Setting the Bar Low

Uhg. I just went back and re-read that last post. It came off a lot more my-kid's-leg-may-be-broken,-but-hey-at-least-I'm-pretty! than I meant it to. I was going more for an I'm-trying-not-too-be-too-Debbie-Downer-here, but I think that got lost in translation. There's a large margin of error in my brain these days.

I was tempted to delete it, but I'm weirdly compulsive about leaving the blog ALONE once something is posted. It feels like cheating to go back and edit once I've decided to share things with the world. So I am telling myself that post is what I get to look back on, once I get back in my groove (I suppose that assumes I was ever once in a groove to begin with) and can measure just how far I've come. Baby, I sincerely hope you'll go a long way from that.

In happier news, Miss Thang just got a new friend today. Welcome to the world, little Baby B! I KNEW, KNEW, KNEW you were a girl. And I can't wait to see the little woman you become. We love you already.

Never Been Great at Balancing

The good news is: no bones appear to be broken. The bad news is I had a very I-suck-as-a-mom-week, wherein we had to make a little venture over to the local pediatric urgent care after Miss Thang had a little mishap on the playground. The other bad news is I don't think human x-rays are going to be any cheaper than feline x-rays. I am quick buying chocolate now before I get the bill, which will hopefully sustain me through paying off the bill. (Or, at least, through Saturday.) Also, I have learned my daughter is way tougher than I am. For that, I am eternally grateful.

Um. What else. I've decided to have a good body image. This may or may not be the result of some serious, Glamour Magazine-reading-taken-to-heart fueled by extreme anxiety and chardonnay. This is a good alternative to Ambien, no? With that: I am feeling pretty hot. I am skinnier than I was pre-pregnancy via exactly no exercise. I credit breastfeeding, genetics, and dumb luck. My boobs are smaller, which is actually a good thing, because it means I can buy shirts that actually fit the rest of my torso. I am well past 30 and have had a baby, which means I have given myself permission to stop caring about a tiny bit of not-flat-belly. I am not planning on being on a Mardi Gras float or participating in a wet t-shirt contest in Daytona over spring break, that was never really my scene even pre-30 and pre-baby. Given that it's winter, I will go ahead and let people assume that I have fabulous abs underneath this yummy sweater and turtleneck. Also I'm wearing skinny jeans. Because I am not ever going to wear mom jeans. Ever.

Also, I sing better than I ever have, I credit thousands of verses of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" and "Down" by Jay Sean, because those are Miss Thang's two favorite songs. She sings along to both. Seriously, toddler "DOWN DOWN!" is the cutest rendition of that song ever. I need to get a video posted....

So that's the yin-yang of my week. Paragraph 1: I suck, Paragraph 2/3: I rock. Also, still not great at technology.

Bisous.

If I Clean Does That Mean It's Spring?

I just went through my old blog roll (does one still call it such a thing? Am I dating myself as a blogger of 2007?) and did a little cleaning. My very strict decision-making process involved two criteria:

1) Do I still read the blog?

2) Has this person posted in the past year? / Do I even know this person outside of the blogosphere? (Again with the dated blog-talk.)

Almost everything I got rid of fell under #2. I'm happy to re-add a blog if it starts up again. I just wanted things to look tidier on this page. Are they tidy?

Who am I kidding, I don't really have a tidy bone in my body. But since I'm trying to stage my little comeback, I thought I'd get rid of some dead weight. Blog-a-karmic-burden or something. See? New blog lingo. I believe that one hasn't even been Twittered yet.

Speaking of, though, I do think social media has reached it's tipping point, and the world of blogs, Facebook, Twitter, and everything else the kids are doing these days is going to get a little slower but smarter. I think the inane, every-40-second-update-on-my-state-of-boredom is on its way out. (A princess can hope, anyway.) I've seen some good blogs fall away, but more of the rough ones are gone, so that was a worthwhile trade-off. My Facebook feed has slowed way down, partly due to my finally discovering how to block fucking Farmville updates, but also because of less boredom updates: see above. I haven't really been able to get into Twitter, so I can't speak to that, but I'm guessing people are getting a little stricter about who they are choosing to follow, rather than trying to keep up with everybody in the world re-tweeting whatever Perez Hilton has to say today.

At least, I have. I've all but quit Twitter, but sometimes one or two friends say something funny on there so I try to go in and check every other week or so. And I only check from my phone. While I'm pontificating, I think smart phones are the only things saving Twitter.

Thus I spake.

Meanwhile I have reintroduced chardonnay to my lifestyle. You were so missed, old friend. You may also be the reason that I could give a hoot about Twitter anymore (damn buttons are so damn small on my phone) but make me want to write again. Clearly I have some work to do, but you have to start somewhere, right?

...

Am I allowed to drink in a socially acceptable way before 5:00 if all of my writing has to occur over Miss Thang's naptime?

Rah Rah Veteranarian!

Clearly I check my own blog a lot. Didn't even realize that last post had a missing link. (For, what, two months? whoopsies.) 'Tis fixed! Makes a lot more sense now. I like how I replaced writing with linking to mildly humorous YouTube videos for a while there. That's kind of cheating.

What? No, this is totally different. It's informative.

So, I've been struggling with writing because I don't really know what to write about except leaky toddler noses and strong opinions on car seat brands (not really), but I don't really want to be a mommy blogger, so I just quit blogging altogether. Also I was a little tired and having trouble finding uninterrupted computer time. My keyboard responds not so well to juice and markers, it turns out.

Lo, Tatum once again saves the day for all of us by reverting to his goat-like tendancies and eating a rubber band, thus necessitating an emergency surgery one fateful Tuesday night and giving me lots to cry about as well as hey! Non-baby blog fodder! Once I wiped away the tears, received the bill, wiped away a shit-ton more tears, and got the 30-some staples removed from his belly, I felt I had recovered enough to share the story.

So. That was kind of the story. Kitty intestines = not big enough for rubber bands. Take note. Also, cats get depressed when forced to wear a cone for two weeks and are prohibited from running and jumping (Let's see YOU try to keep a cat from running and jumping for a fortnight. It involves sedative drugs and MAGIC and possibly tape.) The sweet part of this otherwise-melodramatic story is that Miss Thang is truly near and dear to Tatum's heart, because he finally purred for the first time since he was taken to the kitty hospital once he got home and Miss Thang was allowed her first supervised visit to his little quarantined area, and got all up in his face and said "HI!"

I'm just the one who brought him his favorite food at the cat hospital after surgery, and sat by his drugged up head, and left my coat for him to snuggle in, despite the fact that it was sub-zero temperatures outside. Whatev. He loves my baby. That is a mother's love. I'm not even jealous he purred for her first. (much.)

So the story has a happy ending, Tatum appears to be back to his normal self. Miss Thang continues to love on him. I continue to love on them both, as well as Sugar and The Funasaurus. (Who lost a bunch of weight last year and has kept it off and looks hawt, btw.)

I don't get the patio set I had my eye on, they aren't giving away midnight x-rays and cat surgeries these days. ... Actually... now that I'm adding it up... I don't get several patio sets. Blerg. But it was worth it. Our odd little family is happily together again, and the cats can just watch us eat picnic style on a plastic tablecloth all summer. It'll be easier to wash up, anyway.