Everything you can imagine is renal.

At least at our house it is lately.

Tuesday I was feeling a bit "off." And I blew that off, thinking that I'm pregnant. That happens. By 10:00 at night, I was sure I had a full blown bladder infection. I tried to self treat until the morning when I could call the doctor. This required sending my dear, loving, wonderful husband out into the middle of the chilly rainy night to brave the dangers of Walgreen's at night. He said the hoodlums were a bit scary. As I paced, soaked in a warm tub, and drank bottle upon bottle of water, I waited anxiously for him to get home. When he did, I took a couple of cranberry pills, and drank some cranberry juice, waiting, waiting waiting for the pain to ease.

I figured if I wasn't asleep by 1:00 AM, it was probably bad enough to head in to the ER. I really, really didn't want to be that fool in the ER showing up because they had a problem that a normal doctor could fix on normal hours. I really didn't want to be calling my OB in the middle of the night, complaining about a bladder infection. A stupid bladder infection.

You see, January 1st 2007, I ended up in the hospital with Kidney stones. I was throwing up, miserable, in lots of pain. I thought I was dying. Maybe I had an appendix rupture -- only without the fever. Who knew? So, those several hours in the uncomfortable ER chairs waiting for a room went by really really slowly. All I wanted to do was go home and get in bed and die there. In fact, I told Not the Momma that several times during the wait. But, being the stubborn (and loving and wonderful and caring) husband that he is refused to take me home. He wanted me to die on that cold tile, writhing in pain the day before he left for a year overseas. And that's when the guy who came in before me started complaining. About a toothache. And how he really needed to be seen now. Because he had a toothache. I was throwing up every 4 to 5 minutes (how, I don't know, I'd thrown everything up already), writhing in agony on the floor in such a show that when I sat down, people fled from me like I was Moses and they the Red Sea. They certainly didn't want to catch whatever I had. It really bothered me that the rooms were full of people who had hangovers and toothaches while I was being left to die. So, I made a pact to myself that I would NEVER go to the ER if I didn't have to.

Tuesday night, I was sure I didn't really have to. I could drown the bladder infection to the point where I could sleep -- and hopefully sleep would last long enough that I could wait it out until morning. But the longer I sat in misery, the sweatier I got from the pain, the less I was able to concentrate on anything, the more I thought about going to that ER. And, so, I changed the time to midnight. If I didn't feel sleepy or better by midnight I was driving myself to the ER for a stupid bladder infection.

At 11:57 (okay, so that might not be the exact time, but close enough), I went to the bathroom and passed another kidney stone. Immediate pain relief. I've never thought anyone would be crazy enough to praise the lord for a kidney stone, but I did it right there in my bathroom. Within the hour, I was sleeping soundly upstairs in my bed. Well, sort of. There was the small matter of the 64 oz of water and 32 oz of cranberry juice consumed between 10 and midnight. Compound that with the whole "I'm pregnant" thing, and I was getting to sleep for about an hour at a time with pee breaks. But I wasn't in pain. It was great. Everything is fine for me around here now.

However, there's another little tortured soul in my home. My girl dog started using the house as her bathroom the other day. Not normal behavior, especially when she'd just been out. Last night I noticed that when I let her out, she went about 5 times. Not good. She has an appointment tomorrow to get her poor little bladder infection fixed. The first vet I called suggested we come in on Feb 25Th. Which I said OK to initially. The dogs need their shots anyway. Then I came to my senses. What if I'd called the doctor the next morning and they said they couldn't see me for a few days for my bladder infection -- let alone two weeks? I'd have lost it. I would have died or killed everyone around me. So, she'll be seen first thing in the morning tomorrow. That's better. Much better. In the meantime, I'm eyeing those cranberry pills and all that cranberry juice. And Little Monster's diapers.

Hopefully by the end of tomorrow we'll all be happy and everything around here will be real, and not renal.

*"Everything you can imagine is real." -- Pablo Picasso

23 Weeks

Here I am this week, approaching 23 weeks. If nothing else, taking pictures every Friday requires that I groom and shower once a week.

Not the Momma is loving it.

Smarty Smart Smarty Pants

Living with Little Monster is always an adventure. I don't know what I'm going to do when Not the Momma returns to sea duty and I'm stuck raising him by myself. It's not that I can't handle him -- it's that I can't keep a straight face when he's naughty. Sometimes I just bust into giggles so terrible I can't stop. Not to mention, he's killing me with what a smart aleck he is.

