Facation!

I’m going on a trip next week! But, Hipster Hausfrau, you cry, you’re on bedrest! You can’t go anywhere!

Das Big Boy enjoys a game in which his father gives him a ride around the house in his favorite chair, a gift from his Auntie Donut. Here, he has brought Big Boy Owl, the famous Beejer, and a pink bunny along for the ride. Also shown: cuteness.

Das Big Boy enjoys a game in which his father gives him a ride around the house in his favorite chair, a gift from his Auntie Donut. Here, he has brought Big Boy Owl, the famous Beejer, and a pink bunny along for the ride. Also shown: cuteness.

True that.

But we’re finally having heat installed in our home next week. Wait, I never told you that we’ve been living on space heaters since our furnace failed to kick on this year? Well, we have. Just an added layer of excitement in the HH household. But don’t worry: space heaters are more effective and less terrifying than when they burned you as a child and/or started a fire in your home (and I’m not kidding, sadly. I know people who suffered each of these horrors).

Our heat is a major project–one we’ve known was coming since we bought the house–because they have to install duct work to the second floor. The previous owners raised four children in a house with no heat on the second floor. Insane-o. But we’re happily converting from oil to gas, adding central air, and getting whole house humidification. Woo hoo! (Wow. If this is what gets me excited these days, I may need to get out more. F-ing bedrest.)

All of this means the HH family will be decamping to Chez Hausfrau, aka the abode of the incomparable La Gigi and El Papa. So I’ll be growing into their lovely couch starting on Sunday and extending through next week. Hooray!

For now, I’m enjoying one of my last nights in my own bed (by which I of course mean my pull out couch), eating a truly divine kale salad and tomato corn casserole provided by Miss Mom (who is not my mom, but ESA’s mom). Deelish! Thank you!

Tomorrow it’s December, and I think we can count that as another milestone. Also, we can count it as the time when I get to start eating my chocolate advent calendar. Thanks, Herr Husband!

Sweet dreams, sweet ballerinas, everyone!

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31

In honor of my reaching thirty-one weeks of pregnancy, I thought I would present to you the thirty-one most amusing/surprising/moving/alarming phrases people have Googled and found themselves being directed to this humble site.

1. bugaboo yuppie: one of the chief concerns of parents on the internet seems to be whether they are behaving in a yuppiesh manner. I’m less certain of whether they are aspiring to be yupptastic or trying to avoid it.  In any event: yes, the Bugaboo is for yuppies. And man, if I had the money, I would so have wanted a Donkey, even though it would have made me feel like a terrible human being. Being a socialist yuppie isn’t always easy.

2. porn + dildo + elect: Clearly brought here by my previous references to misdirected porn seekers, my discussion of ultrasound dildo, and my obsession with the election, this person was obviously disappointed. Also, do you think s/he meant to search for erect? Is there a such thing as a flaccid dildo? Yes, a quick Google of my own just introduced me to Mr. Limpy. I’m not going to link to him. You can seek him out on your own.

3. Hipster Glasses: This is the search (other than those by people actually looking for me) that most consistently sends people here. And I do have a picture of said glasses, so hopefully these customers are satisfied.

4. Long flexible dildo: I don’t recommend ultrasound dildo for this purpose. It’s not flexible. Or fun.

5. Lakashi people: I reviewed State of Wonder  a while ago. I imagine these searchers want to know if the Lakashi are a real tribe. They’re not, and I mention that in the review. Hopefully, more satisfied customers.

6. docter fuck patient while echo baby [sic, sick]: we covered this one already. I remain disturbed and confused.

7. we vibe for short cervix: Is this person looking for a small vibrator because they think they have a small vagina? Or is it a fundraiser for short cervices? Mystery.

8. Bedrest children: I hope this is for people who have children and are on bed rest, not for children on bed rest because that seems extra sad. But if you have kids and are on bedrest, I advise you to hire a nanny who is great with your kid(s) and with whom you enjoy spending time. Is finding that person easy? Probably not (unless she pops back into your life at the perfect moment like Nanny Sunshine). But is it worth it? Yes. A million times yes.

