I was so mean to my husband all day yesterday. Don't know why. I was just so angry and annoyed at him and kept throwing him eyerolls, sighs, snarky remarks, and at one point even stormed out of the room muttering obsenities (inaudible to the kids), slamming our bedroom door and disappearing for an hour.
And usually he is a retaliater. I mean, you push him a little and he will knock you on the ground. But! But, he was so nice to me yesterday! Either the love of Christ has infiltrated his soul or he is clueless. I could do an experiment today and see if he is still so saintly to my devilish attitude, but his niceness has infected me and I just don't feel like being mean anymore. Bummer.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Thursday, December 11, 2008
The Universe is telling me that I am OLD
I have an umbilical hernia from my LGA (large for gestational age) second pregnancy. Recently, it has gotten bigger. Perhaps from me sticking my finger in there all the time. Maybe. I googled it yesterday because I am considering getting a repair done. Google tells me that adult umbilical hernias usually occurs in middle-aged obese multiparous women. Crap, Google. Why so mean?
Christmas is Just Around the Corner. And I am Freaking Out. So I make myself go shopping for the multiple of teenaged relatives who live in the city. I see that all the Young People are going into Abercrombie and Fitch. So I go in. And my ovaries immediately start shrinking and becoming decrepid. It's like I walked into the body of a 16 year old. The loud emo music, the nausea-inducing heavy cologne, the pubic-bearing larger than life photos on the walls, the metrosexual teen boys who ask me with a soft smile every 5 minutes, "is everything alright?" I alternate between rolling my eyes, gagging on the heavy musk in the air, gasping at the price of worn and torn sweatpants, and trying to keep my dowager hump from growing prematurely. I made it out with only a sweater, I couldn't take it anymore. The Youthfulness of the place totally kicked the Geriatric me out. When the hell did I become OLD? Crap, Life. Why so mean?
Christmas is Just Around the Corner. And I am Freaking Out. So I make myself go shopping for the multiple of teenaged relatives who live in the city. I see that all the Young People are going into Abercrombie and Fitch. So I go in. And my ovaries immediately start shrinking and becoming decrepid. It's like I walked into the body of a 16 year old. The loud emo music, the nausea-inducing heavy cologne, the pubic-bearing larger than life photos on the walls, the metrosexual teen boys who ask me with a soft smile every 5 minutes, "is everything alright?" I alternate between rolling my eyes, gagging on the heavy musk in the air, gasping at the price of worn and torn sweatpants, and trying to keep my dowager hump from growing prematurely. I made it out with only a sweater, I couldn't take it anymore. The Youthfulness of the place totally kicked the Geriatric me out. When the hell did I become OLD? Crap, Life. Why so mean?
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Half Empty Meets Half Full
Most days are so crammed with SO MANY THINGS that I become very small-minded. Aggravation over truly small things make or break my day: my office schedule is screwed up and overbooked, Meatball busted his chin and looks like Scarface, my mother-in-law has opened up yet another jar of peanut butter and now we have 3 barely used jars of peanut butter in the pantry (along with 2 half used Saran wraps, 2 half used aluminum foil wraps, 2 open bottles of vinegar, and I will have to stop now or start twitching again), and Husband has again left a damn flood on the bathroom floor because he just refuses to drip dry for 2 seconds before stepping out of the shower. But when I stop to consider my life. I am so grateful to be aggravated by those things.
When I was a teenager, I used to lie awake at night devising escape plans in case someone broke into the house at night. I would choreograph fight moves to defend and defeat random criminals who might hold my classroom hostage. Since becoming a mother, this fear of random terrorist activity has magnified. Now I have to karate-chop a knife weilding mad man in addition to holding a toddler and baby! That is a stressful scenario to plan. It's when I am rocking Meatball at night and he is cuddled perfectly in the crook of my neck that I become most anxious. Such sweet, innocent, defenseless children! And the world is full of bad people and freak accidents. Why in the world would I subject the little ones whom I love the most to these atrocities?! And why in the world would I even consider having a third? There would be NO WAY I could perform hand-to-hand combat with a terrorist cell while holding three children. A mother has to have limits.
