GreenSunflower

Dear Babe: re: 31 years old

Yesterday I wanted to write this blog post to you, but alas we were too busy having a great time as a family, so I thought I would put it off until today.  Now you lay sleeping off a day and night of fun, so I have time.

You know last night when we got home and you thanked me for being such a trooper to give you an awesome birthday.  That is exactly why I love you.

Other men may think it is only my duty as your wife to make your birthday fun, and there is no need to thank for something I am required to do.

That is not you.  You know I have limitations, and only on very special occasions do I push myself past them, and only for very special people.  You knew I woke up at 10, got out of the house by eleven, showed you an awesome day in the city, then took you to awesome food, before I crashed hard at about midnight.  You knew since I did this for you, that makes you an extremely special person.  Because really there is probably no other person on this earth I would be willing to do it for. 

I often tell people you are a saint. I also tell them how you tell me my mouth smells like a goat, always complain about my weight (no matter what I weigh), and how you think I am a horrible housekeeper.  These things are annoying, but so small in the grand scheme of things.  In the grand scheme of how wonderful you are to me.

We always talk about my depression when we talk about how wonderful you are.  You can kick depression's ass.  I fret that there will ever come a day you are here to kick the evil bugger's ass with me.  I know it will be a much tougher fight.

But then there is the way you make me feel like a queen on a throne.  I don't know many other women who are spoiled like me.  Whether it is nice dinners, three day weekends, outrageous holiday gifts, or just wonderful in between holiday gifts, you always make me feel like you think of me every second you are out.  I am reminded each time you buy me something as dorky as a CF card, how you think of me and my passions whenever you are anywhere.  Who does that?  A husband who loves his wife more than any other thing in the world. 

There are the times when you make me feel like we are a real family, you, me, and The Boogs.  We go places together, love each other, spoil each other, hug and cuddle each other, complain about each other, and huff and puff our way to familydom.  We fit together better than any three puzzle pieces I have ever met.  You are a big part of why that happens.  Why we all feel so close and loved.  You love both of us like tomorrow will never come each and every day.

I love you Babe. I know that 31 will be even kinder to you than 30.  I know because even though your hair has receded a little bit and is a little grayer, you are sexier than you have ever been.  Each day makes you wiser, more loving, and kinder than the day before.

I love you, I love us,

Booger

My Life In ESL

Courtesy of Babe, while going to sleep for the night:

Why does your mouth smell like a goat?

Uh-Oh

I just ate a bowl of ice cream... then half a jar of cornichons.

Um.... So

Right after I wrote that last post, Babe came downstairs to talk to me about how shitty I was feeling.  And in his true style he got me realizing that I had stopped taking one of my meds in order to have safer baby dancing/making.  I think my nausea and inability to function were due to anxiety and I hadn't had anxiety like that in so long, I forgot.

I took a big dose of At1van, went back on my Ge0don (which starts working quicker than an antidepressant) and while not perfect, I feel much better.  I slept for 12 hours last night and feel caught up on my sleep. 

As much as I am going to get judged, it looks like I will have to take the Ge0don while pregnant.  My doc has said that is OK, benefits much outweigh the risks, but it just kind of sucks.

As least I am feeling better.  Time to go sew.

Lonely

This will be a post that starts a fight between Babe and I should he read it.  Because anytime I post something about how our life is less than perfect, or he is a less than perfect husband, trouble starts.

I am sorry Babe , you are not perfect.  I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you making babies, taking trips, growing old, but right now the 80 hrs a week you are working is making me feel like  a single woman.

On Friday or Saturday i was bound to ovulate soon, so we "baby danced" since Sunday, I have felt incredibly ill.  I am nauseous, I have an unstoppable migraine, and am always on the verge of tears.  Every ounce of my nurse being knows there is no way in hell, I could be pregnant and feeling this shitty within days.  But if not the easy answer, then what gives?

Of course since I have been well a mere 4 weeks since my last love affair with my couch, Babe has little patience for how shitty I feel.  I don't even think he believes I am sick. Yesterday he talked me into going into work, even after I had called in sick, because obviously I was just faking it. 

Immediately upon arriving at work, everybody started to ask what was wrong with me, as I looked horrible.  I went home a short two hours later and slept and slept. I woke up and still felt like shit.  I feel like shit right now.  I am just exhausted, but cant sleep, and feel nauseous. 

What is wrong with me and why is feeling so mysteriously sick so isolating?

