Oh no no! Don't do this to Co Co!

How much do I love Conan O'Brien?  A LOT.  More than Joel McHale.  Slightly less than Target.  Slightly less than Mark. 

(Bet you wonder about the order of Mark and Target...)

I've never been a Leno fan.  I think he is cheesy and his humor is too outdated for a nighttime show - he's the same as Steve Martin to me.  Used to be funny.  Not so much anymore.  I always watched Letterman over Leno.  And when Conan took over, I ditched Letterman totally.

So anyway, I love this clip of Jimmy Kimmel totally slamming Leno on his own show.

Are you Team Jay?  Or Team Conan?

Copious Amounts of Cute

Mah baybee is eleven months old.

Let's not blow smoke.  The past month was quite literally half sweet and half shit.  And I think if Olivia was old enough to toss around obscenities talk, she would wholeheartedly agree. 

The Shit:
Flu and Virus in one month.  Well goo goo ga ga (translation: that blows a big fat fattie).

Seizures.  Emergency Room.  Allergy to Antibiotic.  Enough said.

No!  Sleep!  For Anyone!  First, being sick.  We spent a lot of time together sleeping in her glider.  And by sleeping, I mean not sleeping at all even a little bit OH MY GOD.  And now the night waking has become a fun habit, two or three times a night.  And this problem could be solved if I could find a place to purchase a keg of beer.

It sucks that I had to use three vacation days while Olivia was sick.  Not that I really mind - I can't stand the thought of someone else comforting her when she is ill.  There wasn't a second that I considered leaving her.  I feel bad, though, that we will miss another three days that I won't get to spend acting like a moron to make her laugh.

Today, I wore a dress that ties in the back.  I realized, as I sat down on the toilet in the work bathroom stall, that the ends of the ties hung down far enough to dip into the toilet.  Luckily, I realized before I started to pee.  However (and we all know that there is a however), in my panic of Oh Shiz, Part of Mah Clothes Be In Da Toilet?  I whipped them out of the toilet.  And flung toilet water the entire way around the stall.  And on my face.  And in my hair.  It has nothing to do with Olivia, but it falls in the Shit category.

The Sweet:

Christmas.  New Years.  Ridiculous amounts of cute.  Copious, even.

Took some steps.  Climbed some stairs.  Further proof that she is small and mighty and will someday rule your world mwahahahahaha!

Despite the Sick of the Century, Olivia gained a pound.  A POUND!  A glorious gob of baybee fat.  Enough chub to jump back onto her growth curve.  Granted, she's 16.6 pounds at 11 months and 5th percentile and for all intents and purposes a preshus little peanut - but she's gaining weight and that makes me SQUEE! 

She loves for us to chase her.  And tickle her.  And nibble her fingers and toes.  She begs for food.  She interrupts conversations with loud noises to direct the attention in the proper direction (toward her).  She is dramatic, hates to be told no, you can't eat that dog food and choke.  Sorry.

Ever since she was sick, she's been really attached to me.  All about mommy.  Clinging to me, laughing at me, laying her head on me, showing me her toys.  More than normal. I secretly like the night waking.  I like to cuddle her and rock her to sleep and put her back.  Even though I'm probably making it worse, I don't care.

It's just really hard to be in a bad mood when Olivia is around.

Let's tone down the drama, shall we?

Olivia would like for me to tell you that she is feeling just fine, thankyouverymuch.

See? Am fine.

Remember when the Internet wuz worried about me?

Bwahahahahahahahaha!

Sukkerz.

Wuz no big deal.  Wuz akshully not seizure - wuz me perfecting my dance mooooves.

Wud be better dancer if I had Crocs.  But I do have a cup.  Iz Awesum.

-----

One Year Ago: Look Out, Because I Might Eat You NOM!
Two Years Ago: Itty Bitty IVF Post.

Again, with the seizures.

I mean, seriously. 

We had our pediatrician appointment at 11 on Thursday.  The morning went OK.  Olivia was fussy, but ate well and went down for a nap.   I had to wake her to leave for the doctor.  We got there right on time.  When I get out of the car, I always pop my head over the window like a total douche and try to surprise Olivia.  It usually makes her laugh.  This time, though, I found her foaming at the mouth.

Seizure.

So I wait it out.  It is about a minute or so until she stops.  I literally run into the pediatrician office, throw my credit card at the nurse and tell her about the seizure.  They let us go right back to an exam room. 

