carl in casimirland.

Yesterday I had to take my glucose test, which meant I got to drink a really sugary orange drink and sit and relax for an hour and feel the baby kick and go bonkers on all the sugar. I had brought a book with and was actually looking forward to it all day as some quality, child-free reading time in a quiet environment. Of course I hadn't anticipated the uncomfortable waiting room chairs, and I had completely forgotton about the weigh-in at the following midwife appointment and consequential chastisement. So much for that afternoon of fun. I should be careful about what I look forward to. I mean a glucose test? I think I can do better than that.

I'm not one of them though.
One of the exciting magazine articles I read while digesting my glucose was this book review, which claims that 1 in every 25 people is a true sociopath, and I have to admit it totally had me intrigued the way a bad Prime Time Live crime story tactlessly retold as entertaining fiction sometimes does. Of course I immediately started scrolling through my memory of all the people I've hated, but I'm not sure I really suspect a true sociopath among all the assholes and megalomaniacs I've encountered. I'll keep thinking. And I might even add this to my growing reading list, right in between the toddler discipline and birth books I'm trying to read.

Speaking of that, we took Casimir into the pediatrician walk-in the other day because he was sick again. "HOLD HIM DOWN!" the pediatrician yelled while he tried to get a look into little screaming Casimir's left ear. He would ask things like, "Why do you think he's getting worse?" and I'd say, "Well he coughed all night and pulled at his ear this morning while screaming" and the ped would follow that up with, "Is he coughing at all?"
I think we'll stick to our standard pediatrician, who makes cute faces to try and get Caz to cooperate. HOLD HIM DOWN! wasn't very effective, in case you haven't tried it. Poor little Cazzy coughed all night again, and poor mommy felt so bad and was also so frustrated and tired. In the wee hours when you feel helpless, you get so mad and frustrated, but there's no one to be mad at, except maybe Jesus or germs or the coughing kid in play class.

Dipey Wipey.
Casimir is talking so much more every day, and it's so fun when he repeats things. Paul has him saying cheesy things like, "oh baby!" and "dirty boy!" when he's all covered in yogurt. Sometimes it's accidental, like when Paul was heading out the door to Evanston and I told him to get me a present in my favorite store, Asinamali- pronounced by me as ASS-in-a-molly. Casimir raised his arm to wave and yelled, "Ass!"
I like it when he uses baby talk like "bucky" and "wa wa" for bucket and water, or "dipey" for diaper, even though I've only used the proper words for them. I think I had thought that baby talk was something silly grown ups foisted on kids, but not always, I guess. The best is when he utters a phrase slightly garbled with adorable toddlernes and couples it with a very serious nod of the head and finger in the air to illustrate the importance of his point. I'm thinking I should do the same to be taken more seriously, but I doubt it would work.

Even though I'm really talented at removing stains these days, unfortunately. Can I put that on my resume? No?

I was reviewing my Dr. Sears pregnancy manual the other day, so that I could be reminded that my state of mind as well as my ice cream is being passed along to the fetus, and so I could consequently feel badly that I'm not All Good Thoughts all the time. Actually, I vascillate between feeling really close to the little vernix-covered being in there and getting super excited, and practically forgetting about it because I'm busy, and (can you use 'between' and 3 things? I don't think so) being slightly resentful of the unpleasant side effects and not having all my ducks in a row before getting pregnant. But why would the Great Pumpkin make pregnancy so hormonal if it were so unhealthful to worry and gripe just a little bit during pregnancy? A few moments of taking it all for granted and whining that I don't want to pee so much can't hurt it's feelings yet, can it?

I was reading Jane magazine on the exercise bike this morning because I can't use my brain and sweat at the same time, and I saw some reference to one of the editors having a crush on Greg Wiggle (his real name). Not that I do, or anything, no. Just saying, that I thought it was funny. Yeah, he put on a little weight in the later episodes and got a dorkier haircut, but then, so did I. He's just so good at doing the Wiggle groove.

