Child induced injury

As if pushing him out wasn't enough, as if the fact that he physically sucks the life out of me on a daily basis wasn't enough - throw chronic injury from over-usage to the list! That's right kids, mommy has tendinitis of the wrist! And yet I'm still typing to tell you about it. That's love, people.

The pain in my left wrist began shortly after the littlest king's arrival. Initially I thought it was all due to the fact that I've been using my laptop almost exclusively since he was born. My previous workstation, in the cave of our basement was better equipped for typing and such. I thought it was going to be the price I was going to have to pay for the convenience of working upstairs. I tried to improve my working conditions, bought a new keyboard, wrist support, blah, blah, blah and yet no improvement. Bah.

My next strategy was just to grin and bear it because really - who has time for this? The pain isn't THAT bad, its more annoying than anything. It will go away.

It hasn't.

Its now been months that my wrist has been sore and the most troubling part is that I couldn't figure out why. I sincerely think this blockage of reason was my mother mind trying to block out the true reason for the pain, for some instinctual fear the realization would cause me to abandon my son. But ah-ha! I'm smarter than my primal mind - maternal instincts be damned.

Recently, I was schlepping the boy on my left hip, my hip of choice and realized my left hand was wrapped way around him in a hyperextended position. I looked at him and said, "It's YOU! You, my dear boy, are making me ache."

Off to the (expectedly useless) general practitioner we went. Apparently this is very common for new moms as they carry their increasingly heavy babies in ways their bodies aren't used to. She doled out some sage advice like, "Ice, Ibuprofen and rest." I got me a super duper wrist support that is so honking I only wear when I can stand it (not now.)

As I left the doctor's, she said, "The only real relief will come when he starts walking and you won't have to carry him everywhere."

Suddenly, my wrist doesn't hurt so bad. I'm definitely not ready for walking.

Post music class stupidity

Henry and I had our first music class today. We danced, we sang, we wiggled. All fun stuff. Super.

The class starts precisely at the time Henry's morning nap typically commences. This worries me but I figure (correctly) that he'll be memorized by the music and put up with the class with no fuss. Mommy intuition dead on.

The class winds down and I can tell he's just done. His diaper is wet and I want to get him out of there STAT. So we pile up our stuff which includes the honking big diaper bag, (love my bag though I do, I'm a small purse kind of gal. This big bag stuff sucks.) my Bjorn, and the big bag of materials we receive in the first class. Apparently there are CDs, reference materials, the sheet music (oh, we are not messing around. Little did I know this was music class for baby Mozarts.)

So back to the state of Henry - its not looking good. We dart for the car, boy on my hip, bag on my shoulder, music crap and Bjorn under my arm.

Keys. Where the eff are my keys?

The boy is squirming due to wet diapers and it dawns on me I can't just put him down on the pavement of the parking lot. We are momentarily locked out of the car. Crap.

I put the music and the Bjorn on the roof of the car and kind of lean the child on the hood of my car while I rifle through my bag to find the elusive keys. Ah-ha! I break in, change the boy on the front seat and I'm sure you guys know the end of this story already. We zip out of there and leave the Bjorn and the music crap on the roof. I don't even realize it until I get home and there is this condescending message on my machine:

"Um hello - Lauren? This is Diane from the Rec. department. We found a Bjorn in the parking lot and have been tracking down all the babies in your class to see who it might belong to."

What she was really saying was,
"Um - hi Lauren? We are looking for the worst mother in your music class. So we've been calling everyone individually and the unanimous vote was that its you."

Despite the complex I'm refusing to admit that I'm developing - I'm pissed. There was no mention of the music materials in the message which means its somewhere on the streets of my town. I paid precisely a million dollars for this class and I want the freaking materials. What's really annoying is that I can't even go do a quick look around because music class officially kicked Henry's ass and he's been asleep for 2+ hours. So instead of enjoying this deliciously long nap, kicking my heels up and enjoying my saved episode of Top Chef, I'm seething at the pure annoyance of it all.

Bah!

Not funny....blood

Maybe when you have kids your sense of humor drops down a notch, maybe our level of sophistication is somehow debased - whatever the case I can't help but be amused at a recent episode in our household.

This is truly the not funny part:
Earlier this week I was clipping Henry's ridiculously fast growing nails. If I don't keep up with him, he scratches the crap out of his face and I hate to see that. Now, I know this is something that most moms hate doing but I had thought I was getting really good at doing this, given the frequency I seem to have to do it.

So I get the job done, Henry puts up with me with relatively no fuss. I give the boy to his father for a quick story before bed. I clean up and return to the scene to retrieve the boy to make way for bedtime.

What's that?!

A smear of something on his face, and stains on his sleeper. The boy is bleeding! I nicked his finger and my boy-made-of-steel didn't even complain. I tried to react as coolly as possible, given my first-time mom synapses are firing, "Oh my God - BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD." We bandage him up, good as new. This fire has been put out and no frantic calls to the pediatrician were made. Phew.

The next morning, my husband realizes in our moment of need we totally dropped the ball and missed the PERFECT opportunity to quote one of my favorite YouTube movies.

Not FUN-KNEEEE! Not FUN-KNEEEE! Bluuud!




Regardless, I've been chuckling about it all week.