby to learn at such a young age. It would have been more appropriate if Evan were, say, 20 or 30. Not 9.

Bastard will probably go et in his nice car and hit the drive-thru to feed his family that is waiting at home for him. Home that is probably nicer than mine. I got swindled.

I Want Cake

I really do. I have 13 minutes left of my birthday and I want cake and am feeling jilted. I tried to replace coveted cupcake with string cheese, a la my new P90X diet plan. It didn't work. The cheese didn't come with frosting. Or sprinkles. And so I now feel like a spoiled little kid, pouting. Except that I have only admitted this here, on my blog. Oh well. I'll live, I suppose.
I'll be going home in the morning and doing my workout for today, which is Extreme Cardio or something like that. Whatever, it sounds like death. John and I took our "before" pics today, and I had the plan to put them on my little fatty-to-skinny blog, but Hell-to-the-nah, I am not showing that crap to anyone. I mean, do I really look like that? Seriously? So, in other words, I may want cake, but I definitely need to stay away from it.

Incidentally, I learned today that they are a gazillion ways to do a push-up. And all of them equally suck.
John learned what "downward dog" and "child's pose" meant. Ha!

Have Baby, Will Travel

So we are getting ready for our exodus to John's mom's for Christmas. How appropriate that we will spend Christmas Eve (The Great Ten-Year Anniversary, incidentally) in the very house where we were married in a civil service all of those years ago. I'm also excited for John's mom to meet Zach again. The last time she saw him, we could count the number of his weeks on Earth with 2 hands. He's a completely different baby by now. What am I also excited about? 6 entire days off! I didn't even have to use any vacation time, just some creative scheduling and no overtime this week. (side note: It's amazing I have any vacation time, but I do--2 weeks' worth. It accrues by the number of hours I work, and I have worked that much since my return from bedrest.)
Anyhow...
What am I not excited for? The trip. Zach is on the verge of sitting, but not quite there. After a minute or so, he will do a complete face plant. Which means baby bathtub must go. Bumbo must go. Pack'n'Play, of course, must go. John is unloading the stroller from the car as we speak, and I am opting for just the Ergo for our travel needs. And then, just when I was singing the praises of the way we have chosen to feed Zach, I found the only drawback: travel. Between frozen and fresh breastmilk, homemade baby food, and more, I have to transport a lot of stuff that must stay cold. I'm trying to get creative because I don't think I could fit a standard cooler in the car if I tried. So I finally found the benefit of buying all of those pumps, in that each one came with a day carrier. Plus I bought an extra day carrier. And then there are also all of those little ice packs sent in my shipments of breathine to keep the syringes cold. I knew I kept them for a reason. But regardless, it is a Big Operation.
In the meantime, John is out there right now, cleaning out the car that looks as if homeless people live in it. He just came in and said, in complete amazement, "Ha! The mystery is solved!" As he proffered about a half dozen Avent pacifiers that he insists he found in just one floorboard of the backseat. We had been lamenting the disappearance of the binkies just yesterday. I buy them by the truckload, it seems, but can only manage to find one at a time. And I am OCD enough that I match his pacifiers to his outfits, so this has driven me a little nuts. (I know I may need professional help, but hey, my kid always looks good, right?)
Of course this is all going on when John reminds me that I work at the urban ER tonight, which doesn't have a cafeteria. And so I have to pack food for my shift tonight, my entire pump because there is no lactation room, and more. So God help me, but there is also a huge stockpot of homemade ravioli cooking away on the stove for both my to-go meal and the big boys' dinner.
Zach keeps farting, and so I know the Great Poop is coming.
Evan cannot find his car charger for his DS. (Seriously, can't the kid just read a fricken book???)
And speaking of chargers, where in the Blue Hell is the charger for my camera?

And, holy crap, I forgot about all of those Christmas gifts I have to take.
I should've Fed-Ex'd 'em.
Screw that. I should've stuck with my ghetto, giftcards-for-everyone philosophy. I mean, did I really need to get John's stepdad the UK Snuggie because it was so cheesy that I found it hilarious?

I need a bigger car.
I still refuse to buy a minivan.
Screw it.

Ghetto Me

I've been bringing out my inner Ghetto self here recently. The evidence is as follows:

Exhibit A:
I have resurrected my maternity coat from last winter. I had been making my other non-maternity coat work--a lovely charcoal wool peacoat--until the lining got snagged and ripped. It came time to buy a new one. I had put it off over and over, but then I bought this beautifully tailord black wool peacoat from a maternity bouique. The thing cost a great deal more than I woud ever spend on a coat. And then I got put on bedrest. So other than a few rogue outings that were against doctor's orders, it never saw the light of day because I didn't. Unless you count the gazillion trips to the hospital in which I was so miserable that putting on my coat nver even came to mind. The beauty of this coat is that one could never tell it was maternity witout looking at the tag, and I noticed last weekend that it easily fits around Zach in his Ergo carrier. So I am wearing it this winter.

Exhibit B:
After our run-in with cooties, I need new furniture. I am seriously disgruntled about the bed. But the problem is our home. We live in a 2-bedroom. At the time, the price was right. Plus I was in school, and had no plans of any other children beside Evan. So here comes Zach. It was no biggie at first because I wanted Zach in my room, and if we lived in a 15-bedroom mansion, I still would have put his crib in my room. Plus, there is too much of an age gap to have him share a room with Ev. Evan will be in the throes of 'tweendom when Zach is a mere toddler. Well, my plan has fallen through. Zach has so much crap that it is taking over the entire house. (Incidentally, I forgot about this part of having a baby.) He needs his own room, and I refuse to move until we are ready to buy. I'm a big girl now and am tired of renting, but we are't exactly ready to make the leap because I cannot, at this time, afford a house that suits my above-my-means taste. So, as I am perusing furniture, I come up with what I think is a solution: a sleeper sofa! That's my bright idea. This way, as we are putting our life back together, Zach can have his own room complete with more room in other living spaces bcause his crap will be PUT AWAY in his new, all-to-himself, spcious room. John and I will sleep in the living room on the sleeper sofa. This means that is the only piece I have to buy, too. Of course I realize this will suck afer a while, but I think we can make it work for the interim before we buy a house that fits us better as a family. Then, once we reach that stage, and can be an extra bed for guests. Ghetto!

Exhibit C:
I really don't give 2 craps about this one! Unless you are my child, you are getting giftcards from me this Christmas. Sorry 'bout it! But odds are, if you got a card or gift from John and I, as a couple, in the past 10 years, I was the one who fought the crowds at the stores, fretted and waffled over what to buy for people who are as unlike me as anyone can get, then waited in line forever, ony to get home and gift-wrap the damned thing I bought. Quite honestly, I don't have time or energy for that shit this year. I have endured a hellacious pregnancy, fought cooties I brought home from my job taking care of sick people, and subsequently lost everything from said cooties. I attach myself to a milking device every 2 hours, whether I need sleep or not. I have a new baby and haven't done this crap in 9 years. And I work too much---so much that every offday is another opportunity to work more---about 70 hours per week. No matter how much I love you, I am not going to spend even more time away from my babies on your gift this year. Forgive me. I'll be less self-centered and tacky next year. Look at the bright side: your acceptance of a thoughtless gift means I may actually find time to take my offspring to see Santa, or give me a chance to bake Christmas cookies with Evan. My children will thank you!

So there you have it: Ghetto Andrea. Just a few examples of how I am losing my class.