Apparently, the phrase "seizure in the car" grants you all sorts of cool privileges, like three nurses, and a doctor who runs into the room 30 seconds after you get there. 

Olivia's just miserable.  She is groaning and writhing and is burning up with a 104.1 temperature.  The normally laid-back pediatrician says she is totally uncomfortable with the way she looks - get thee to an ER immediately.  She'll call and let them know you're coming, and that they might want to consider a spinal tap.

I'm an ugly crier.  I spend the next 10 minutes trying not to cry, just trying to wait until I got to the parking lot at least before I lose my shit.  Waiting for confirmation of where to go, and waiting for a dose of Tylenol.  Texting everyone. 

We leave.  It takes about 20 minutes to get to the ER.  I speed.  I dare someone to pull me over. 

You assume that when your doctor tells you to go immediately, and calls ahead, that you will be seen quickly.  And we were, in fact, seen - 2 hours later. 

There were barfing kids everywhere.  Olivia never cries, just dozes and groans.  She eats a little.  Her temperature goes down to 102 and that is surprisingly thrilling considering her recent heat wave.  Mark gets lost in the clusterfuck of one way streets by the hospital but we're still waiting by the time he gets there. 

A woman is talking about how her sister's babies are too skinny and it's disgusting, and how that's probably why they are always sick.  She keeps feeding her sick kid big pieces of chocolate so he won't cry.  I want to kick her in the throat, and I also feel guilty for not being able to fatten Olivia up.  Maybe it is why she's sick right now.

I feel physically ill.  I wonder if I can vomit in the trash can while holding Olivia.  I doubt it, but there is already vomit all over the place, so maybe I can just vomit on someone else's pile and nobody will know. Maybe I will vomit on Skinny Baybee Hater Laydee.

We get back to our room and Olivia is still miserable.  We meet with a McSteamy-looking doctor.  He tells us that our pediatrician suggested a spinal tap to check for meningitis.  He  is going to meet with the attending and they will come back and let us know. 

Olivia falls asleep.  McSteamy comes back with another doctor, and Olivia smiles at them. The little shit hasn't smiled all day.  She knows a handsome doctor when she sees one.  But he has on a wedding ring, and so she just goes back to sleep.  McAverage-Looking Attending decides that no spinal tap will happen because meningitis baybees don't smile.

Catheter.  A little bacteria in her urine.  Treating a Urinary Tract Infection, but fairly certain that she Just Has A Virus.  Realize that there is another saying that is as infuriating as Maybe If You Just Relax.  Consider changing blog name, but am afraid that people will think I have herpes.

(I don't have herpes.)

We are discharged.  I realize that it is a fucking blizzard outside.  It takes me and Olivia two hours and ten minutes to make the drive home, which usually takes 25 minutes.  Olivia doesn't make a peep the entire way.  I hope that she's OK.

She sleeps all night.  Still has a fever Friday morning.  Fussy all day.  No apetite.  Spits out her antibiotics, for no reason because they taste really good, yum, I should get some of these.  We survive the day. 

I start dinner.  Shake and Bake pork chops because I am fancy.  Obviously. 

Mark calls with good news and bad news.  Good news: out of work early.  Bad news: a semi lost its spare tire on the highway, and Mark hit it.  New car is fucked.  I forgot to change our deductable.  It is $500. 

Repairs will cost $460.

Of course they will.

* waves white flag *

Today is Saturday.  Olivia has a rash all over her back.  This makes me happy, because she probably has Roseola and not the plague or herpes or whatever. 

(She does not have herpes.)

Send beer.

It's probably good that I don't live in Reno

OR: Why you should never say that everything is boring and there is nothing to blog about.

We spent last night in the emergency room.  Not because a button burst off my pants and blasted Mark in the eye.  But because Olivia was playing a new game - Bet I Can Get My Mom To Call 911.

She's really good at it.

Yesterday, I was wearing my scummiest clothes and on my way to the gym, when my sitter called to tell me that Olivia had a temperature of 102.5.  So I turned around and went back to work to finish some things up so that I could get my little ball of fire.  I'm  not going to lie, I would be the best In-Pajamas worker.  Ever.

