scrawls
still cheaper than therapy*


30.1.08
double dipper?
toi toi toi

eeeeeeew. Double dipping proven to be a means of saliva transfer between partygoers. But then again, a couple hundred bacteria is what, all of nothing?

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scrawled @ 22:47

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things not to say
No, no, not him, the stupid one.

Wow, did you get new glasses? (No.) Oh. [pause] Then did you get cancer? You look older.

October's birthstones are pink tourmaline and opal.

Eew. No. Just burn it, I don't even want to see it.

Oh, no, here [demonstration] ... I mean sometimes I think everyone is, you know, smart, but I guess someone has to average out the IQ, huh?

You're having wine? Why?

You really look like Jean Teasdale in this photo.

um, I sneezed on that.

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scrawled @ 22:00

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29.1.08
and me?
i am just sick enough that i can deny it to myself and pretend like i can do everything i can do, that i can go out and walk around all day and not pass out of exhaustion, quite, that if i have just a few sore throat drops then i can ignore it, while still being completely overwhelmed and brought all the way to tears by every tiny little thing. Jambalaya for dinner, by god, because i don't know if hot and sour soup even exists here, and i don't think the fried rice would be quite right and i can't even make it on a good day, let alone when my head is all craptastic, and i think if i tried now it would be a massive disappointment and would not end well. I hate how easy i cry when i'm sick. And then if i stop denying it then i can say it's just a stuffy nose and i think when you are at the tagesmutter's tomorrow i am going to come back and sleep and sleep and sleep and i might stop and get a fifth or so so that i can have tea with lemon and honey and whiskey in it because i have heard that that is a good idea. And it sure sounds like a good idea. Um, i'd have to get lemons, too, then.

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scrawled @ 16:14

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seventeen weeks
It would be inaccurate and mean-spirited and nasty to call your ex-babysitter a selfish slut, but it does have such a nice ring to it, doesn't it? She got an opening with a diplomatic family and a visa, full-time, and probably pays better and is easier in some ways, taking care of two kids who can walk and talk (and make trouble of their own) rather than two babies who can't, so one can't at all fault her for taking it. (On top of which, she's devoutly Catholic, so it would be very surprising if ... ) anyway. Lovely girl, great with kids. But the timing for us could be better. So yesterday i was frantically calling all over the 3rd district, with some of the 2nd and the 4th and the 10th for good measure, and there are no spots for people under one year in daycares (krippen-kindergartens), though there are a couple of in-home grandmotherly types (tagesmutters) which may or may not work out, though they all have their bad points, too, i'm sure. So we found a tagesmutter and you'll spend a few hours with her tomorrow, we met yesterday and chatted for a good bit, and even if i did only find her through an agency on teh intarwebs, they have regular inspections and continuing education and she has twenty-eight years of experience and degrees in psychology and education. And she is nearby and has a friendly dog and a long-haired cat and a little posse of babies and toddlers, and you'll be the youngest - there's an 8 month old, but the rest are walking - and on paper, she's great, see? All those things. And when i met her yesterday she was engaged with the kids and cuddly and picked them up when they wanted picked up and had a nice (little, but nice) bookshelf full of kids' books and a bunch of toys for babies and toddlers and she's just almost perfect. Almost. But this is almost a dealbreaker and in the States she would never, ever, ever get a license to have an in-home daycare, even though when she picked you up you grinned at her, even though she knew when you were tired, even though the lady knows how to babywrangle, and i think, at home, i would be a bad parent for even considering it. For even having it drift into my mind for a moment. Let alone letting her touch you with those hands, make faces at you with that face, keep you in that flat for even a minute: she - I almost can't - but - and she - and, to be fair, everyone else in this godforsaken place, and at least she does it with the windows open - see, i'm probably making this out to be worse than it is. But she smokes.