9. “my wheelchair”: Hmmm… well, this person must have been disappointed because they found my wheelchair instead. Which actually belongs to my amazing ninety-nine-year-old grandmother, who refuses to use it. It cannot be wheeled by its occupant, only by a pusher, so it feels very Victorian.

10. micro preemie bottle feeding: Believe it or not, Das Big Boy wasn’t technically a micropreemie. At 1055 grams, or 2lbs 5 oz, he was too big. But my advice to preemie moms is to insist on trying to breastfeed rather than bottle feed whenever possible. I wish I had.

11. america’s next top model porn: Sorry, dud/ette. You should fire your browser.

12. on bedrest how can i vote/vote on bedrest: Hopefully, these folks were able to talk to their doctors and get cleared to vote. If you can go to a medical appointment, you can vote. If you don’t have access to a wheelchair, call your city/town clerk ahead of time and you’ll be able to cut the line, at least.

PPROM+massive medical intervention+love+one tough kid+luck=amazing, adorable, miraculous son

13. PPROM termination: This one crushed me. My advice to people in this terrible situation would be to make the decision a personal one between them and their partner. But I hope our story provided hope to those refusing to terminate with PPROM. I can’t promise that every outcome, or even most outcomes, will be like ours. But if you’re looking for a glimmer of good news, I’ve got it.

14. what das a boy means when he kiss a gal on a neck?: I don’t think he means anything, except that he thinks neck kissing feels good. And that spelling isn’t his strong suit.

15. peg tube oral feeding: A shitshow. Don’t let doctors tell you that tube feeding won’t affect oral feeding, because it’s a damn lie. Don’t let them overfeed your kid through the tube. Work to minimize vomiting. Have a good feeding specialist and nutritionist in place. I’m not against tubes; they helped Das Big Boy get big. But I would do it very, very differently if I had to do it again.

16. needham blog liquor sales: This person must have wanted on the ground reaction to the fact that wine and beer will now be sold in my town. Thank f-ing gods.

17. hipster code names: Dear searcher, yours is Anthrax Mellonballer.

18. Hausfrauen chubby: You were looking for porn. You got the post in which I ate half a pint of Chubby Hubby and made my colon mad. You didn’t get what you wanted, and I was insulted. Lose-lose.

19. making friends in the suburbs: Girl, I could do a whole post on this one. But my best advice is to mine possible existing connections, be friendly, and join parent/child activities. Also, once there’s a wine store, I’ll be able to make friends there!

20. progesterone shots homeopathic: Nope. Pretty sure they’re just straight up drugs. But not the fun kind.

21. naughty sexy woman wearing caproate: Caproate isn’t an outfit. It’s a “A salt or ester of caproic acid,” according to an online medical dictionary. But I’m glad you find me naughty and sexy. Just the boost I need after that last dude called me chubby. But again, I’m wearing footie pajamas with sock monkey feet, not Caproate.

22. find my iphone husband stalking: I use find my friends for husband stalking, and find my iPhone to find my iPhone when it’s under me somewhere on the couch where I can see it.

Flowy and patterned seems good for obscuring the tube.

23. “g-tube” + women + clothes: I was sad about this one, too, because I imagine a woman was looking for clothes she could wear that wouldn’t make her g-tube too obvious. First of all, having dressed a kid with one, it doesn’t stick out as far as you might worry. I would suggest cute, flowy tops. They pair well with tighter pants.

24. porn sigmoidoscopy: For those not in the know, because you don’t have America’s sexiest bowel disease, a sigmoidoscopy is a colonoscopy that doesn’t go as far into your colon. It is never sexy. This person upsets me. Do you think these people stick around and read my blog. Probably not, right? In this case, I hope not (and I’m desperate enough for readers that I’ll take pretty much anybody).

25. son socks bedtime: Not sure why this person came to me, but yes. Let your son wear socks to bed if he wants. I like socks in bed. Some people don’t. There is enough room for all of us (except that sigmoidoscopy porn guy). And if you don’t have clean footie jammies, socks to bed can be a poor, but acceptable, substitute.