This Is My Life

It is almost two am.  I am horny, so I pull out my vibrator, only to realize part of the clit stimulator is missing because my dog got a hold of it a few days ago and decided she liked silicon embedded with astroglide.

Fine, it will most likely still work.  I would get Babe to come on over, but he is all stressed out at work, and getting him to have great sex is hard these days.  I am envisioning that when I do ovulate, I will have him jack off into my vagina as to avoid having sex altogether.  Because sex takes work and passion, and when all of your passion is put into working 80 hours a week, you have little energy left to place a penis into a vagina, to make babies. 

But anyway back to my vibrator mishap.  So the dog is sleeping in her bed and I decide not to kick her out while I get my O in 60 seconds flat.  But she gets all interested and jumps on the bed.  OK, whatever, I am almost there.  Then I look up and she is just staring at my crotch.  Not because she is traumatized that I have a sex drive, but rather because she is probably thinking that mommy stole her new chew toy and is hiding it in the place that makes her underwear taste so great.

I finally orgasm, wash my vibrator, make sure I close the drawer that holds it ALL THE WAY, you know so the dog doesn't find it and totally ruin it.  Vibrators are expensive and I have other things to frivolously spend my money on.

I get back to bed and the dog smells my face, you know just to make sure I didn't hide her chew toy in my eye sockets or something, then curls up on Babe's pillow, where she will sleep, and I will lie next to her until Babe comes to bed, say 4am or so.

I am never getting pregnant unless I am the most fertile woman on the planet.

I Am Fucking Ready To Quit My Job

The tat'ed up 15 yo gunshot victim, with gang members visiting?  Who cares, nurses scare them, that is why they get all pansy aggressive before you sit them on their fucking ass. 

The infant with subdural hemorrhages, who mommy's boyfriend "dropped."  Sad, but sadly common, you get a thick skin to it.

The miserable accidents at the hands of great  parents... even more sad... they don't deserve it.  But we get to me a emotional support and sort of gateway into the rest of life.

The cardiac patient, with one ventricle and screwed up vessels?  It may be six surgeries later, but they will be adults, and maybe even have kids of their own.  It is a painful but fruitful road.

New onset hardly curable brain tumor?  Horrible chemo... eventually death.  Immensely sad, but as said before we get to be a part of that family's journey.

But why I want to quit my job... the amount of mean, spiteful, cunty, gossipy, evil, sanctimonious, hypocritical estrogen floating around that place?  Makes me want to vomit. 

Do I sit around feeling excluded because I am not part of the mean girls click, or do I sit and thank my lucky stars I don't have to be taken to the side of the room, so I can hear mean thing said about other people, whom I probably consider my friend, but will pretend not to, just so I can remain part of the mean girls?

Do I cry because they talk shit about me?  Do I get pissed because they intentionally bait me, so they can drum up more stuff to gossip about?  Do I feel lesser because they openly exclude me from all their functions? 

Or

Do I blow them off?  Do I tell on them?  Do I quit?  Do I tell my manager that I am giving it one year and if the morale around the place isn't better, I am outta here?

The latter is my choice.  And I don't want to talk to my shift manager, I want to talk to the unit manager.  I want to tell her that I cant take it anymore and the thousands upon thousands of dollars they spent teaching me how to do my job is going to go right now the PICU budget drain, because they cant get people to stop being so fucking mean and conniving.

Babe made ridiculous amounts of money last year, and the year before, and the year before that... you get the picture. Working isn't even something I have to do. I do it because when that little girl who left our PICU today after 3 long weeks, hugged me and said "thank you Miss GreenSunflower", my heart melted.  I do it for the times a parent tells me they couldn't have made it through "that night" without my help, support, and knowledge.  I do it because I love families. I love to make them thrive. 

I don't love working with too many fucking women.  I don't love working with most gossipy backbiting group of people I have ever met.

I am ready to get pregnant and stay at home.  Loving families is not worth being miserable to my own, because of the bullshit at work.

Navaroo

Navaroo is the belief in Tamil Sri Lanka culture that if someone envy's you, they will cause bad things to happen to you , and because of that you should keep all your successes or happiness to yourself.

Babe is has denied Navaroo for a long time.  Then I got my Volvo.  He was happy when it got its first dent because then people who had been envying our car, would no longer do so, and nothing bad would happen with the car.

