Sick Days Are A Sonofa

Since having Beau, people have asked what it's like having three kids. I usually tell them it's a lot like having two kids except there are more car seats.

I have since learned that this is mostly true, unless one of those kids is sick. Then it's like having 98 kids.

Sweet Violet recently had a strep throat-like virus. It made her not so sweet. Harper described her as this:

I have no idea what that actually means, but I understand the sentiment. And man was she grumpy. She had a fever, her throat hurt, she was hungry and tired. She screamed out in pain every time she tried to swallow something. Most of the day consisted of her asking for something to eat. Taking a bite. Crying uncontrollably. Declaring she no longer likes the food she just took a bite of, and asking for something else, which started the cycle over.

At one point she asked for a gummy vitamin. She put it in her mouth, it hurt, she took it back out. But instead of proclaiming her hatred for it, she held it in her hand, unable to eat it but unwilling to throw it away.

Naturally it ended up here:

By day three of the virus, her mouth hurt so bad she had stopped talking and resorted to non-verbal cues to let us know what she was thinking.

When Nick came home from work, he innocently suggested she take a drink of her medicine. She walked over and punched him in the eye.

We decided to try a different approach to get her to take it. We set it on the table, and told her when she was ready to feel better, she could come take her medicine.

Her scrawny behind walked to the bathroom and pulled the solid wood step stool from there to the kitchen counter. The she walked over to the table, grabbed the cup of medicine, walked back to the counter, climbed up the stool and poured it down the sink.

She made eye contact with us the whole time she was pouring.

Getting her to nap in her bed while sick was proving near impossible, but she deemed the baby cradle and the floor suitable alternatives.

Her sleep was often interrupted, which means my sleep was often interrupted. In my sleep-deprived state, I didn't ask questions when Harper told me her new role at preschool.

"The class voted me Class Boss," she said on the way to school.

"That's awesome honey," I replied, half in a fog.

When we got to her class, I was signing Harper in at the clipboard when I mentioned her new role to the teacher.

"So Harper tells me she's Class Boss," I said to her.

She stared back blankly. Then she blinked and stared again.

"The class didn't vote her Class Boss?" I said, finally listening to my words. Why in God's name would a group of four-year-olds vote someone boss, I thought.

"They voted her Weather Checker," her teacher said.

"And that consists of..." I asked for clarification. I wondered how Harper jumped from "Weather Checker" to "Class Boss" in her head.

"It consists of going to the window, checking the weather and telling the class," she said.

I've got nothing. Maybe Harper has a future in resume writing. #ladyboss

Luckily Beau was a good sport while I tended to Violet's every need. Here he is happily swinging:

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And here he is patiently waiting to be held:

As I'm writing this, Violet is no longer sick and no one else seems to have caught it. But just to get back at her for acting like a crazy person, I'm not going to tell her about her dress...

Oh Boy, Oh Beau

This is one-week-old Beau. He's already tired of my kisses.

So I had a baby boy.

I was pretty sure it was going to be a boy because I wanted to fight everyone almost my entire pregnancy. I chalked it up to testosterone coursing through my veins.

I hoped after he was born, my hormones would go back to normal. But just in case they didn't, I did what any "normal" person would do and decided to encapsulate my placenta.

About a week before the baby came, I thought I should raise the subject with my father-in-law. He and my mother-in-law were staying with us while we waited for baby to arrive.

"So, I'm planning on keeping my placenta and having it turned into pills," I casually said one day in the kitchen. David was sitting in his favorite spot at our kitchenette reading the news. He's an open-minded man, but he's also in his 70s and set in his ways. Placenta consumption was outside his realm of comfort, I think.

"Is it done by a shaman?" was his only question.

"Nope, there's no shaman," I said. "But they do need to know if we would rather them prepare the placenta here in the kitchen or do it at their lab--."

"I think the lab is best, " he said quickly. I agreed. We avoided talking about placentas for the rest of the visit.

Luckily, having a boy provided plenty of other opportunities for awkward moments. Most of them came at Beau's one-week check up. I had some questions that I wasn't exactly sure how to ask the pediatrician. So I just went for it:

"Is his scrotum supposed to look like that?" I said.

"Like what?" she said.

I searched for the right words...
"Like it's 80. Like it's 80 years old," I said for clarification. The pediatrician looked at me. I looked back at her. I think she was trying to gauge if I was serious. I was.