It’s not actually his first bottle, but it’s the first one we photographed rather than videoing.

26. magnesium hipster: Magnesium is good for your bones and essential for muscle and nerve function. Sounds good for hipsters and people everywhere!

27. preemie baby boy in nicu eating first bottle: Ask and ye shall receive.

28. gigi cervix: Mind your beeswax! My cervix is fair game, but my mother doesn’t discuss such things in public fora.

29. injuries from writing: I’m guessing carpal tunnel is the most common? Drunken stair tumbles? I wouldn’t know, because, man, have I been slacking on all writing (except for this blog…)

30. yuppie parents brooklyn: Yes. Park Slope, Brooklyn Heights, Cobble Hill, Fort Greene, Carroll Gardens. I could go on. Hipsters call them the stroller mafia. Then they make more money and become them.

31. bedrest sounds great: You sound like an idiot.

What a way to celebrate Baby Girl Husband Hausfrau’s thirty-first week of gestation! Huzzah! Thanks as always for the support that helps keep my spirits up (and thus my baby in!).


A Photographic Series

What could be hiding in this closet?

Today Nanny Sunshine took Das Big Boy to the pediatrician to have his illness evaluated. What a brave and wonderful soul she is. I’m pretty sure taking a coughing kid with an exceedingly complex pulmonary history to his first appointment with a new pediatrician is beyond what one is supposed to ask of a nanny, but she is awesome and thus gets stuck with crappy jobs. Unfair how that works, isn’t it?

Dr. David Greenes (of Needham Pediatrics) called me after examining Das Big Boy (which I thought was supernice of him) so we could talk through his assessment. He thought Das Big Boy’s lungs sounded pretty clear. His respiratory rate was on the high side, and his 02 saturation was just slightly off at 95-97 (I’m proud to say his baseline is now 98-100). No gold stars for the lungs, but no panic either.  Doesn’t seem like pneumonia, so that’s good. So we think it’s probably just a virus and we’ll keep an eye on it. Dr. G. suggested that, while unlikely, it could be a sinus infection, since it’s been lingering for a while, and said we could treat with antibiotics. But I think unnecessary antibiotics tend to weaken the immune system. And it’s not really screaming bacterial infection to me. So we’re going to hold off on that. Of course, since the appointment, Das Big Boy has developed a smidge of stridor with the cough. If it starts sounding croupy, we’re going to see about getting him a ‘roid shot. He remains perfectly happy, although he did just puke in his crib (a side effect of mucus face and cough when you have a sensitive gag reflex), so his dad is perhaps less happy.

Could it be?

Baby girl HH remains in utero, and I so far don’t seem to have contracted the virus that’s leveling my family. We should be grateful for that, and probably do some wood knocking, since I’m afraid that if I get a cough I’m going to cough out a baby. La Gigi is well again and will return to duty tomorrow, but poor El Papa remains sick, although he is healing.

Surprise, it’s a supercute, if ill, toddler!

We should also count ourselves lucky that Herr Husband hasn’t absconded to a tropical isle to avoid the drudgery that is maintaining our household while working hard at his job. I imagine it’s the adorableness of our child that’s keeping him here. If you’re going to puke in a bed, it’s generally a good idea to be supercute so that people will forgive you. Just ask any college student!


Like Flies, I Tell You

The Familie is not faring particularly well at the moment. I feel fine, you know, for someone whose blood pressure is elevated by the simple task of walking from her OB’s lobby to an exam room. And on that note, my NP appointment today went well, and didn’t even feature a manual check of my cervix–hooray! Just your typical weighing, blood pressure, peeing, measuring, heartbeat listening stuff–all of which went well (once they rechecked my BP after I’d recovered from my marathon walk). It appears, btw, that Herr Husband was right. No umbilical hernia, just extreme stretching of abdominal muscles. Yay!

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Das Big Boy at the park with Nanny Sunshine on Monday.