*retch*

See? Bad parent for even considering it. But i'm not sure that there even are viennese folk who don't smoke; all the nurses and midwives at the hospital did, the people at my work, the people at M's work. They just made nonsmoking sections in restaurants a year ago and their idea of a nonsmoking section is a table without an ashtray, even though it is between five other tables with ashtrays and there are no windows or fans or circulating air. And i'm justifying it to myself, and she clearly doesn't smoke as much as lots of people (or her flat would smell a whole lot, a whole lot worse), and she does it with the window open, and it's bitchy cold and windy at the moment so nobody has windows open for any longer than they need to so as soon as the weather gets better the whole place will probably not smell like smoke any more, right? Right? And everyone used to smoke in the states, and people lived through it. Everyone still does smoke here (even in the city daycares, the childminders step outside, i think). And we're going to keep looking. But i hope you forgive me someday because this is a hell of a compromise, even if it is short-term.

In other news, you've decided that sleeping is The Devil, and you won't be doing it any more if there is any damn thing you can do to avoid it, like crying until you turn purple. And i think it was because you got M's stomach flu (apparently, like every single other person in the city, or damn near) but for the last several days you have been spewing all over everying. So every day has had a load of laundry and we still ran out of pajamas. Except you don't seem to at all mind the spewing, and are happier afterwards (isn't that always the case) - but you cry because you are tired and your tummy hurts, and then crying makes you tireder and your tummy hurts more, only you can't sleep 'cuz your tummy hurts, so you cry until you turn purple and become this tiny oozing volcano. You're a long shot from projectile vomiting - at your highest velocity, it still only goes about an inch and a half out of your mouth - but it gets everywhere, all the same, and so the dogs have been (eeeeeew) cleaning the floor for us - they're quicker than we are with the paper towels ...

Yeah, it's been a great week. M was sick and then you were vommitty (that's a word) and then i was a little sick - still am really - i did get some cough drops today, while we're in, you know, the land of Ricola - and with the babysitter calling to cancel yesterday and S, the other mom of the other baby that she was sitting for too, she was livid - and all that with the Four Month You're Not Sleeping phase. Pile on. Oof.

But the tagesmutter knows all about the Four Month You're Not Sleeping phase. Because when i mentioned it she knew exactly what i was talking about, even with my rudimentary-at-best german. People say that that, at least, will end. Which is good, for me, and i hope that it is soon, because this is what late-onset postpartum HAS to come from. Because ... you're turning purple and vomiting, baby, and i can't make you feel better: it's a virus, and you're four months old, and you are infuriated at the unfairness of it all, at being born a human instead of a velociraptor. (Smaller than a T-rex, squeaky, and, well, still wants to run around and bite stuff. And smart as anything if you believe the movies.) And, sweetheart, if you really wanted to be a velociraptor when you grew up, and i could help you with that in any way, i would. I would. But you scream and scream and scream and i feel like a terrible mother because i can't make your tummy stop hurting, but this was the strain of flu that they're scared will combine with the deadly one, because this is the highly contagious one, so whatever we did to keep M away from you with his dastardly illness was probably worthless anyway since, well, you got it, and i'm sorry, and i love you, and you're not ever going to be a velociraptor.

But i think we can make you a cheetah for fasching, with the clothes your nagymama is sending - she sent a photo of something with an animal print. So. Cheetah or maybe leopard. Fasching. That's Austrian for Mardi Gras, plus Halloween, plus the very-cold-plus-funny-clothes of Deb Ball. Carneval goodness. And M and i - we could be lion tamers ... if only it worked that way ...

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scrawled @ 14:37

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26.1.08
it's frustrating, but also cool, but frustrating
Things they have:Things they don't:Things i need to make water not run down my crooked-ass tub line, thanks to living in an old and creaky and cockeyed war-torn crackedy ratty old building, onto the floor:Bet it's a liquid and illegal to bring back. Bet if i got it back it wouldn't work out like i think it would anyway (since we only have one shower these days and can't really avoid using it to let the stuff dry). Bet i'm not really here long enough to care: we've lived with it for a year already, after all. Meh.

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scrawled @ 15:26

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22.1.08
sixteen weeks
and to go along with the tiny-T-rex behaviours (that'd be standing up and munching on stuff) you have more: it's fun, now, to make VERY LOUD NOISES. Quite often. All in a row. So when you are in a good mood you like to have conversations that are a good bit larger than life, and also easily heard over the phone (seeing as how you kind of drown out any other spoken word). M is sick at the moment - so he hasn't had a good cuddle for at least thirty-six hours - but i don't know how he can sleep through you.

