Blogs and Babies

Blogs

Chris has a good point. A lot of people write blogs to exorcise their demons and what not. I've never done that.

I have friends who are constantly writing private blogs on Myspace (and then I'm notified they posted one and I can't read it. That pisses me off.) Because they want to write something that no one can read. Yet, they want us all to know they did so. So, in a way, it isn't private. As with Chris's way of writing blogs to exorcise demons, anonymously, they are still there, are they not? For the world to stumbleupon?

I write to get out my angst. I do so either on paper, or on word. If I don't want anyone to read it, I burn it or delete it. There have been two times I posted private blogs on myspace. One was a bad poem I needed to get out and the other was a tirade against my husband, who was in full jerk form that day. I kept it, because I figured one of these days, I'll take it out and like a sword, brandish it at him. That's right, I did it on purpose. For the purpose of one day showing him how he hurt me. Silly, I know, but I hardly ever do that. Truly.

I guess my point is this: Most people who write blogs do so to be seen, but not all. Fine.


Babies

A little bit of education for those of you who have yet to produce tiny, evil images of yourselves. For those of you who have, I'm sure you'll remember these times fondly.

My youngest two are sick. Again. It feels like they've been sick for a month and a half. Whenever they get over a sickness, another one moves in. I'm sick of all the boogers.

I realized last night that the reason teens go to parties and drink until they puke isn't because they are rebelling. Nope, nor is it because it's fun and the thing to do when you're bored. It's to help you become accustomed to being puked on. It's a mechanism to teach us how to deal with that situation once it arises, and it does arise quite often. Last night, I was holding my baby. I was going to post a picture of her new cheesy smile, but my oldest daughter absconded with the camera, so I won't. Lucky you. About an hour after capturing this cheesy smile (it is really the cutest thing ever) she started getting really fussy and I noticed she was warm. She had pooped a lot, and I knew she was getting sick, so I decided to give her some baby Tylenol. I did and she repaid me by spewing the contents of her stomach all over me, again and again. Once I finally got her to go to sleep, I went upstairs to check on the three year old, who had a fever as well, and gave her a drink o water. She then vomited all over her bed.

There is one thing they never tell you when you are becoming a parent, and that is this: You will talk about poop, a lot. My husband will walk into the house, receive his kiss and hello, and promptly be told, "The baby pooped a ton today, it was disgusting, and ran down her leg." We even talk about the poop of our six year old, who poops logs. We can not understand how such large items come out of such a little behind. They stop up the toilet, they don't want to go down. It's like they are little people, desperately clinging to the sides of the bowl in a last attempt at life. I almost feel bad for them. One time, my mother-in-law had to grab an old hanger to break them apart so they could die peacefully.

Now, both girls are vomitous and diarreous (I know these are not words, but they are now.) and feverous as well. They are hot, sticky, stinky balls of ewww.

I love being a mom... but it cuts into my being a student quite often.