The best marriage advice I ever recieved

Dave was a perfectionist. The home was no exception. When he complained to his mother that his spouse could not keep the house clean when all she had to worry about was their young children, his mother said this:

"Dave, your wife is far too talented to waste all of her time cleaning up. So if there is a mess, either step over it or clean it up yourself."

Best advice I had as an at-home mother, and now as a working mother with an at-home hubbie. I should have this mounted over my mantle.

In case you wanted to know how my week's been going . . .

three men. four colds (and a pregnancy). enough said.

Confessions of a sick mommy

When I was about 6 years old, my aunt made this beautiful orange gingham quilt for my parents' bed . . . which I quickly stole and adopted as my special blanket. Maybe it was my consolation for the fact that I didn't have a bed for about 6 years (don't feel too bad, another aunt bought me a comfy futon to sleep on). Regardless, this blanket has remained one of my prized possessions.

That is until (dun, dun, dun) . . .

Ashton discovered it in my closet.

War has now begun.

At first, you see, I thought it was sweet that he wanted to sleep with my special blanket. It was like lending him part of my childhood. But now things are different. I am sick . . . and throwing up . . . and as pathetic as it is, I WANT MY WOOBY BACK!

Last night while I was puking in the toilet, I spotted Ashton dragging the prized quilt to his room. Mid-vomit, I snapped to attention. "Ashton, what are you doing?"

"I need this blanket to sleep with."

"But Ashton, that's MY blanket."

"But, I need it to sleep with, and you don't need it until it's REALLY night time."

He had a point. So exhausted, I conceded. And once he was blissfully asleep, I snatched it right off of him, put a newer and cleaner blanket over him and curled up in my bed to sleep with my old friend.

Pregnancy sure brings out the best in us.

Here we go . . .

So it is official! As of Thursday at noon, we are officially going to Washington University in St. Louis for pediatrics, which means we'll be there for a full five years with my neuro years included.

And for the first time it feels real. Like, really real. I am going to be a doctor in 2 months. And the terrifying thing is I won't know anything more than I know in this very moment.

There is an old saying among interns: Don't get sick in July. This is because July is the month all the new interns start working . . . and making mistakes . . . and breaking down in the corridor because they realize they have no idea how to treat that kid in room 3 with a tracheostomy who keeps vomiting blood-tinged sputum.

*sigh*

That said, we are starting to look for housing, and the choices are overwhelming. Do we buy, rent, lease, find a condo, duplex, apartment, house. And how close can we afford to live. And which school districts are good? And which one's are not accredited? How much can we afford? And what are the hidden costs?

That's the strange things about having a real job. You suddenly have to be . . . responsible.

That said, it's been fun looking for housing. I love this small brick cottage:

But also find something charming about this small fixer-upper (about 30,000 less):

Happy Fetus Day . . . 1 week late

So this post is a week late, but as of last Saturday our little peanut is officially a FETUS. Not a zygote, not an embryo, but an official bonafied FETUS.


Embryo at 7 weeks

Fetus at 9 weeks (today!)

As you can see, the fetus is getting bigger, developing fingers and toes and looking more 'human.' Our family decided that the embryo looked like a baby dinosaur. When we explained that the fetus was loosing his/her tail, Ashton turned to me and in a very serious voice asked, "Mommy, does it hurt when you cut off a baby dinosaur's tail?"

What a cutie. :)

Somebody else.

Isaac: "Dad, can you get me a drink of water?"
Aukai: "You need to say please . . . wait, you can get your own water."
Isaac: "But I don't want to get my own water. Will you PLEASE get it for me."
Aukai: "Isaac, you're a big boy, you can get it yourself."
Isaac: "But I want you to.
Aukai: "Well, I don't want to get your water and you don't want to get your water, so what are we going to do."
Isaac: (Smiles) "Ask somebody else. Mom, will you please get me some water."
Me: "Isaac I don't want to either, you can get it yourself."
Isaac: (Yelling upstairs) "Ashton, can you get me a drink of water?"
Ashton: "Sure." (We hear water running and the tumbler that had been by my bed stand clinking.
Aukai: "Thank you Ashton, but he needs to get it himself."
Ashton: "OK."

--------
Ashton once again has diarrhea. I went to wipe him this morning and he proudly announced, "Mom, I made Cheetos with my poop!"
Oh dear.

I want more!

This morning, I woke up to the sound of Ashton on the potty . . . filling it up . . . with loose and smelly you-know-what. I went in to help wipe him and wash his hands. He turned to me and said, "Mommy, my tummy doesn't feel very good." I know how that feels. So after cuddling in bed for a few minutes, we got up and gave him a glass of some very fancy ginger beer I bought to settle my tummy. A few minutes later he bounded up the stairs. I asked if he was feeling better, and if he liked the ginger beer. He nodded with a big smile and announced, "I want MORE diarrhea!"

Yes, we are insane!

So, I am up at school, throwing stitches in a pig's foot (yes you read that correctly . . . we are practicing for the ED) when my classmate turns to me and asks, "Heather, why are you wearing motion sickness bracelets when the ground isn't moving?"
The same question could be asked about "Why are you eating snacks all through church . . . on fast Sunday, no less?" "Why are you drinking ginger ale constantly during your ED shift?" Or "Why are you allowing yourself to suck on peppermint gum while sleeping?"

There can only be one answer:

I'm pregnant.

And now I remember why it took me almost four years to gear up the courage to do this again . . . and I've decided this is the LAST TIME!

There is great power in the words "LAST TIME." For example, every time I bend over the toilet hurling, I can say with confidence that this is the LAST TIME I will have the 'stomach flu' for 2 months. Or when I begin crying because I finally get to see my kids for the day only to realize that I can't keep my eyes open but to run to the bathroom, I can take comfort in the fact that this is the LAST TIME I will do this.

Two nights ago I kept waking every hour dry heaving. All I could think about was how I was going to make my 7:00 AM shift in the trauma bay if I couldn't try to get some sleep. I kept imaging myself puking into some gaping wound. Finally, I looked at the clock and felt elated that it was 5:30 and I could justify getting up. Suddenly I woke up dry heaving, looked at the clock, and hung my head when I realized it was only 3:30 and I had to try sleeping for another 2 hours.
It's a mad world we live in.

That said, the trauma shift turned out fine. One thing about our ED is that people are generally laid back and personable. And you cannot overestimate the power of distraction!

In seriousness though, we are excited about this pregnancy. The due date is October 23, which is about 4 months into intern year.

We finally told the boys, who took a good 24 hours to start believing us. Ashton has decided that the baby must be a girl because, for the first time in a year, I painted my toe nails . . . a brilliant cherry red . . . and "only girls paint their nails."

What am I afraid of?

For age is opportunity no less

Than youth itself, though in another dress,

And as the evening twilight fades away

The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


For a great, simple take on agism and America click here:

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/03/02/health/02case.html