And Herr Husband is ok, too. But La Gigi and El Papa remain sick, and Das Big Boy has decided to turn his ten-day-old toddler boogie nose into barky, juicy cough and low grade fever. These things, while probably fine, are slightly more alarming in a child with chronic lung disease. So a trip to the pediatrician may be in our future. And by our future, I mean Herr Husband’s future. I’ll offer couch moral support. I’m a bit bummed as I haven’t even met our new pediatrician yet and I want to be in on a first visit, but c’est la vie. The past few years of being constantly engaged in the medical system have made me strangely really like the medical system. Too bad I was blood-squeamish when getting myself educated; I think I would have liked being a doctor. I still fantasize about going the NP route, but another three years of school will bankrupt me and make me old, and seriously, at some point I should probably get a paying job again instead of just going to school and growing lovely humans in a shoddy environment. And there’s that book to write…

Thankfully, Nanny Sunshine is healthy (knock on wood–all of you, do some knocking!), and she’s keeping Das Big Boy–who doesn’t seem to mind being sick–entertained. Today she invented a Twister-like game by coloring a rainbow spots on big paper on the floor and having Das Big Boy step on them or put his hands on them. So cute! And then he made his stuffed animals play. Adorbs!

So, along with those long, closed cervix vibes you’ve been so generously sending, feel free to send some healing vibes to my parents and child!


Just Another Manic Monday

Today, Mo read Das Big Boy the George and Martha story, “The Tightrope.” Afterwards, Das Big Boy ran around the house with this noodle between his legs shouting, “Das Big Boy on a Tightrope.” It was awesome.

Well, as manic as things can get on the couch, anyway.

Herr Husband had to leave at dawn for a DC daytrip, which meant dumping Das Big Boy in bed with me. My fear was that if Das Big Boy were to awake in the thirty minutes between HH’s departure and Nanny Sunshine’s arrival, I wouldn’t be able to go up to his crib to rescue him. Das Big Boy is fidgety when he gets into a big bed, and by fidgety I mostly mean face-kicky. So that was fun. But he is also very cute and woke up smiling and asking for Beejer, his chimpanzee sidekick.

He had a double puke morning, unfortunately. That cold is lingering in its barky cough phase, which also means an even more sensitive gag reflex and a tummy full of mucus–ew. Nanny Sunshine had been warned when she joined our team that vomit was on the menu–ew again. (Actually, I’ve been surprised by how puke-free things have been during her time in office). But still.

Then the plumbers showed up to fix the pipe that ruptured during the efforts to unclog our kitchen sink. They made a lot of noise, which intrigued Das Big Boy, but not so much the rest of us.

At two, Mo arrived, taking over an extended La Gigi shift (fortuitously, for by the end of the day, La Gigi would be struck down by the same illness plaguing El Papa). Mo arrived bearing delicious Whole Foods dinner (pumpkin risotto!) and entertainments–an enormo box of crayons for Das Big Boy and accoutrement for him to make ornaments for the tree. This was very exciting because DBB has wanted to discuss ornaments and decorations a great deal since the tree went up. He’s also into denuding the tree, but not so much the replacing of the ornaments he’s taken down. It’s a work in progress.

Still awesome.

Mo really took one for the team (if by the team you mean my family). She fed Das Big Boy two meals (a nearly impossible feat), played the role of Beejer in the kitchen beautifully, and even changed a poopy diaper. If that’s not the work of a best friend, I don’t know what is. Not to mention she entertained me for hours on end, as she always does.

My biggest accomplishment today was diagnosing myself with an umbilical hernia. This does not mean that I have a crazy outie, but just that I have a pain above my belly button. Herr Husband says I’m not allowed to have any more medical conditions. I’m inclined to agree with him. Fortunately, even if I’m right, this one doesn’t seem to be a big deal.

Baby Girl is still hanging in there. I have an appointment tomorrow with the NP at my OB’s practice. Back to regular old appointments for me! Hopefully all will be well–we’re no longer compulsively measuring my cervix, so I won’t be able to analyze every millimeter of change. I think this means fewer opportunities for anxiety. We shall see!

Sweet dreams, sweet ballerinas.


