DNA

I have an actual post that has been put on hold for a bit, but I just had to share this picture. Initially, I thought that it was one of those that would get deleted right away (because of the magnificance that IS digital photography that allows me to take 10 pictures in the hopes of getting one where all the fingers are out of noses and at least one eye is open on all involved). But... the resemblence between Paul and Eli is uncanny here, and it makes me laugh. Eli has that, "COME ON MOM JUST TAKE THE PICTURE" look down PAT.

Unnecessary Organs. Who knew there were such things?

So, you would think that our bodies are pretty put-together, right? Like we have everything we need, and lack anything that would just get in the way. We have ten fingers because that's how many we need. 11 would just be showing off. Only two eyes because if parents actually saw everything, childhood wouldn't be nearly as fun. We have a liver to... uhm... process alcohol? And an esaphagus because that would just be weird if our stomachs were right up there in our necks.

So it's weird to me that there are organs in our bodies that are so unnecessary that they can be completely removed without any dire consequences.

First, let me apologize to my mother. Because I know what it's like to grow a human. It's hard. It's nine long months getting fatter, heartburn, and general crappiness. You grew me from scratch, and here I am, just tossing organs away like they were scrap. So sorry. I'll make it up to you.

Oh, sorry. Did I forget to give a little backstory? Let me rewind just a little.

A few weeks ago I was sitting downstairs with Alex, minding my own business, enjoying an episode of Wonder Pets (who are awesome, and they save everyone). I started to have some uncomfortable pains in my chest, which soon spread to my back. To be short, it felt like someone had taken a hold of my rib cage and was trying to forcibly remove it from my body. Not comfortable. I squirmed a little, waiting for those darn animals to hurry up and save the day so I could put Alex to bed and lay down myself. It wasn't long before I had Paul come downstairs and start Alex's bedtime routine without me, as I tried to stretch and move and do anything I could to relieve the pain. I wasn't sure if I had stretched a muscle (just sitting there), or just had the worst gas pains imaginable. So I did what any rational person would do. I looked up my symptoms on WebMD. And do you know what I found out? I was having a heart attack. Now, I would like to say that I just laughed it off and then took some rolaids. I would like to say it. But... I was sold. I saw that women's heart attacks often differ from men's because they feel like really awful indigestion, and often lack the obvious chest pain that can accompany a man's heart attack. I saw that most women's heart attacks go untreated because they think they just have bad gas or don't have time to get looked at. And this wasn't helped when I called my insurance company and talked to a nurse who immediately told me to chew some aspirin and call an ambulance. I'm 25 and having a heart attack. But then, it could just be gas. I'm going to die, and all they are going to talk about is how I mistook a heart attack for a nasty byproduct of Mexican food. But really, it's probably just gas.

As the pain got worse, I became more paranoid that I was losing precious life-saving time by being stubborn. I felt silly then, and I feel even sillier now thinking back on it. I was convinced. There is a reason why you shouldn't self-diagnose.

Anyway, by 11, I was in alot of pain, and Paul convinced me to go up and just talk to someone at the ER. Which... thinking back on it, doctor's are probably not allowed to talk to you in the ER without you being admitted first. But, anyway, I went up there. I almost turned around several times because I was convinced they were going to tell me that I just really needed to fart and to stop bothering them. As I babbled on and on to the nurse at the front desk, a voice came from the back... "Sounds like a gallbladder. Send her back." And, let me tell you, that was the fastest diagnosis I have ever encountered. It ended up being exactly that. My poor little gallbladder was full of nasty little stones, and apparently the cure for that is to take the whole thing out.

During the following days, doctors were called, ultrasounds were taken, dates were set. I had to wait a week for the surgery to happen, which was unfortunate because if I had anything other than a plain salad, that nasty little rib-pulling pain would come back. And the constant nausea that had me peeing on several pregnancy tests wasn't fun either.

But it finally came, and Paul dropped me off bright and early that morning. I was going to be alone until Paul was able to drop the kids off at our babysitters later on that morning. Things went smoothly. I was checked in, got to get into that lovely little gown, swallowed some pills, got poked by some needles. I was nervous as the rolled me into the OR, which was quickly taken care of by a dose of what they called "I don't care" medicine. When they put it into my IV, they warned me that it might burn a little. It actually felt like someone had broken my wrist. It was an odd sensation, because I knew it hurt really badly, but all I could do was lift my arm and mumble something about it being broken now. And asking if everything on the ceiling was really moving. Which... I don't think it was. They gave me another dose of the loopy medicine, and this time my whole arm felt like it had been crushed. I mumbled again, and I heard the doctor say, "She's saying it feels like her arm is bro...." "Laura, you are in the recovery room. The surgery is over."

That's how quickly it went. Or at least it felt. The surgery lasted about an hour. I just have five little slits, ranging from just above my belly button to just under my rib cage. I am amazed that they have the technology to remove an organ without actually opening you up. Blows my mind.

I am a lightweight when it comes to drugs, so I was out of it for my entire stay at the hospital (which was only for a few hours after the surgery was over) and the rest of the day when I got home. I went straight back to my bed and slept off the anesthesia and the vicoden that was flowing through my system. Which, I don't know how long I've been wishing for a day when I could just stay in bed and sleep. There weren't the most ideal of circumstances though. Can I get a re-do?

It's only the day after, but I'm feeling better. I am really really sore. But the nausea is gone, and I can eat again. I'm pretty sure it's going to be worth it.

So, ya, sorry mom. Wish I could have kept it. You worked hard on that gallbladder. And I just tossed it away. Love you!

