What A Long, Strange Trip It’s Been

Hi all, sorry so long without an update. Much has been happening in the land of Quistilton. The first no-blogging excuse was that I got a job. Yes! After five years of near-unemployment, I reentered the workforce with a vengeance, in high-powered suits and heels, running knock-down drag-out business meetings, putting in 12-hour days, the whole shebang.

OK, so I’m lying. I’m doing internet research and writing up reports in our dining room. The company has about fifty employees, primarily other ladies in home offices like myself. They don’t care how little I work each week, they’re funny and smart, they’re understanding of the demands of family, and needless to say it’s quite a raise in pay. I immediately went out and bought myself a work wardrobe made entirely of FLAX--now that excursion is a whole other blog unto itself.

Then I got some sort of unidentified dread disease which we’re calling the Dengue Fever. It started out with a dizzy, fevered weekend I spent in bed. Then weird spots started appearing on my body, and growing in a disturbing, flesh-eating-virus sort of way. One hideously swollen limb later, it morphed into migratory arthritis affecting almost all of my major joints. After a couple of office visits and ER stays, I came away with four conflicting diagnoses, prescriptions for two different antibiotics, steroids, and pain medication, and a strict, heartbreaking order--stop nursing the Wee One immediately.

If any of you has ever stopped nursing cold turkey after five and a half years of being pregnant, nursing, or both, then you’ll know what my beat-up bod has gone through for the past two weeks. Puberty was nothing compared to these hormonal windstorms. At one point I found myself breaking down on the phone with the garbage man because he fined us twenty dollars for putting out the recycle on the wrong day. I actually stooped to this: “Well (sniff) it’s entirely possible that I put it out on the wrong day (snuffle), as I have been in and out of the HOSPITAL lately.”

And the boobs. Don’t even mention the boobs. Let’s just say thank God for the Vicodin.

Of course, the Wee One was absolutely fine. I nursed her one more time before I went on the medication, and explained the situation to her. She was a little sad, and asked for it a few times, but generally went along her merry way. She does occasionally make me pretend to nurse her dolls. Oh, and last Friday she decided to potty train herself. She sat on the toilet in the morning, and asked to go every time she felt the urge. There was not a single wet or dirty diaper all day. All I can say is, I SO DESERVE THIS after my last indescribably hellish experience with the transition from diapers to toilet. The difference is so extreme. Last time, the then-Toddlerita would expound endlessly upon the reasons that she could neither wear diapers nor pee on the potty, using multiple descriptors and colorful language. The Wee One is so wee, and so relatively inarticulate, that she simply grabs her crotch a la Madonna and says “pu-pu” regardless of which body function she wants to perform. I have no idea where I am going to find such tiny underpants. No, I shouldn’t say that; Murphy’s Law with its accompanying Toileting Corollary will smite me. I have heard too many stories of early toileteers regressing on a whim and ending up back in diapers until they’re five. All I can say is, THANK YOU. This may be what finally cements my belief in a benevolent higher being, or at least karma.

What else is going on? The Husband is doing well, and the Biggie is diligently working on reducing her whining. We went to kindergarten screening, and she was in her element, performing for the teachers. The dog is growing exponentially, and mellowing as he leaves young puppyhood behind. This morning I found the Wee One walking through the kitchen with him, leading him by his TONGUE. It helps that he spends every day wrestling with the 90-pound Lab “puppy” who lives in the adjoining yard.

That’s about it on Planet Quistilton. A great big internet shout-out to my parents, who sped out here last weekend and saved the day, to the tireless Husband, who is on eternal kid duty while I sit with my useless legs up, and to all my family, friends and neighbors who are offering emotional support, babysitting and making us lovely food. Thank you!