I got waay too excited about getting some strawberry stains out of a white frog t-shirt the other day. I hope that never ever happens again. I also keep having nightmares about the dentist. I have to go back and get some fillings, because apparently I have deep grooves in my wisdom teeth, which are in danger of decaying, and so they must be filled in and it's not.my.fault, it's the deep grooves. But the dentist kept apologizing during the exam. It was like, "Ooh sorry! I think I pulled your lip a little there! I'm going to put a mirror in your mouth to get a closer look at the back wisdom teeth...Sorry! I hope it's not uncomfortable. Did that hurt? Sorry!" It was a lesson in assertiveness for me, in a way. Then she went on to tell me about the grooves and filling them in (sorry!). "But you don't have to come in right away!" she said. "But maybe soon. If that's OK," she added. If it's no big deal, of course!
Sorry!
I feel like I should schedule with a different dentist.

Anyway, I'm going all Jenny Craig on myself, because I swear to god it is harder for me to keep from gaining extra weight while pregnant than it was to keep from gaining any weight while not pregnant. It has to be all exercise bike and vegetables, all the time, or I go ballistic because another pair of maternity jeans doesn't fit. It's not about wanting to look all thin and impressive while pregnant; it's just plain uncomfortable and strangely oh-no-out-of-control feeling when you just continue to grow and grow and grow all over. Not that I'm successful with the all-healthy-all-the-time plan. I just thought I was, you know, sort of biologically entitled to a little ice cream now and again, being pregnant and all. You'd think I was eating it all day though. It's so not fair, and no one can fix it, except for me- And I'm not really helping. Is it bad that I'm secretly relieved to hear that my 6-ft., slender aquaintance Shawn gained 75 pounds (75!) while pregnant? Or that my size 4 sister-in-law also had a weight-watchers ob-gyn? Because I'm really sick of reading/hearing that I'm just supposed to be an expanding middle bump on an unchanging body. Even my alterna-preggers book recommended using a measuring tape on one's thighs to check weight. Hello! Stop reading this shit, Lynne!
It's also hard going to the Ymca to exercise when Casimir throws my sneakers through the cat door and down into the basement while yelling, "No Y!" So it's very easy to come up with excuses around here, to further fuel the frustration. Not that I have weight issues or anything.

In other grumpiness, I have this (childless- totally relevant) old friend who calls every few months or so. She's usually very down to earth and not at all the perky-all-the-time sort. Yet each time she calls she says something like, "Do you just LOVE being a mommy??!!" and I can't figure out what to say or why she is even asking that. "No" wouldn't be accurate, but part of me wants to reach through the phone and hit her, and I'm not sure why. That reaction seems a little exaggerated. I'm not that frustrated. But I think I have rather had it with those questions. Is this the only country where you have to pretend you LOVE mothering your child 24/7 in order to be a good mom? Because I love him heaps and loads and endless amounts of rainbows, and I very much enjoy taking care of him, but I don't always relish being patient and staving off tantrums a hundred times a day, no. I don't quite like getting kicked while I change poopy diapers and wondering why he isn't listening to me and guiltily wondering in what ways this is my fault. They're not always the most rational humans, toddlers, and sometimes it's not fun coming up with diversionary tactics or meeting tiny dictatorial demands with loving equanimity. I don't always love the hard stuff, thanks for asking. But then maybe I'm reading a little too much into the question. Am I touchy today?

ANYWAY We got Casimir a big ass kitchen set for his birthday, and it's practically nicer than our kitchen. I've already called the nation's top culinary institues and requested pamphlets, because I'm sure he'll be there in a few years. I used to be so anti-toy clutter, but I think if I had someone else's credit card number right now, I'd damn well order him up his own mini apartment to play in. His favorite is to make me pretend coffee (you'd never know we worshipped that around here) and pizza. I swear I feed him healthy food too, and yet he never says he's going to make squash or cook up some spinach. I can't figure that out.

AND, the best thing ever is when your toddler can actually come over to you when you've gotten upset and failed to hide it (bad parenting rule #4,746a. and boy do I sound like a bad mom in this post- I'll write about my more fantastic aspects next time) and manages to brush your hair out of your eyes and say "Happy, mommy. Happy."