JSADILFJAIDFJSAISDJFIAJDSKLFJA

There's too many things going on at the moment. Paul and I have somehow landed at some major crossroad in our lives, where decisions must be made and 'adult' things accomplished. I am not sure how we got here.... one minute we were walking along just fine, and all of a sudden, there are 10 HUGE MAJOR LIFE-CHANGING decisions that NEED TO BE DECIDED NOW! NOW! NOW! And I have several different voices in my head saying, nay, yelling at me, telling me to go here, or do this, or eat that, or DON'T EAT THAT, IT'S TEN POINTS YOU FOOL! And it all starts sounding like the noises that Alex makes when you are making her food and she has lost all sorts of patience. It's the type of noise that makes your brain melt and your eyes cross and the dog howl. NOT PLEASANT.



So in lieu of all of these things that require me to use far too much of my brain power all at once, I decided to write a post about absolutely nothing. Enjoy.

Yesterday we took Alex to her 18 month check-up. (And here is where I say, I CAN'T BELIEVE HOW BIG SHE IS!!!) She checked out healthy as a horse... er... kid. She's right on course for verbal skills, motor skills, drive-da-mama nuts skills. And her weight. 20 pounds. Exactly. TWENTY POUNDS. To put that in perspective, Eli is 15 months younger than her, and weighs 14 pounds. Wow. I knew she was tiny, but that astounds me. She is in the 2% range for weight, and the 45% range for head circumference. No wonder she is always falling over. (Case in point, yesterday she was sitting on the coffee table [points for me] and for no good reason, she tipped over and fell off. Who knows?)

Well. I was planning on writing more, but I hear Alex screaming "UH....OOHHHHH" on the monitor, which is never a good omen. Wish me luck.

Today, I kicked a dog in the head.

...And I don't even feel bad about it. Isn't that awful?

But first, I just have to comment on this. I am watching the President's address to Congress right now, and though I like that any President must go through the gauntlet that is Congress when bringing his ideas to fruition, I can't help but laugh at the ritual it's become. Speech writers try to pack as many BAM phrases into one speech as possible, and by BAM phrases, I mean the hundreds of sentences that are probably underlined, italicised, AND put in BOLD PRINT because those are the ones that people are going to stand up and clap for. SAY THIS ONE WHILE WAGGING YOUR FIST!!! And no, I am not just dogging on Obama. I'm not his biggest fan, but every President does it. So, they say these phrases, and half (or perhaps if it was a good enough BAM phrase, the whole) room stands and cheers. And what I love is the OTHER HALF of the room. The part that's not standing. The part that is shaking their heads with that smile on their faces. The smile that says, 'Oh those silly Republicans (or vice versa)' when in reality they are probably getting really annoyed that these people keep standing up and cheering every time the President says the magic word (I think that's how they do it... they get together before and agree on a word that every body is going to stand up and cheer for... then the President is left confused as to why he got a big cheer every time he talked about demagoguery).
Well, that's all I have to say about politics.

Back to the kicking of the hounds!

I would like to start this out by adding a disclaimer that I didn't mean it. ... But that would be a lie.

BUT. I at least have a good reason.

I have been making an effort to get the dog out on walks at least every other day. Poor Violet has been neglected for a while as mom and dad adjusted to life with two kids. So tonight we went for a stroll, and because Alex didn't kick and scream and spin her head around mulitple times when I broke out the stroller, she went with us. I was having a nice, quiet walk, which was sped up by Violet pulling my left side a smidge faster than my right side wanted to go. As I was approaching one of the houses, I noticed that there were two guys out there (father and son I assume), both making half-hearted attempts to catch a dog. I assumed that because they were out front with a collar on the dog that this dog would not bother us. But as we passed, the lure of a dog, small child with her hands out and a sweaty, slightly overweight power-walker was too much to pass up. The dog (a puppy pit... quite cute actually.... ok, now I am starting to feel bad for kicking it.... ) (no... not really) came over and made aquaintences with Violet as dogs tend to do (BUTT-SMELLING). They were getting excited, bounding around each other, taking turns knocking into me. The puppy's owners were standing on their porch staring, not seeming too concerned. The dogs continued to bound and sniff, then started to bark, then started to growl, which quickly progressed to little snaps at each other. And all the while, Alex is straining to get out of her stroller, with one hand reached out towards the dogs. Now... I am not all about grabbing dogs I don't know. I am a firm believer in owners taking responsibility for their dogs, making sure to the best of their ability that other people will not be put in the position of having to restrain a dog they don't know. But, tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum were not moving from their porch. So, I tried to get in between the dogs, Violet backed off, puppy went for the next target, which is was my little one-year-old with her hand outstretched....

He didn't get her. But he did get something.

And after that, the owners came and got him. The father looked like he wanted to say something along the lines of 'how dare you kick my dog', but I had MAMA BEAR written all over my face, and I think he decided it would be safer if he just removed the hound from my sight.

Put. The dog. On a leash.




And I suppose I should add a disclaimer that this was not a wind-up-and-kick kick, it was more of a forceful redirection with my foot. The dog didn't yelp, limp, or even cower. He just went for Violet again. So... no hate comments pa-lease.

Morning Conversation

Scene: Eli laying on couch. Alex pointing to his various body parts.

Alex: (points to eye) EeeeyyyyyeeE?

Laura: yes, eye.

Alex: (points to nose) EeeeyyyyyeeE?

Laura: Nose.

Alex: (points to arm) EeeeeyyyyeeE?

Laura: Arm.

Alex: (points to foot) EEeeyyyyeeeE?

Laura: Foot.

Alex: (points to belly) EEeeeeeyyyyeee?

Laura: Belly.

Alex: (points to crotch area) EeeeeyyyyeeeE?

Laura: (thinking daughter will continue with previously set routine) ....Penis.

Alex: .... Peeeeniiiiii?

Laura: .....