As ridiculous as all those scenarios are, there are very real dangers in the world. We live in such fragile balance. There is no way to ensure a safe future. There are so many instances of previously peace states now in total chaos and in the throes of hellist war: Africa, the Middle East, South America, Asia. There are few places on this small globe that have peace. True peace. Isolationist United States is becoming less and less. Every country affects the other. Neighbors have turning against neighbors with shedding of blood time and time again. Nobody knows who will be the next target.
Contrary to what I have been writing, I do not walk around fearful, anxious, and ready to blast someone with pepper-spray. When my mind wanders to that troubling corner, I am able to shed some of that small-mindedness. Who the hell cares about a little scar on Meatball's face? I should be so luckly to afford 3 jars of peanut butter (and 2 Saran wraps, 2 aluminum foils...). My husband is alive and well and not held hostage in some Columbian rainforest, subject to torture at the hands of crazy radicals. He is only subject to torture by me. My annoying partner? Well, she can still shove it, but I don't have to let her ruin my day. It's good to be alive. It's even better to be healthy and be surrounded by healthy loved ones. Life is too short and fragile. The future is uncertain to take the fortunes of today for granted.
Instead of walking in fear, I walk with faith. I walk with joy. Every uneventful boring day is one to be cherished. This joy is deep in my heart. Sometime so deep that I don't show it. I act like a pissy whiney fool. I fail to be a witness. But most days, I come across something that does remind me of God's blessings and graciousness. And then I tell myself to shove it, and my spirit, and therefore my day, goes about much better.
People who know me in real life think I am a bit dramatic and paranoid because I do have a big mouth and can't help let out a few horrible situtations I conjure up. But I hope that I do not act as such. It's like a real live debate between the Old Self and the New In Christ. My commitment is for my New In Christ spirit prevail in all that I do. However, I still have passports for the entire family should we need to flee the country at a moment's notice.
When I was a teenager, I used to lie awake at night devising escape plans in case someone broke into the house at night. I would choreograph fight moves to defend and defeat random criminals who might hold my classroom hostage. Since becoming a mother, this fear of random terrorist activity has magnified. Now I have to karate-chop a knife weilding mad man in addition to holding a toddler and baby! That is a stressful scenario to plan. It's when I am rocking Meatball at night and he is cuddled perfectly in the crook of my neck that I become most anxious. Such sweet, innocent, defenseless children! And the world is full of bad people and freak accidents. Why in the world would I subject the little ones whom I love the most to these atrocities?! And why in the world would I even consider having a third? There would be NO WAY I could perform hand-to-hand combat with a terrorist cell while holding three children. A mother has to have limits.
As ridiculous as all those scenarios are, there are very real dangers in the world. We live in such fragile balance. There is no way to ensure a safe future. There are so many instances of previously peace states now in total chaos and in the throes of hellist war: Africa, the Middle East, South America, Asia. There are few places on this small globe that have peace. True peace. Isolationist United States is becoming less and less. Every country affects the other. Neighbors have turning against neighbors with shedding of blood time and time again. Nobody knows who will be the next target.
Contrary to what I have been writing, I do not walk around fearful, anxious, and ready to blast someone with pepper-spray. When my mind wanders to that troubling corner, I am able to shed some of that small-mindedness. Who the hell cares about a little scar on Meatball's face? I should be so luckly to afford 3 jars of peanut butter (and 2 Saran wraps, 2 aluminum foils...). My husband is alive and well and not held hostage in some Columbian rainforest, subject to torture at the hands of crazy radicals. He is only subject to torture by me. My annoying partner? Well, she can still shove it, but I don't have to let her ruin my day. It's good to be alive. It's even better to be healthy and be surrounded by healthy loved ones. Life is too short and fragile. The future is uncertain to take the fortunes of today for granted.