Things were OK in the afternoon.  Olivia clearly felt like shit didn't feel well, and took a 2.5 hour nap in the afternoon to go with her 3 hour nap in the morning.  At bedtime it was time for more Motrin, so I took her temperature first so that I could see what we were dealing with.

And that's exactly when she had a seizure.

I'm sure you know, if  you read this blog with any regularity, that Olivia is in constant motion.  From the time she wakes to the time she drops off to sleep.  So when she stopped moving I knew something was wrong, because she hates having a thermometer up her butt.  I can't imagine why.

She looked...stoned.*  I think.  I've never been stoned mahself.  But not Dude Where's My Car stoned.  More like took 12 too many Valium stoned.  And her left arm was jerking around in the air while the rest of her body was frozen.  I didn't connect the dots just yet.  I looked down at the thermometer. 

103.5 SHIT SHIT SHIT SHE'S HAVING A SEIZURE FUCK DAMN HALP HALP HAAAAALP!

So I pick her up, because I am not smart and have never spent my spare time reading up on febrile seizures.  And she was totally limp.  She was grunting, and a constant stream of drool was running out of her mouth.  Her eyes were totally glossed over and wouldn't focus on anything.  Her heart was beating so hard that I could feel it against my chest where I held her.  She had a bowel movement. 

Mark very calmly called 911 like a champ, and within seconds they were at our house.  And if I was to ever blatantly make out with someone right in front of Mark?  It would be these guys.  I've never been so willing to stick my tongue in someone's ear (well, maybe the anesthesiologist in L&D).  I guess competence is a turn on for me when mah baybee is seizing and I'm freaking out. 

They were nothing like Reno 911, which is what automatically pops into my head when I think 911 - even when there is a real life actual emergency.  I see this in my mind:

They offered to take us to the ER, but we decided to drive ourselves.  Olivia had returned to normalish.  So they left and we started to get ready to go.  It was not without much vomit from Olivia.  MUCH vomit.   Much vomit right into my face, onto the kitchen floor, into the sink.  Poor, sweet, sick baybee.  You can't even get upset. 

Plus, the dogs ate most of it before we could get to it, so win, win, win I say.

This is getting pretty lengthy and I am exhausted, so I'll finish later. 

SPOILER ALERT: everything appears to be fine.  But people watching in the ER warrants a full description, plus we go to the pediatrician today at 11:30 so I'll have a full report next time.

*2010 is starting off with a bang.  On Saturday, the dog groomer cut Milo's tongue down the middle** and we had to have an emergency visit with sedation and stitches and antibiotics OH FUCKING MY.  And he was stoned that entire night.  Have you ever seen  a stoned dog?  Not even awesome at all.

**She claims that she had no idea, and that there were a few drops of blood on his face so she thought maybe he bit his tongue.  I told her I found that a bit hard to believe, since he started spewing blood from his face on our ride home and was barking something that sounded like REDRUM.***

***You bet your sweet ass I'm making them pay the $180 medical bill.  If she hadn't played dumb and just told me the truth and suggested a visit to the vet?  I'd understand that accidents happen and just let it go.  But I'm incapable of bullshit and so I'm sending her the bill.  She has agreed to pay it, but we'll see.****

****I'm more than willing to cut her tongue down the middle, tell her that she must have bit it, and call it even. 

Imagine me shouting dirty things at you as you walk by...

Because I'm doing a little construction, blog-wise. 

And I like to yell dirty things.

I'm afraid I am going to pull the Woe Is Me, Olivia Kept Me Up All Night, Bring Coffee card.  I probably slept a total of 3 hours last night, and those hours were in the glider holding a whiny miserable teething (or not) baybee while my neck nearly snapped in two.  Followed by work, and a workout because holy hell my pants simply do not fit.

I planned to write about my new year's goals, but woe and tired and death.  And coffee breath.

What I'm trying to get at is that it is one of my new year's goals to write more on this blog.  And for everyone's sake, I hope it results in better quality than this horrible pile of brain vomit.  But today you get brain vomit, and hopefully it isn't contagious.

So, perhaps I will get to my point sometime this century, eh?

Maybe If You Just Relax has a Facebook Page, and you can be my Best Friend Forevah (on Facebook) by clicking here.  Post on my wall, stalk my normal person page, or suggest blog topics.  You can tell me you hate me, but that's not nice and also I don't give a shit.