Amused

I’ll admit it. I’m fairly easily amused. I amuse myself quite a bit, which is essential to my being a fundamentally happy (if vaguely smug and annoying) person. (And a person who apparently uses a lot of adverbs–my creative writing professors and colleagues would be so ashamed).

I’m also very amused by my kid.

Now I imagine that those of you who aren’t couch-blobs are suffering from a bit of that malaise that comes with returning to work after an extra-long weekend, or having your co-parent return to work after an extra-long weekend. So I will share with you some of the amusing things that have happened in my tiny sphere (the eight-foot semicircular radius around my couch) in the previous forty-eight hours. May my anecdotes lift your spirits as they have lifted mine.

1. Das Big Boy and I were reading Horton Hears a Who (by Dr. Seuss, notes my toddler). In it, Horton mentions that children may live on the speck of dust he’s protecting. I smelled a teachable moment (that sounds dangerous with a toddler, but really, it just means I wanted to engage him in an educational convo.)

Me, apparently. At least Horton is kind and nurturing.

“Children,” I said. “Who’s a child?”

“Das Big Boy,” said Das Big Boy, pronouncing his name correctly as is now the norm for him.

“That’s right,” I said. “Das Big Boy is a child. And what is mommy?”

“Fat,” answered Das Big Boy.

A glutton for punishment (among other things, if Das Big Boy is to be believed) I persisted. “What’s Mommy?” I asked.

Das Big Boy responded with something that sounded like either Allison or elephant. “Elephant?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he replied, “Mommy is Horton.”

2. Yesterday, Herr Husband was struggling a bit to set up our Christmas tree. The stand was malfunctioning and he was getting a bit annoyed. I, as usual, was on the couch. Das Big Boy wandered off and was not under direct adult supervision. He’s fairly trustworthy, so we let this happen from time to time.

After several quiet minutes, he emerged from the bathroom.

Apparently the grand master of a potty parade, he held the toilet brush aloft like a baton and had twenty feet of toilet paper trailing from his foot. The rest of the roll, it turned out, was balled up on the floor in the bathroom. We were TPd by our own child. And we handled this moment by laughing hysterically rather than parenting. Although Herr Husband did take the toilet brush away, because that’s a little gross. At least Das Big Boy was holding it by the right end.

The Taunting, by Eric Joyner.                        Yup. Robots and Donuts. Like this. There’s also one that imitates the Hopper painting Nighthawks, but that seemed obvious to post here, even though it’s hilarious and fascinating.

3. This has nothing to do with Das Big Boy but with something fascinating and fabulous to which ESA introduced me. Are you all familiar with the art of Eric Joyner? He paints robots and donuts.

ESA went on a date with someone who felt it was very urgent that she see his book of Eric Joyner paintings. And no, that’s not a euphemism.

I told her I was glad she went on such dates because otherwise I would never know that these robot and donut paintings (and their attendant obsessive fanboys) exist. And I am happy they do.

Now you can share in my bliss. The world is a funny and mysterious place.

Also, my second child remains a fetus, so that’s good news, too.

Happy Sunday night, loyal readers!

This photo is also from the tree shopping escapade. It’s amusing in its cuteness, I think. Also, I was afraid you’d get mad at me if I didn’t post a Das Big Boy photo today.


Status Quo

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Das Big Boy helps pick the perfect tree. Later, when his father has set up said tree and asks how it looks, he will reply, “Green.”

The nice thing about the status quo is that sometimes it can be awesome. Like today. Yes, I spent the entirety of my day on the couch, as usual. But I spent it not having a baby while Herr Husband and Das Big Boy went out for our Christmas tree.

Then this evening, Mo and the Extra Special Agent (ESA) came over to trim the tree and entertain me and my toddler. We ate delicious (guest provided) food and gabbed all night, which is why I am late in posting.

It was a good night, and now I’ll wish you a good night.

Sweet dreams, sweet ballerinas, as Das Big Boy would say. (He loves the book Olivia Helps with Christmas, which ends with her dreaming about being a ballerina. So that’s set the standard for sweet dreaming, it would appear.)

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Could the hood be any cuter?