Instead of walking in fear, I walk with faith. I walk with joy. Every uneventful boring day is one to be cherished. This joy is deep in my heart. Sometime so deep that I don't show it. I act like a pissy whiney fool. I fail to be a witness. But most days, I come across something that does remind me of God's blessings and graciousness. And then I tell myself to shove it, and my spirit, and therefore my day, goes about much better.
People who know me in real life think I am a bit dramatic and paranoid because I do have a big mouth and can't help let out a few horrible situtations I conjure up. But I hope that I do not act as such. It's like a real live debate between the Old Self and the New In Christ. My commitment is for my New In Christ spirit prevail in all that I do. However, I still have passports for the entire family should we need to flee the country at a moment's notice.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Stuck Up
Recently we went to visit my parents for the weekend. Usually Little Ninja sleeps in the study, Husband sleeps on the couch (we won't go into that for now, but it's for the best. For me.) And I sleep on queen with Meatball on the floor next to me.
The first night Ninja was cooperative and slept willingly and happily in her "princess bed." However, the second night she refused and kept crawling into my bed. I didn't press the matter because we were leaving in the morning, and I was worn down. At first I thought she was asleep while getting Meatball and I ready for bed, but then an hour later I found her sleeping on my side of the bed, the side I needed to be on since Meatball was on the floor on that side.
I quietly tiptoed into the room and was going to gently nudge her over when she sat straight up, completely awake and said, "No Mommy, I don't want to sleep on that side. There is something dirty there!"
"What's dirty? You mean, on that side of the bed?" I asked
"Uh-huh. Look!" as she pointed to three small boogers lined neatly along the edge of the bed.
Horrifying. How could my mother fail so utterly in housekeeping and hospitality?! How could she let us sleep on such filthy sheets!
"I wonder where they came from?" I said in a digusted manner.
In an equally disgusted tone of voice she said, "From MY NOSE."
The first night Ninja was cooperative and slept willingly and happily in her "princess bed." However, the second night she refused and kept crawling into my bed. I didn't press the matter because we were leaving in the morning, and I was worn down. At first I thought she was asleep while getting Meatball and I ready for bed, but then an hour later I found her sleeping on my side of the bed, the side I needed to be on since Meatball was on the floor on that side.
I quietly tiptoed into the room and was going to gently nudge her over when she sat straight up, completely awake and said, "No Mommy, I don't want to sleep on that side. There is something dirty there!"
"What's dirty? You mean, on that side of the bed?" I asked
"Uh-huh. Look!" as she pointed to three small boogers lined neatly along the edge of the bed.
Horrifying. How could my mother fail so utterly in housekeeping and hospitality?! How could she let us sleep on such filthy sheets!
"I wonder where they came from?" I said in a digusted manner.
In an equally disgusted tone of voice she said, "From MY NOSE."
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Sorry, but I just have to complain...
There are two things that drive me absolutely bonkers when dealing with doctors from other specialties. Numero uno: I HATE it when they TELL me what to do when they are REQUESTING a consult. Numero dos: I HATE it when they tell the PATIENT what they think I should do.
Why the hell consult me then? Just do the damn thing yourself, if you know so much.
I mainly get it from the ER. The fastest, best, easiest way to bring out the raging bitch in me is to say to me when I answer a page, "You need to come down and do surgery on this patient." I'll tell you EXACTLY what YOU need to do. It involves you eating your fecal words. And perhaps a satisfying kick in the perineum, or as the high class folk call it, 'taint. Seriously. I am the gynecologic specialist. I decide who I take to surgery. I am THE 'taint specialist, aren't I? That's why you called.