At the doctor's this morning you were six and a half kilograms and sixty-two centimeters. And they agreed that that's a birthmark on your back and i shouldn't worry about it. Especially since i have a big pink birthmark on my leg - mine has faded over the years, though. And yours is kinda fading already. So there we were and you got all the various shots and solutions (i think it's the rotavirus, the one you are supposed to be swallowing, and you hate the flavor of that one) and you screamed and screamed and screamed, and i don't know how we're ever going to get you to be not afraid of needles. They say the oral vaccines are supposed to taste sweet but it must not be sweet in a good way. But i think that after being poked and prodded and listened to with the cold cold stethoscope and, yesterday, being with the sitter for three whole hours, i think you are going to want nonstop cuddles all day, but i kind of want a shower.

Recently, though i couldn't really be bothered to figure out which day it was - something like the ninth of January? - you finished up your first hundred days. In that time one couldn't say that you got a lot done in any usual sense, and it was all very gradual, but by now you have learned your biological functions pretty well: you can eat, and pee, and poo, and fart, and burp, and sleep, and wake up. And grow, and grow, and grow. Quite a list of accomplishments for such a little person.

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scrawled @ 13:01

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17.1.08
what have i become?
We very nearly had tofu and brown rice for dinner.

It was a close call.

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scrawled @ 20:34

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15.1.08
fifteen weeks
you've been eating bottles again. You've been hanging out with the babysitter and i think you like her: she's very nice. And the baby we're going to be sharing her with absolutely loves her, which would be reassuring if we needed reassuring.

And, you're, what, three and a half months old, so of course everything that is "size three months" is just exactly too small, pinching your toes in at the ends of the footie pajamas, and i think you've got my toes, so they aren't going to want any excess pinching.

Along with growing out of clothes, you're about to grow out of your small-baby-sized diaper covers. so i got some larger ones. and M wanted to try out some other diapers, and other kinds of diaper covers, and we'll see how they work. I think some of the new diapers may have to go through the wash a couple times before they get to be absorbent. maybe it will be better? i think cloth diapers are pretty much cloth diapers, so i don't know what he's hoping for. Also we got a couple of very fancy fitteds, with their own inserts and everything, and they are fantastic for nights, but take for ever to dry after doing laundry. For ever.

And this morning? This morning we went SWIMMING. And you loved it - you had an attack of the giggles in the pool. And of the million and twelve babies that were there (okay, maybe forty) you were the cutest one. We didn't put your face in the water, but your ears got in, and all the other parts of you. And you swam on your front and on your back and we discovered that simultaneously swimming and gnawing on Mama's finger is so much fun! You made many gleeful faces and it is a new goal of mine, as of this moment, to go swimming with M and the underwater camera box and someday, sweetheart, someday.

We've also been getting a bit more of a morning routine: M wakes you up after walking the dogs, and we chat and cuddle and you nurse and there is Mama Is A Jungle Gym time, and standing up is still the most fun and entertaining thing ever. Sometimes you let one arm go slack and hang from the other one like a monkey.

You're also becoming noticeably more aware of the world - just in time for me to rearrange the apartment furniture again, natch. It started when you were in the Ergo and i was in the grocery store and you woke up and there were all these cans! oh, packaging. You were looking and looking, and the nicest checkout lady, the grandmotherly one, you chatted with her for a moment. You've also had quiet-alert times in the stroller. I have to figure out, then, how to un-recline the thing so you can sit up and see the world.

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scrawled @ 15:54

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10.1.08
priorities
time is a luxury. something to indulge in, to bask in, like a bubble bath. or like M's fair-trade-organic-hundred-percent orange juice. (Note, please, that fair trade organic orange juice is an entirely alien concept; orange juice naturally comes from Florida, and the idea of Florida being in another country is just too bizarre for words, even after being here for a year.) Being in another country, a luxury. Part-time work, a luxury. Organic-hundred-percent orange juice to begin with, a luxury. The ability to purchase eco-friendly things according to some gerrymandered moral code, also a luxury. Being well-informed, college educated, able to read, a luxury. Finding charities we like and giving them money, a luxury. E has her own room, a luxury.