Our latest conversations have gone something like this:

LM: "Mommy, this BLUE!" He's holding up a black Lego.
Me: "Nooooo"
LM: (in an almost sarcastic tone) "No, it's black."

Repeat that about 40 million more times with different objects and colors. The kid knows his colors, but he thinks its funny to joke about it. He did the same thing what what sounds a bear makes. He used to say "meow!" and then say.. "no.. roar" in the same tones. I'm worried I'm going to send the kid to kindergarten and he's going to have his teacher fooled into believing he's learned nothing in his first five years of life.

Once you get past the smart aleck sarcasm, there's the problem with the kid's imagination and his love for all things superhero. The kid knows the identity of The Flash, Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, Martian Manhunter (although he calls him Dark Knight for some reason), and Green Arrow. His knowledge extends past the tights and capes, though. He knows, that some of the superheroes fly. As such he spends hours each day helping things fly while making a little boy swish sound as he spins in circles until he's dizzy.

Last night we were having a great time as a family. We were sitting on the couch, sipping Frappuccino's, watching Jeopardy while Little monster played on over and around us. Little Monster had a batman action figure (it's not a doll, people). Batman was driving around the couch, and up and down Daddy in his Batmobile. Then, without warning, Little Monster took Batman out of the car, and HURLED him. There was a hollow thud as the poor action figure hit the window and landed on the windowsill behind the couch. Batman was chucked right past Not the Momma's head, mere millimeters away, at a speed which he claimed was approaching the speed of sound. He later told me "I could hear the cape flapping in the BREEZE!" This is when we see proof of how bad things are going to be when Not the Momma isn't around. After hearing the thud, seeing Not the Momma's shocked and startled expression, and then Not the Momma saying "Batman doesn't FLY Little Monster, you're in time-out." I burst into giggles. Uncontrollable, unstoppable giggles.

Then, Not the Momma with a STRAIGHT face, with a serious (and maybe even a bit mean) voice said "Batman does NOT fly!" As Little Monster was wallowing in time out, I began laughing even harder, tears streaming from my eyes, and blanket thrown over my head to keep him from seeing that Mommy has lost it. Because rather than saying "we don't throw things" Not the Momma said "Batman doesn't fly." Would it have been different had it been Green Lantern or Superman? I'm laughing now just thinking about it. Of course, this is probably one of those "you had to be there" moments. The giggling, when I should be disciplining -- that's what's going to get me into trouble someday. We have a strict rule that all superheroes must be aided while flying and are not allowed to fly "solo" in the house in order to protect dogs, TVs, knick-knacks and parental eyeballs. But that doesn't mean that I don't get to laugh a little when I hear the Little Monster swish sound, followed by a thud as his superhero goes hurdling through the air in some unpredictable direction at high speeds. I just have to remember to do it when Little Monster isn't looking.

What are those?

Apparently Little Monster is starting to take note of certain parts of my anatomy. Obviously, he is noticing the larger stomach. One of his favorite things to do is to poke my belly button and giggle while saying "Baby!" I am not too thrilled about it, because it is uncomfortable, but it allows him to connect in some sort of weird way. He also likes to lift up my shirt and pat my belly. No big deal. However, the other day (sometime last week or the week before) he noticed the other slightly larger than normal bumps that have appeared since September. He thought there were babies in there too. I casually told him that those were there to feed the baby when it came. End of story, right?

Yeah, not so much. Today I was sitting down with him and he started patting my belly and saying "baby!" Totally normal. Then, out of the blue he started alternating between my stomach and the two bumps above it saying "Baby... Eat! Baby... Eat!"

I think we're going to have to watch what we tell him from now on.

The Sickness

We have been really lucky in our household. I can count on one hand the number of times our Little Monster has been sick enough that we've spent days inside watching movies, eating comfort food and avoiding the outside world.

Little Monster has a cough. And a fever. And a runny nose. This has been going on for a few days. It means he has returned to land of children who nap, but that he doesn't go to bed as easily. He also wakes up earlier. But he hasn't been up in the middle of the night more than once.

I feel just a smidgen guilty enjoying the fact that my normally insane child who won't stop running and playing long enough to hug his mom has spent the better part of two days in my lap while we snuggle under covers and watch movies. Just a smidgen. I know it won't last and before I know it he'll be wearing me out again. Following behind me as I clean undoing everything I have done. Demanding PB&J sandwiches, Nemo or Batman snacks, and Juice at every turn.

I know he's on the way to mending because he's getting into the crabby/naughty phase. Just in time for nice 65 degree weather to leave us and for the clouds, cool and fog to return, keeping us inside. Isn't that how life works though?