Here's a tutorial for all you ER doctors who aren't reading this blog on what to say to a physician you are consulting, "Hello Lu, this is Jose. I think I have a patient here with a ruptured ectopic. Will you please come and evaluate her?" I will be halfway to the hospital by the time you finished saying "ruptured ectopic." You do not have to order me to do surgery. Because, half of the time, you are wrong, and she's just on her period and having the motherload of all menstrual cramping (or she's just really wanting to take a pregnancy test but didn't have $10 and a ride to Walgreen, so she call an ambulance at 2am to bring her to the ER instead. Happens all the time. For reals.) And half of those times, you've already told the patient that I, the gyn specialist who as yet to even LAY EYES ON HER, will be taking her back for surgery. Arghhh.
I was recently double teamed. I answered a page, basically one of my general surgery colleagues was calling to inform me that I was to take a particular patient to surgery . OK, I thought. This weird. I and several of my partners had been following her and deemed her issue non-gynecologic. So, no, I will not be taking her to surgery. His argument was, another doctor and he have decided that this WAS a gyn issue, so I HAVE to take her to surgery. Silly me, I thought I was the specialist in this field. I suppose if two psychiatrists, one dermatologist, and Joe Smoe on the corner of 8th street SAY its gyn, then it MUST be. Hand me the scalpel!
My answer to him was No, I am not taking this poor woman for unneccesary gyn surgery. I almost laughed when he sputtered, So you aren't going to take her to the OR? What are you going to tell the patient?
I was thinking in my head, YOU go talk to the patient. You made the mess.
Of course, at the end of the day, all this is B.S. What really matters is the patient and her health. My partner did go and explain everything to the patient and offered to help in anyway. She offered a myriad of medical treatments for the possible diagnoses on the differential. She offered the patient that someone from our practice would be willing to participate in the operation as a consult, should surgery decide to operate. And general surgery did end up taking her to the OR, and surprise! surprise! there were no gyn abnormalities, just general surgerical issues.
So I win. I may look young and inexperienced. I maybe short. Very, very short. I am woman practicing medicine in a good ole boy's club. But ain't nobody's gonna bully me into practicing bad medicine. So SUCK IT, BOYS!
Why the hell consult me then? Just do the damn thing yourself, if you know so much.
I mainly get it from the ER. The fastest, best, easiest way to bring out the raging bitch in me is to say to me when I answer a page, "You need to come down and do surgery on this patient." I'll tell you EXACTLY what YOU need to do. It involves you eating your fecal words. And perhaps a satisfying kick in the perineum, or as the high class folk call it, 'taint. Seriously. I am the gynecologic specialist. I decide who I take to surgery. I am THE 'taint specialist, aren't I? That's why you called.
Here's a tutorial for all you ER doctors who aren't reading this blog on what to say to a physician you are consulting, "Hello Lu, this is Jose. I think I have a patient here with a ruptured ectopic. Will you please come and evaluate her?" I will be halfway to the hospital by the time you finished saying "ruptured ectopic." You do not have to order me to do surgery. Because, half of the time, you are wrong, and she's just on her period and having the motherload of all menstrual cramping (or she's just really wanting to take a pregnancy test but didn't have $10 and a ride to Walgreen, so she call an ambulance at 2am to bring her to the ER instead. Happens all the time. For reals.) And half of those times, you've already told the patient that I, the gyn specialist who as yet to even LAY EYES ON HER, will be taking her back for surgery. Arghhh.
I was recently double teamed. I answered a page, basically one of my general surgery colleagues was calling to inform me that I was to take a particular patient to surgery . OK, I thought. This weird. I and several of my partners had been following her and deemed her issue non-gynecologic. So, no, I will not be taking her to surgery. His argument was, another doctor and he have decided that this WAS a gyn issue, so I HAVE to take her to surgery. Silly me, I thought I was the specialist in this field. I suppose if two psychiatrists, one dermatologist, and Joe Smoe on the corner of 8th street SAY its gyn, then it MUST be. Hand me the scalpel!
My answer to him was No, I am not taking this poor woman for unneccesary gyn surgery. I almost laughed when he sputtered, So you aren't going to take her to the OR? What are you going to tell the patient?
