Mama: "Okay, all done. It's bed time."
Little Bear: "But... I'm a bunny."
Definitely the best excuse the two-year-old has come up with so far.
II
I'm late! I know. I usually manage to get this up on Fridays even if I don't post anything else all week, but oh, it's been such a week. All kinds of crazy. And I'm pregnant, which is probably going to get used as an excuse for a whole host of things over the next eight months, but it's pretty much always a valid excuse, isn't it?
III
Last Friday's post went up while Little Bear was napping and I was "napping" before Mass. We went on to attend Mass, participate in a homeschooling families potluck (at which Little Bear learned from his uncle & friends to run around waving a sword and howling like a barbarian), and do way too many on-my-feet errands leading up to picking Matt up from work. "I'm not feeling well," I warned him, handing him the keys and sliding over to the front passenger seat for the drive home.
My abdominal pain kept getting worse, and by 7pm Matt convinced me to bundle Little Bear back up and drive all the way back into town to the walk-in clinic before they closed at 8. "We don't want to wind up having to go to the ER in the middle of the night; that will be worse," he responded to my half-hearted "But we can't afford more doctor bills!"
Pregnant + abdominal pain got me seen quickly at the clinic. The doctor asked where it hurt, frowned, and told us we needed to go to the ER for an ultrasound to rule out an ectopic pregnancy.
IV
Because it's flu season, the ER isn't allowing non-patients under 13 beyond the waiting room, so Matt took Little Bear home and got him ready for bed until my mom got there to put him to sleep. He managed to miss pretty much everything; the nurse didn't bring him back to my room until after the exam, ultrasound, etc. I was glad I'd thrown a book in my purse; it was pleasant and unusual to have time to actually sit still and read in between times the doctor or nurse were in the room.
The ultrasound suggested that everything was okay, but the doctor decided to have me come back the next morning when the regular radiology staff was in (it was nearly 11pm by this point). Saturday's ultrasound clearly showed the gestational sack in the upper right of the uterus, and when I followed up with a midwife on Tuesday, we were told that there's only a 1 in 10,000 chance of an ectopic pregnancy if the gestational sack is developing in the right place, a situation he referred to as a "ghost gestational sack"—I have no idea if that's a proper medical term.
So everything is fine, as far as they can determine. I'm still having some pain, but yesterday my left hip started its regular "oh, you're pregnant? I'm going to randomly stop bearing weight when it's most inconvenient for you" behavior, so it seems likely that everything is just preemptively shifting around.
V
Little Bear went to sleep for my mom without any crying or calling for me. And he stayed asleep in his own bed until 4:30am, the longest he's ever ever ever slept in his own bed. We were all amazed.
He apparently used up all of his good bedtime behavior with her, because the next two nights it took hours and hours of crying and flailing and yelling and stuffed-animal-throwing to put him to sleep. We're getting back into mostly-good sleep patterns now, though.
VI
Yesterday at the grocery store, Little Bear and I were hanging out by the front doors counting pumpkins while Matt went through the check-out, because Little Bear was all done behaving in the cart. A portrait studio had a table set up next to the door, urging parents to sign up to have their kid's picture taken: one 8x10 portrait for $19.95. As I was wrangling Little Bear and struggling with sudden nausea, a smiling lady walked over from the table and handed me a registration form. "We only have a few slots left! How long has it been since you've had his portrait done?"
This would have been a situation where honesty wasn't the best policy, but I was thinking more about how to avoid getting sick than how to thwart the saleslady. "Um, never."
Of course she was faux-shocked (or maybe really shocked; is it that horribly unusual to not have professional portraits done of your kids? It's never even occurred to me) and tried to steer me over to the table to register. I demurred, with the excuse that I had to talk with my husband about it first.
She actually rolled her eyes. "Doesn't he trust your judgement?"
Whoa. I managed a polite smile and assured her that of course he does, but we discuss unbudgeted purchases before making them, then quickly led Little Bear back to Daddy at the checkout. I'm willing to entertain the possibility that I'm overreacting thanks to pregnant hormones, but was that not completely inappropriate and unprofessional of her? I was shocked.
VII
Being a freelancer tends to mean that I grab every little chunk of time I can find for writing, but I try to avoid working on Sundays. So it wasn't procrastination that had me sewing a "Babe the blue ox" costume this evening instead of working on my immanently-due writing project... No, I'm confident that I'll get all of my writing done this week, but I don't think I could have let myself take a big block of time any other night to do this:
Yesterday at the grocery store, Little Bear and I were hanging out by the front doors counting pumpkins while Matt went through the check-out, because Little Bear was all done behaving in the cart. A portrait studio had a table set up next to the door, urging parents to sign up to have their kid's picture taken: one 8x10 portrait for $19.95. As I was wrangling Little Bear and struggling with sudden nausea, a smiling lady walked over from the table and handed me a registration form. "We only have a few slots left! How long has it been since you've had his portrait done?"
This would have been a situation where honesty wasn't the best policy, but I was thinking more about how to avoid getting sick than how to thwart the saleslady. "Um, never."
Of course she was faux-shocked (or maybe really shocked; is it that horribly unusual to not have professional portraits done of your kids? It's never even occurred to me) and tried to steer me over to the table to register. I demurred, with the excuse that I had to talk with my husband about it first.
She actually rolled her eyes. "Doesn't he trust your judgement?"
Whoa. I managed a polite smile and assured her that of course he does, but we discuss unbudgeted purchases before making them, then quickly led Little Bear back to Daddy at the checkout. I'm willing to entertain the possibility that I'm overreacting thanks to pregnant hormones, but was that not completely inappropriate and unprofessional of her? I was shocked.
VII
Being a freelancer tends to mean that I grab every little chunk of time I can find for writing, but I try to avoid working on Sundays. So it wasn't procrastination that had me sewing a "Babe the blue ox" costume this evening instead of working on my immanently-due writing project... No, I'm confident that I'll get all of my writing done this week, but I don't think I could have let myself take a big block of time any other night to do this:
The hat with ears and horns is still forthcoming, and the tail and zipper need to be attached. I threw together a diaconal-looking costume for Little Bear as well; he'll be St Romanos the Hymnographer for the homeschoolers' All Saints party, as long as I can find the time to make a little scroll for him to carry.
Have a good week! Don't forget to visit Conversion Diary for more Quick Takes.
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