Waiting until the full moon

Well, let's hope not. The next two available full moons do not fall during optimal baby-having times. I'll wait for the new moon, though. That's acceptable.

So, had an interesting week. Spending 48 hours in the hospital does, as the wise man once said, actually destroy an entire week. I'm starting new this morning (slowly, obviously) at exactly the point I left off last Monday. Well, maybe a little ahead. Father came over and blessed the house yesterday, so that's progress at least.

Hospital staying is not something I recommend. For one thing, at least if you're me, it exacerbates whatever might or might not have been wrong with you in the first place. I went in to see if I had the flu (I didn't), and ended up staying for two days so that they could make sure I had neither suffered a heart attack or was going to throw an embolism. All this, basically, becaus my heart rate stayed above 135bpm long enough that they were able to justify an EKG, then ultrasounds of my legs and heart, then a CT scan, then chest x-rays. And so on. And so forth.

The poor doctor (whom I liked very much, btw, and whom I will hear no ill words against despite my belief that perhaps my trama was treatment-induced) wanted very badly to know what was wrong with me. He, in fact, spent a very long hour out of his busy day talking to me/Joe about my condition, what could be wrong, why he recommended certain treatments, etc. All of the poor doctors were frustrated that nothing clear cut could be said about me. Still, they gave me a list of meds, I declined one right off the bat and went home with the rest, and agreed to get a meter to check my blood pressure and pulse twice a day--as a compromise, for my loving family was greatly afeared for me.

So far, in the peace and tranquility of my own home, my heart and my blood pressure are very cooperative. No hypertension, no sinus tachycardia. Just me, my baby, and a nagging head cold (which two days in the hospital failed to fix, interestingly enough). Still, I have to go back today for them to test baby for stress, and I have to go back Wednesday for the new OB to have a look at me, and I go back for both every week from now until the party starts. In a way, I feel silly that I went in last week and put myself (and poor, poor Joseph!!) through all that, but oh well. I've got 7-day benchmarks, which ought to make the time go faster. That's just the best way to look at it.

Time Eaters

There are many, of course. House, chores, husband, bills, pets, appointments, phone calls, etc. However, number three seems to have sucked away every extra second between here and two weeks ago, without effort and certainly without me noticing. How? Well, besides the week in PA, how?

I don't know. Maybe I'm still getting as much done as I used to, but he creates "stuff" that needs to be done that I'm not yet ramped up to take care of yet. For example, I know that I'm still doing laundry on a regular basis, but there's twice as many dirty clothes around all the time. I know that I get up at a decent time, but breakfast doesn't get eaten until after nine. I know that the downstairs bathroom was clean when I left here, but...

All this is, I realize, shades of things to come. Soon there will be two people on his team, and still only one of me. There will be two laundry factories, two trash machines, two time eaters. Will I get only 1/3 of everything done? Sigh. My mom's solution to this problem is to Never, Ever, Ever create messes of her own. There are no mom-produced chores to address, only those the others in the house have come up with. It's a thought, you know? Her next step in the brilliant plan was to raise us up in the fear of the Lord [and Mother], so that we more or less cared for most of our own messes ourselves. We made beds a lot of the time, we took our own dishes from the table almost without exception, we took out trash in the early thursday mornings just because running out the driveway in pajamas and bare feet was fun.

But one cannot raise up an infant in the fear of oneself. He does not change his own diaper, he does not wash his own clothes. He definitely does not do his own dishes. And my husband has already been raised up, but he only fears the Lord, and forgets about most everything else. ("What dishes? Oh, that's where I put them! I was going to put them in the sink...") I'm trying to instill a fear of something into the two cats in the meantime, since they're the only living things around that I think I might have an effect on. So far, no good. They still start crawling around on me about 0545, ready for breakfast. The little one still follows me around he house crying until I sit down, then climbs up on my stomach to take a bath. The big one still throws litter all over creation every time he uses the box.

Sigh. Time to do the chores.

A Complete Set

So, Mr. Bird comes back within the hour...man, it has been a long summer. :) Stay tuned for the fall, though. You never know what I'll decide sounds like a good idea to try.