Then we were happy for a long time, Babe thought people envied our happiness.  We went through a period of not so much happiness.  Since people weren't envying how we weren't that happy, we got happy again, only to have the cycle repeat.

Everybody loves Boogie.  People ask if they can pay for pictures of her even.  Boogie had gastroenteritis. Babe blamed it on the envy.

I was six with some sort of viral illness for 6 weeks.  Babe things that the people at work envied my life too much and so I got sick.

Some people know just how much Babe brings down each year.  Now his business is suffering, it must be because people envied us.

I see it as life happening.  I don't think people envy me that much, and if they do, they shouldn't, my life is no more wonderful or special than anyone else's life.

But the more life goes on, the more he clings  to the navaroo idea.  I don't  know how to change that.

Feeling Well- Why Blog? Being Green, Baby Diapers, and More

People who read this blog must think I am always suicidal and always depressed.  Hardly the case.  But I tend to blog when depressed, just to dump it out into the cyber world.

Things are going fairly well, except for the horrible hormonal nature of an unmodified reproductive cycle. 

Babe and I have a commitment to being as green as possible, without taking shorter showers:)  The thought of having a baby and using disposable diapers sickens me.  At work, the number of diapers I throw away and disposable stuff in general, makes me fee badly.  The only way I can justify it, is we throw things away to save people's lives.  Reusing many of the things we throw away, would put patients at serious risk.  So I can deal with that.

But at home with a baby, or just me and Babe?  We recycle everything.  He works from home and put 834 miles on his car last year.  My car if fairly fuel efficient and my next car is going to be a hybrid.  Babe probably wont be buying a new car, as he uses his so infrequently.  I try to use as little disposable stuff as possible, and when I do use it, I use items made from recycled items.   I try to buy unbleached products whenever possible.   

So then the idea of diapers comes into play.  About this time last year, I was baby crazy.  I bought a whole bunch of fuzzi bunz cloth diapers.  I only bought medium and large, with a big emphasis on medium.  That leaves newborn and small sized diapers.  I found the website VeryBaby, by reading its owner, Jessica's Blog.
They even have a forum to post your questions and comments.

I also bought a pattern to make my own sanitary napkins.  I cannot tell you how grossed out Babe is by this.  I bought a stainless steal mini garbage can to keep them in, which has a removable plastic container.  They wont be for heavy flow days, but rather on light flow days, when I tend to use pantyliners, which bother me when they go into a landfill.  I will still use my OB tampons (no applicator) on heavier flow days, because sitting in a pile of endometrial goo, well that still grosses me out a bit.

I got my PUL, birdseye cotton, diaper gauze, microfleece, and pattern in the mail today.  Tomorrow my serger comes.  Then I am golden to start sewing more stuff!!!!

I will post pics of my sewing as it comes along.

Crazy Overprotective Mother

No, not my mother.

But something I am right now, is a Dog Mommy.  On Monday, Boogie threw up five times in a couple of hours.  Then yesterday she was fine.  This morning, at 6am, she wanted to get on the bed, very unusual for her, when on the bed she couldn't get comfortable and kept kicking out her legs.  Then I got out of bed and went to the kitchen.  Boogie ALWAYS follows me to the kitchen.  She sees it as an opportunity for her clumsy mother to drop something and for her to take advantage.  But Boogs didn't follow me to the kitchen.  She just stayed on the bed.

Then later when I put her on the ground, she puked.  I canceled an appointment I had this morning and immediately took her to the vet.  I got to the vet and told him how at I am a PICU nurse and admittedly neurotic.  And how at work sometimes we get kids who were healthy two days prior, flu like 1 day prior, and then dead the next day and sometimes we really don't know what killed them.  So I was convinced there was a remote possibility this could happen to Boogie.  Either that or she had a bowel obstruction from eating something we didn't give her, and she shouldn't  eat.

The vet assured me she basically has the stomach flu/gastroenteritis, gave her some kind of antimicrobial, we don't use in human medicine, and gave her her daily allowance in subcutaneous fluid. I got her a special toy, and we came home, where she promptly looked like she felt better, so much so she jumped on the bed by herself, something she almost never does.

All in all with dog insurance, it cost us $65.  Babe thought this ridiculous, I certainly thought it a deal. And it wasn't really that I took her for the stomach flu, but rather how I was when I was there.  How fast I talked, how the doctor kept looking at me with this "OMG this lady is nuts"  look.  He treated me so nicely, but I am sure he was glad to see me go. 

Oh my.