If we were spending money like water we'd be taking up a great deal more than our share of the planet: and, still, i'd need two planets plus a bit if everyone lived like me. Not proud of that. but still, it's better: i like not being in debt. i like not having a car, eating less meat, wanting less stuff. i like knowing my broccoly comes from Italy, right next door, and all my green peppers and taters (mmm, taters) are Austrian. (mmm, taters.)

wait. no. i need to restate that. Wodka ist ein Luxus, wir haben. Caviar ist ein Luxus, wir haben. Zeit ist nicht.

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scrawled @ 17:48

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9.1.08
fourteen weeks
Standing up. Yes, standing up from sitting down. And then sitting back down again and falling over. You can do these things if you are holding onto our fingers. There is also a game with the footstool: we lie you down on it and put our palms to the bottoms of your feet, and you scoot the footstool across the floor. And then we clap and cheer, and you smile, and we pull you back and do it again. You can scoot the footstool along with either leg. Also we were playing Mama Is A Jungle Gym earlier and you might have figured out how to roll over, on the bed, surrounded by pillows and blankets and protective arms.

However, yesterday, you first slept for a really long time, and then I pumped a little and took you to meet the babysitter - who's lovely, by the way - and left you there for about an hour, maybe, about an hour fifteen i think, and you ate a little bit from the bottle for her, but then on the way home again you fell asleep in the stroller and didn't wake up for HOURS (well, you didn't sleep at all on Monday, so maybe it evens out somehow - but anyway) and then i took the dogs for their evening walk and then by the time i got back, one side of me was all swolled up and pink and warm, and i was ucky feeling, and breastfeeding has been going really well so i have an absolute terror of thrush and plugged ducts and mastitis, so you nursed first on that side for the rest of last night, with massaging and tea and water for me, and by bedtime it was a little better. And less ucky feeling, and less warm. And this morning it was almost gone, and i am the luckiest person ever, and my immune system kicks butt: because if it wasn't all gone this morning we'd have been off to the birth clinic for a big old western-medicinal antibiotic prescription to take for a week or two. So i am going to really have to find time to pump when i go back to work next month, or life for mama is going to be not so much fun. Must remember to not sleep on my tummy, as well, and not on that side for a few more nights.

And all those things you've already grown out of - they're in a bag, on the extra baby hangers even, all packed up and ready to be donated. What fit in the bag, anyway. And not my favorite few outfits, and not the handmade, and there's quite a bit yet to go through after the bag was all full. Quite a bit, and you're growing out of more every other day. Those hangers take up room (which is now newly available space in your little night-stand). There is still half a drawer left of hangers but i can't somehow donate just hangers without clothes on them: it would be cheating, somehow, as the clothes-donation bin lists household textiles, towels and linens, but not household plastics. And creepy and weird, too. So as soon as they come and empty the nearest donation bin, we can stuff it all on inside.

However you've made quite the hobby of pooing the second i start the washing machine. Free time is limited.

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scrawled @ 13:55

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8.1.08
if i needed more baby clothes
these are the ones that i want - especially THIS ONE. She can't read yet: i still get to decide what she wears. And since she'll only be size whatever for a few weeks it doesn't matter that they're so, ah, temporally limited. and, um, i might want one for me, too. Really. (See how the last one is black and has a v-neck? It's my favorite. The Rules, dear.) Except - and this is important - i need neither new clothes for her, nor new clothes for me. The "this-is-a-feminist"-shirt-sized hole in my closet is really so small as to be approaching nonexistent. Besides, i don't wear T shirts.