I had to put word verification back on the comments because I was getting all sorts of VIAGARA MICROSOFT SEND ME YOUR BANK INFO AND GOOD DAY SIR types of comments on all my archives.  So, yes.  It's assholey, but it works and that is all.

 

I changed my header, added a signature, and plan to add links to past years posts every week.  This is mostly for my amusement.  My grandma writes in journals every day - has for many many years - and I love it when she calls with a funny story about me being completely adorable or possibly inappropriate when I was 5 or whatever. 

 

So that explains the links.  Now you will be able to sleep tonight.

 

Hopefully I am able to sleep tonight, too.  One more sleepless night and I might start sending out VIAGARA MICROSOFT SEND ME YOUR BANK INFO AND GOOD DAY SIR emails just to stay awake.

---

One Year Ago:  Threatening to Learn People With A Measuring Stick

The Ghosts of New Years Past

Happy New Year, Everyone!  2010 has some big shoes to fill, because 2009 rocked my socks.

I could sit here and write a big summary of the year, and pour my heart out to the Internet. But why?  When I can tell it all with this:

It's a new year, and I think it will be fabulous.  Giddy up!

Tell me, my Internet friends - are you sad to see 2009 go?  Are you happy/intimidated/ready for 2010?

1 Year Ago: Jennepper's New Years Rockin Eve
2 Years Ago: Goodbye 2007

The Big Shoe Shuffle

I hate Crocs.

Really.  Hate.  Like, if you're one of those people who says infuriating things like, "Hate is such a strong word!"  Then I hate you, and I hate crocs, and I bet you are a grown woman and you wear pigtails in your hair.

I hate that too.

I'm sure there are a billion people whose delicate little feelings are hurt right now because they are sitting at their computer wearing pigtails and crocs and are about to leave me an Anonymous comment telling me that Hate is too strong of a word and I should just do everyone a favor and die. 

And to you I say: let's stay friends.  I know a bunch of people who love Crocs and think that wearing pigtails past the age of 7 is adorable (and sexy, which ha.ha.ha.) and they are all my friends.  I just make fun of them. 

And in return they torture me.  For example, I had a party once, and they all came wearing pigtails just to see if I would pound my face through the wall.  I didn't, but it was close and I'm not even lying.  I was only saved by the presence of Mojitos and the hilarity of things that are sold at Pure Romance parties.

My mom knows that I hate Crocs, but she still bought me some for Christmas because LOLZ!  So I decided to wear my Crocs today for walking in the parking lot at work so that my cute work shoes wouldn't get wet. 

Crocs are the most ridiculous things.  Ever. 

I feel like a cartoon character with them on.  I feel like I need to take huge steps, or march, or something.  I feel like I should have humongous hands with big white gloves.  I feel like I should dance a little jig and say things like "doodey do".  I feel like a flaming moron. 

Or, Mickey Mouse.

Having these giant shoes on made me completely incapable of acting normal.  As soon as I put them on I felt the need to dance around and throw out jazz hands and just generally act like a dick.  I did a little jig for my coworker as soon as she came in to work.  Like, "Happy Wednesday, Melissa!  Bet you wish you had an office with a door that closes but you don't so watch this little jig I'm doing for you!"

I was in the midst of a repeat performance after lunch, and Melissa suggested that I show our boss.  OUR BOSS. 

Obviously, A Stellar Idea.  I'm in.

So down the hall I go!  I am dancing the entire way from my office to his office - complete with jazz hands and outrageous facial expressions.  But alas!  He is on the phone and not looking my way! 

I do not let the lack of attention get me down.  I am an attention whore, and I'm wearing MAGIC SHOES, and so I just keep on dancing down the hall.  At some point during my arm flailing grand finale, my hand swipes what should be the back of my skirt...

What SHOULD BE the back of my skirt.  But is actually not the back of my skirt, because it is my giant ass.  Which was, thank the sweet baby jesus, covered with tights. 

Because during my spectacular dance display, my skirt managed to scoot up above my butt.  And so here I am, dancing down the hall at work in Crocs and throwing out jazz hands and MY ASS IS HANGING OUT.*

I scream!  I run back to my office and tell Melissa!  And after she recovers from a deep belly laugh she's all...do you want me to take your picture?

Of course I want you to take my picture. 