"It's fine," she said.

"Ok good. That's what I figured, I just wanted to make sure," I said to save face.

Then she gave me directions on how to best care for the circumcision. After the "scrotum incident" I didn't want to look like an idiot again, so I think I over compensated.

"Ok cool. I think I know what to do. I'm pretty familiar..." I trailed off. Where was I going with this? Familiar with what? Penises? That sounds creepy.

"I'm mean, not too familiar. Not more familiar than the average woman, I would guess. Moderately familiar," I stopped talking.

"Ok, let's get his diaper back on," she said. "And we'll see you at his two-week appointment."

Against my better judgement, I made one last effort to connect with the doc.

"I can't believe his diaper was off for so long and neither one of us got R. Kelly'd," I joked.

At this point she gave me what I like to call, "Kanye Face." If you don't know what that is, here's a picture of Kanye looking completely unimpressed.

Photo cred: popdust.com

She had to know the reference I was making. She and I were about the same age, so we both should remember when he was in the news. Though maybe she didn't watch the news back then. After all, she would've been preparing to be a doctor. I was just preparing for my future as an unemployed journalist; I had plenty of time to watch the news.

Or maybe the joke just wasn't funny. I'll try it again at his next appointment just to be sure.

(Note: I'm sorry Beau. I promise to delete this blog post before you start school.)

What Not to Say to a Pregnant Lady

While it's not ok to comment on a pregnant woman's size, it IS ok to laugh at her jokes about her size. 

I think we all know that it's not ok to ask a woman if she is pregnant. Unless you are in the delivery room while the actual baby is being born, you should not ask. But that's only the start of the list. Here's some helpful alternatives to common pregnancy questions.

Inappropriate comment:
"You must be having a boy. They say boys steal your beauty."

Why this is not ok:
Because it's not. Even my four-year-old would know this is not ok to say.

Possible alternative:
"Hey, girl. You look great today." Lie, just lie. And if you're not comfortable with lying, offer to do her laundry while she takes a nap.


Inappropriate comment:
"How dilated are you?"-said by the grocery store cashier.

Why this is not ok:
If I'm just trying to buy a few groceries, please don't ask me about the size of my cervix.

Possible alternative:
Would you like paper or plastic?


Inappropriate comment:
"When were you due, yesterday?"-said to my neighbor who was five months pregnant.

Why this is not ok:
It implies she is bigger than she should be.

Possible Alternative:
"You look good. Want me to do your laundry for you?"


Inappropriate comment:
"Are you sure it's not twins?"

Why it's not ok:
I'm pretty sure if it were twins they would have told me at one of the 942 doctor's appointments I've gone to since I got pregnant. You basically just called me fat.

Possible alternative:
"Why don't you get off your feet while I do your laundry?"


Inappropriate comment:
"That explains why you've been nine months pregnant for the last four months." -My dumbass said this to my neighbor after she give birth to a toddler-sized newborn.

Why it's not ok:
Because there are literally a million other things to say to someone who has just had a baby.

Possible alternative:
Congrats. She's perfect. Way to go, Momma. Want me to do your laundry?

Regarding Having A Third Kid:

Inappropriate comment:
"You know they say two is company, three's a crowd."

Why it's not ok:
I'm already pregnant with our third. If I came to you beforehand and asked your thoughts on having three kids, that would've been a perfect time for this statement. Now it's a bit late.

Possible alternative:
"If your hands are full those first few months, let me know and I'll come over and do your laundry."


Inappropriate comment:
"You're going to want to kill yourself those first few weeks." -This has actually been said to me by two different people.

Why it's not ok:
This is in no way helpful or insightful.

Possible alternative:
"If you need someone to drink wine with after the baby comes, I'm your girl."


Honorable Mention Inappropriate comment:
"You must be trying for a boy."
(Most people do not consider this inappropriate, but for some reason it bothers me. If you tell me YOU hope I have a boy or you think I'm having a boy, it doesn't bother me at all. Confusing, I know. I blame the hormones.)

Why it's not ok:
It implies that having two girls is somehow incomplete. If you must know, we're not trying for a boy. We're just trying for not an asshole.

Possible alternative:
Congrats.

If you see something on this list that looks vaguely familiar, don't worry, we all fall victim to clumsy mouth sometimes. When in doubt, ask yourself this question: Is what I'm about to say a helpful statement? If not, just stick with "Congrats."