I was thinking in my head, YOU go talk to the patient. You made the mess.
Of course, at the end of the day, all this is B.S. What really matters is the patient and her health. My partner did go and explain everything to the patient and offered to help in anyway. She offered a myriad of medical treatments for the possible diagnoses on the differential. She offered the patient that someone from our practice would be willing to participate in the operation as a consult, should surgery decide to operate. And general surgery did end up taking her to the OR, and surprise! surprise! there were no gyn abnormalities, just general surgerical issues.
So I win. I may look young and inexperienced. I maybe short. Very, very short. I am woman practicing medicine in a good ole boy's club. But ain't nobody's gonna bully me into practicing bad medicine. So SUCK IT, BOYS!
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Why I Do Not Sleep Even Though I Desperately Need To
This is ridiculous.
I am on call tonight. It's late. I am sick. I have a low grade temp, annoying cough, and phelgm is various colors of camouflage. I have a headache. My eyelids are soooooo heavy. My brain is confused. I know, Super Sexy.
But I refuse to go to bed.
It's a disease I was born with. I remember getting in so much trouble as a kid because me parents would find me sleeping secretly in the hallway with my head just peeking into the living room. I just KNEW there was something exciting ABOUT TO HAPPEN! Wait, just wait, it'll come! Mom and Dad don't REALLY just sit on the couch reading the paper. So I am just going to laying on this uncomfortable hard floor and keep my eye open and be rewarded when SOMETHING happens! And then I would fall asleep.
Now that I am thirty-two years old, I KNOW that nothing exciting is going to happen while I am asleep. But yet, I resist going to bed. My eyelids could feel like they are magnetized and my body could be aching to just lay on a soft, soft mattress, but NO. I MUST STAY AWAKE LEST SOMETHING EXCITING! AND WONDERFUL! HAPPEN WITHOUT ME!
Funny that I should marry someone just like me. I hate that about him.
I am going to sleep.
I am on call tonight. It's late. I am sick. I have a low grade temp, annoying cough, and phelgm is various colors of camouflage. I have a headache. My eyelids are soooooo heavy. My brain is confused. I know, Super Sexy.
But I refuse to go to bed.
It's a disease I was born with. I remember getting in so much trouble as a kid because me parents would find me sleeping secretly in the hallway with my head just peeking into the living room. I just KNEW there was something exciting ABOUT TO HAPPEN! Wait, just wait, it'll come! Mom and Dad don't REALLY just sit on the couch reading the paper. So I am just going to laying on this uncomfortable hard floor and keep my eye open and be rewarded when SOMETHING happens! And then I would fall asleep.
Now that I am thirty-two years old, I KNOW that nothing exciting is going to happen while I am asleep. But yet, I resist going to bed. My eyelids could feel like they are magnetized and my body could be aching to just lay on a soft, soft mattress, but NO. I MUST STAY AWAKE LEST SOMETHING EXCITING! AND WONDERFUL! HAPPEN WITHOUT ME!
Funny that I should marry someone just like me. I hate that about him.
I am going to sleep.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Precious Moments
When Meat Ball turned one year old, I was consumed with guilt. It seemed like I missed the first year of his life completely. Between working, trying to be a good wife, being a mother to a toddler, I realized that I lost the joy and privilege of savoring many of Meat Ball's milestones.
He is almost thirteen months now, and I have been playing catch up the past three weeks. He's an early sleeper, so usually he's so tired, I just throw him into bed and play with Ninja until it's her bedtime. Now I start the bedtime routine EARLY for the both of them so now I can spend a good 20-30 minutes cuddling and reading to Meat Ball before he's too sleepy.
And man, is he adorable!