The Big Shoe Shuffle: Not To Be Performed in a Skirt, and Also, Maybe Not At Work.**

On my way home, I call Mark and tell him about the big shoe shuffle and my ass hanging out.  He thinks it was a subconscious move on my part because I stayed up until 10:30 last night watching Jon Lajoie videos on You Tube over and over.  One can only hear Show Me Your Genitals so many times before she gets ideas.***

*Somehow, I am so lucky that everyone was out of the office.  Except for my boss who was on the phone, and another guy who was further down the hall and missed out on my performance.  I die a little bit inside just thinking about doing the Big Show Shuffle in front of my boss, and then him seeing my ass as I walked away. 

**It appears that Mah Crocs make me dance like Elaine from Seinfeld.

***I promise I won't try to show my boss or anyone else my genitals.  No matter how many times I watch that video.

Aw Naw! Itz Godzeela!

I may have mentioned that the only thing Olivia got for Christmas from her parents was blocks. And I'm serious.

All the other presents under the tree were things she already had that I wrapped up for show. They are all the clothes that I couldn't resist at Baby Gap in sizes too large for her malnourished tiny body.

Technically, we bought her a ton of "Christmas" presents the few months leading up to the holiday. And we gave them to her, because SQUEE SHE WILL LOVE IT SQUEE!

And by we, I mean me.

But anyway. For Christmas Proper, we got her Peekablocks and Mega Bloks. She likes them both about as much as a 10 month old actually likes anything - in 10 second intervals. Unless we're talking about the dog bowl, the dog's balls, or the garbage can - then she is unable to keep her hands away and will scream like you ripped the head off her doll and peed into its stuffing when you try to redirect.

Mark and I? Have found true love. NOT with eachother, but how nice would that be? No...we are totally hot for these Mega Bloks.

I started playing with these blocks with Olivia because I am a stellar parent who is always teaching through play and you can never start too young even at 10 months I mean it's only 17 short years before we start filling out college applications.

HA! I KID!

I started playing with these blocks to distract Olivia from the dog bowl, the dog's balls, and the garbage can. And then? OMG and then? I became unstoppable. I started creating the most impressively elaborate yet structurally sound buildings ever created by anyone with Mega Bloks, ever.

Well, sort of. Until Godzeela Baybee.

RAWR!  AM Gozeela Baybee!  Will paralyze you with Mah Cute and then destroy your structure!  With my frying pan, or with my fists, whatever I want to do! RAWR!

Godzeela Baybee started to walk this weekend.  A little.  Like, 3 or 4 steps before she falls on her teeny tiny Pampers-padded ass.  But just enough to come and cause death and destruction in my elaborate yet structurally sound(ish) Mega Blok galaxy. 

I wish I could just get a video of this, but I simply cannot.  Her desire to eat our camera dramatically outweighs my ability to keep her from eating our camera. 

She starts across the room.  Looks at my elaborate yet structurally sound creation.  SMILES.  SQUEALS.  And hauls ass across the room to bust shit up.  She even giggles while she does it.  She rips the buildings apart and throws the pieces.  I'm not even kidding.  To add to her Godzeela-like behavior, she spent the entire weekend saying done.

DUN!  DUN!  DADADADADADADUN! No, seriously your structure is full of the DUN!

And Mark, sitting on the couch watching Sports Center documentaries, is all:  Give it a rest with the blocks, wife!  Plus, your building doesn't even have a door OMG but whatever because I am so above blocks!  Ur so lame, want divorce, kthxbai. 

(And I was all, whatever, I get the baybee and the bloks so ha and in your face and Maturity, infinity no reversies.)

Last night, I came downstairs after putting Olivia to bed, and found this Amazing Structure proudly displayed on the toybox/ottoman in the livingroom:

I had to post both pictures so that you can appreciate the lengths to which my Dear Husband went to...what?  Outdo my awesome Mega Blok-ing?  I mean, just minutes before he was calling me lame. Now?  Now he's all Bloky McBlokerson, ya know?  Building structures with windows and balconies and an awning over the front door.  What.the.hell? 

And you know that I sat it right in front of Olivia this morning and took great pleasure as she went Godzeela on its ass.

Jolly in Jammies

Merry Christmas! 

Olivia is thoroughly satisfied with Santa's delivery of blocks, blocks, and more blocks.

We are staying in jammies all day.  Because it is relaxing, and maybe because we ate so much that our pants don't fit.

"Oh mommy, the only one who can't button her pants is you!"

True story, Olivia. True story.