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scrawled @ 15:09

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5.1.08
this is me purging
i have too many coats.

i know this.

and so, yes, i bought another one, yes. (Well, it was thirty percent off. So.) The others were all either not warm enough or ... um ... mostly not warm, and i'm not wearing a bright bright ski parka every day around the city; one looks like some crazy flamingo. And the wind here ignores leather completely. so. This new one. With real down (so M is allergic to my feathery coat, and i am allergic to his wool one - what a pair) and real (detatchable - buttoned) fur on the (detatchable - zippered) hood. Just enough fur that i look like a native, here, without feeling weird: fur is always playing dress-up, somehow. It's not natural. (um, right.) but all the viennese, all the ones in black-sausage down coats especially, there's always fur around the hood. I look like the killer in the urban legend movie. Movies? Anyway. so there are two coats now to be donated: one parka, gray, with Thinsulate, and one with fake down and fake fur, orangey, and from G. The coat from G is going to be weird to get rid of: M has his fleecey warm thing and a few other shirts, even if they are all a little bit too big, but i didn't take anything else. i need to remember: i can donate this, and it can keep somebody else a little bit warmer, and the coat is not G. I am not somehow disrespecting his memory by giving it away. besides, AS IF one might need a coat to remember anybody by: and if anyone's unforgettable, it's G. Was. Is. Um, whatever. But the G-coat is not as warm as it looks, being fake down, and the new coat is just as water-resistant, plus being known to be machine washable (i've never quite understood how something can be water-resistant AND machine washable, but i'll take it all the same). And the Thinsulate coat is not all that warm, really, and i can babywear just as well in the green ski parka i'm keeping. Besides probably by next winter she won't be in a front carry anyway, so it'd only be one season. And the down coat compresses enough, i think, that the babywearing (or, the way she's standing up, toddlerwearing, by then) can go on over top of it. Fluffy.

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scrawled @ 13:45

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3.1.08
three months
You coo and make eye contact and - what was the third thing? Social smiles. You have had a proper laugh, too, giggling for minutes at a time - twice: but, like the first smiles, this hasn't happened again since. Oh, my god, that was a good laugh. We melted, Daddy and i, we nearly cried, and there you were standing up and laughing. I fear that since then - that was on a Thursday, i think - well, standing has become much more mundane. You like it best but it is no longer the astonishing round-eyed wonder it was. Are you only going to laugh like that when you do something new?

So we have been teaching you directions: now you're falling backward, now you're falling forward, now you're falling sideways, and now you're sitting down. Among other things. Colors. Addition. Lyrics:
Stand in the place where you live ... Now face Dad. Your feet are going to be on the ground. Your head is there to move you around, so stand.
You like swing music for dancing to - of course you do, you have excellent taste. And excellent-tasting toes, which is completely different - you do this thing where you're sitting, and one of your toes is wiggling through your sock or footie pajama or whatever, and you look at it like a fish looks at one of those larger fish with the fishing-lure tongues. Except you're both of the fish. You haven't yet put your toes in your mouth but it's just a matter of time. Excellent-tasting fists, i guess - you can't quite suck on your thumb yet, even though you can reliably grab our thumbs (or any random other finger in your vicinity) and bring them to your mouth for chewing on - no - your thumb is still firmly welded to your fist. You try to gnaw it off, but it doesn't work, and the more determined you are, the tighter you clench your hand.

But there is a teething bug ring which you've been successfully mouthing, and a colorful chromosome-shaped rattle (only a biochemist would say that; it's just a regular old double helix, really) and you like the rattle, too, even though it doesn't really fit in your mouth. Mister Pink, the bunny, he has ears that are lovely and soft and good for tasting, and you like his furry side better than either the velour or the satin. You are drooling like a faucet and biting anything you can reach and sometimes you will only stop crying if we put on the homeopathic teething gel - it has chamomile and fennel and i don't know what else, but also lidocaine, so it's only kinda middle-naturopath. Sensible, that, the best of both worlds.

And - blissfully - you nap now, sometimes, for longer than twenty minutes. Sometimes. I am considering flyladyness - i can get a lot done if i can put you down, but that's still a big if ... and ... now having reviewed flylady.net, that's a little scary. I'm not sure i can work with a website with such ugly design. i mean, um, such a focus on sinks. i mean, um, well, i'm just glad you nap for longer, sweetheart.

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scrawled @ 10:43

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