I made myself a little ramen this evening. It's been so long since I made ramen that.... well, there's really no excuse for having to read the package to find out how long to boil it.
Worse still, when I read the package I found out I made it wrong. Apparently, the spice packet goes in at the end, not the beginning.
Confession #8
The post-partum hair loss is getting out of hand. So much hair! on the floor! in my hand! in the comb! It's weaving itself into wall-to-wall carpeting on the bathroom floor.
My hair is shoulder-length, and styled with long layers. This means that not all my hair is the same length; it's a shaping thing I guess. Anyway, the longest layers, the hair that reaches to my shoulders, is getting pretty thin as a result of all this hair loss. It hangs in thin patches and is starting to resemble a mullet.
Hair loss supposedly peaks around the 4 month mark, so this month will see the worst of it, and it will get better starting in October. I'm holding off on a haircut until the end of the month, but it's... well, it's kind of sad. My hair's shorter than I'm used to in the first place, so I don't have a lot of options for updo's. A pair of french braids looks really cute, but I can't do that for work. Anyway, whine, bitch, moan, my hair, my hair, is everywhere; here baby, there Mama, everywhere, Daddy Daddy.
I have another confession: when I read about the website in Entertainment Weekly, I thought the site was called Funny Ordie, like a guy's weird name.
It's got some funny stuff, including a few Will Ferrell videos that have him being terrorized by a toddler.
But what I really enjoy are the video shorts of female sitcom stars being incongruently badass.
I've been meaning to admit something here for a while: I've stolen toiletries from my daughter for my own use.
Let me explain.
Once we returned from the hospital, I went through the toiletries we had amassed from the baby shower, to figure out what to use for her baths, etc. I discovered that the Aveeno products contain the same colloidal oatmeal stuff as my oatmeal paths, so I decided to try the body wash on myself, to help with my lingerning post-partum PUPPPs. Also, the lavender-camomile moisturizer sounded nice, so I thought I'd try that, too. I think they were helpful.
The PUPPPs are well and truly gone by now, but I'm still using that body wash. It's nice. If we run out of other stuff for her, I'll return it, I swear!
We're supposed to be reading to Baby so she gets to know the sounds and cadences of our voices and of reading and all that good nurtury stuff. But seriously, I don't at all see the point of reading to a baby who can't even sit in a way where she could see the pages of the book IF she could even see the pages of the book. Instead, we'll sit with her on the couch when we watch tv. She stares off at a lamp ("oooh, light") behind us while we watch.
Unfortunately, this means that the speech cadences she's picking up are from the television characters. Thanks to the new season of The Colser, she's going to think her mommy is Brenda Lee Johnson, and thanks to D's catching up on Lost, she'll think Desmond is her father.
This may result in her developing a Southern/Welsh accent, and her first words might be "Thank yew, brother!"
(Confession #4)
I was starting to put together a blog post in my head, when I remembered that I had to check with the internet about something. As it turns out, the internet confirms that I make my cursive 'f's incorrectly. (See diagram)
The bottom of my f flips back, instead of forward. I think my f is much prettier, so I'm not going to correct the error, but I do think it's interesting that I'm only realizing it now, and I wonder for how long I have been making my subversive f.
I mocked D for insisting that we include a digital kitchen scale on our wedding registry. What would we have to weigh? I'd never yet seen a recipe that called for weight. It seemed like one of the several items he wanted on the registry that he had learned about from The Food Channel, but we would never need or use.
I take it all back. He was right, and I was wrong, and my life would truly be more difficult if we did not have a small, easy-to-use digital kichen scale. I actually DO run into the need to use it when I run into crappy recipes that list ingredients like "One box of sugar". Omg. I will kill you, bitch. OK, so I have what I suspect is your "one box", and now I have to freaking halve the recipe. This is where the scale comes in: the box lists the net weight of the contents, so I can just divide in half and weigh out that much into a measuring bowl that's on a zero-ed out scale. Hooray! Crisis averted.
My computer's been fiesty re: wireless connections and various drivers, so posting will be light 'til I figure this out. I do, however, want to share with you my total wussidom. Let me say right now that I have never been good with blood tests. It's not the pain (what pain?) - it's the anxiety.
JJ: I went for my blood test this morning, but when I saw that she was going to fill 8 test tubes, I started sobbing. The nice nurse told me maybe I should come back in the afternoon with someone else to drive me home. I cried the whole way to work - it was not normal crying, either; it was that awful hormonal I-know-I-shouldn't-be-crying-this-much-but-I-can't-stop crying.
You know that saying "you can't fail a blood test" oh, I found a way.
Sis: They shouldn't SHOW you those damn vials if they know you are easily upset by taking blood. Tell them next time to hide them or something.
Be strong! You'll show those blood tests who's boss!
JJ: Ok, I went back in the afternoon with D, who I might have traumatized with my sobbing phone call this morning. It went fine, and he was very impressed that I had 8 test-tubes taken. He swears he's never had more than four taken at once. I asked him to buy me flowers as a reward. Much better than the Dora stickers the nurse had.
*This counts as Blog Confession #2
I have little to no fashion sense.
See, I feel I have to confess this, because I was just blog-browsing, and read some recent posts over at Mighty Girl, posts written by someone more successful, more popular, more pregnant, and much much more fashionable than I am. See, she has this site that highlights fashionable goods and she had this one blog entry about a hideously ugly necklace, and how she and her friend tried to imagine who would make such a thing. And here's where I have to say:
I have made ugly jewelry.
I haven't gone so far as to wear any of it, but I've created many monstrosities and tried to convince myself these items were good-looking, as though somehow anything I've put so much time into must be worth the effort.
My formative teen years were spent in the "grunge era" when jeans, a short- or long-sleeve shirt, and a flannel shirt were my wardrobe from 6th grade to around Junior year of college.
I've stepped it up since then*, but I now find it draining to "put together outfits" for work or for going out. To the point where a few months ago, I spent a few hours laying out different outfits on the bed and taking digital photos of them so I could just look up an outfit to wear instead of standing at the closet feeling tired and dumpy. This idea, for those of you considering it, should only be undertaken if you can establish a crackerjack cross-index, for easy look-up on outfits. I tried to create this in Picasa, using the colors and seasons for each outfit as labels, but f-ing Picasa is in beta, so its program is all overhauled and what used to be Labels is now something like Albums or Discontinued or something.
Also, photo-indexing outfits TOTALLY DOESN'T HELP when none of your pants fit and only half your tops fit. I'm back to square one on this. Also unhelpful is having 2/3s of your wardrobe in the laundry basket.
*It's important that I note that "stepping it up" is by comparison to before. I still have little fashion sense, but am discovering more and more that about half of my clothing is kind of boring and dumpy. Problem is, I've reached my caring threshold: I just don't care enough to fix the situation. I'll eventually weed out the offenders through a one-in-one-out policy, but otherwise, I can't be bothered.