My sister says that he looks like a precious moments kid. And he does. He has such sad emo eyes, a button nose, rosebud mouth. And three big rabbit teeth. And he is so sweet. I mean so sweet that your insides just melt and puddle around your toes and all you can do is drool and say, awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.... He will flirt with you, bat his lashes, he will hide in your shoulder, peek up shyly and offer the sweetest toothy smile and when you melt on the floor in response, he will duck his head down again to hide and peek up with just one big soulful eye to see if you saw that. And of course you saw that, but you are already a messy puddle on the floor and there is just no where to go. While you are holding him, he will grab your neck with his chubby hands and find the perfect, most comfortable fit for his big round head in the crook of your jaw and he will just hug you the sweetest, most heavenly hug for an amazing 10 seconds. He'll then look up at you, give you a wet kiss with a hearty "MMMMMMMMMM MAAAAAAHHHH" and hug your neck again.
Meat Ball loves water. If a substance is in liquid form, he's all over it. While take a bath, he like to dunk his face in the water. At first I thought he was losing his balance. But his butt is so big and stable, so I thought that was weird. I watched him very slowly and purposefully lean over, put his face in the water, and then come up sputtering and laughing his head off. He hears water running and he's there. I am pretty sure that he'll be a surfer like his father. And I'll squander away many years of my life worrying about him drowning or getting eaten by sharks. Now I am just reducing my lifespan by my panic attacks when I find him playing in the toilet. Especially since Ninja is a recent potty-trained graduate, but doesn't like the flushing part.
So I am going to be better about remembering Meat Ball. It is a well known fact that children grow up too soon. My wish is so do everything to slow down time. Not look forward to every naptime, bedtime so I can get stuff done. I am going to consciously treasure all the moments, good and bad, with my children. And try my best to record what I can. I can easily see me in twenty years angry at myself now for not making more of an effort to remember these precious moments.
He is almost thirteen months now, and I have been playing catch up the past three weeks. He's an early sleeper, so usually he's so tired, I just throw him into bed and play with Ninja until it's her bedtime. Now I start the bedtime routine EARLY for the both of them so now I can spend a good 20-30 minutes cuddling and reading to Meat Ball before he's too sleepy.
And man, is he adorable!
My sister says that he looks like a precious moments kid. And he does. He has such sad emo eyes, a button nose, rosebud mouth. And three big rabbit teeth. And he is so sweet. I mean so sweet that your insides just melt and puddle around your toes and all you can do is drool and say, awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.... He will flirt with you, bat his lashes, he will hide in your shoulder, peek up shyly and offer the sweetest toothy smile and when you melt on the floor in response, he will duck his head down again to hide and peek up with just one big soulful eye to see if you saw that. And of course you saw that, but you are already a messy puddle on the floor and there is just no where to go. While you are holding him, he will grab your neck with his chubby hands and find the perfect, most comfortable fit for his big round head in the crook of your jaw and he will just hug you the sweetest, most heavenly hug for an amazing 10 seconds. He'll then look up at you, give you a wet kiss with a hearty "MMMMMMMMMM MAAAAAAHHHH" and hug your neck again.
Meat Ball loves water. If a substance is in liquid form, he's all over it. While take a bath, he like to dunk his face in the water. At first I thought he was losing his balance. But his butt is so big and stable, so I thought that was weird. I watched him very slowly and purposefully lean over, put his face in the water, and then come up sputtering and laughing his head off. He hears water running and he's there. I am pretty sure that he'll be a surfer like his father. And I'll squander away many years of my life worrying about him drowning or getting eaten by sharks. Now I am just reducing my lifespan by my panic attacks when I find him playing in the toilet. Especially since Ninja is a recent potty-trained graduate, but doesn't like the flushing part.
So I am going to be better about remembering Meat Ball. It is a well known fact that children grow up too soon. My wish is so do everything to slow down time. Not look forward to every naptime, bedtime so I can get stuff done. I am going to consciously treasure all the moments, good and bad, with my children. And try my best to record what I can. I can easily see me in twenty years angry at myself now for not making more of an effort to remember these precious moments.
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