The Mom Chronicles. Chapter 4

Last week Katie and I went over to see Mary and new baby Conor for an hour or so. Katie was very good with the baby. She didn't try to stick her finger in his eye or anything. Mary is still adjusting to the idea of being a mother of two and I am sympathizing with her. Its funny how just 15 short months ago what seemed like an insurmountable task - taking care of one baby - now seems like a piece of cake when comparing it to trying to take care of a newborn AND a toddler. I'm not even pregnant with the second one and I am already yearning for those days when all you had to do was eat, sleep and poo on the same schedule as your one baby.

I think God does this kinda stuff just for giggles. Its like when you are a kid and you are so mad that you have to take an afternoon nap. You can't wait to be a grown up. Then you become an adult. And you want to go back in time and slap the silly right out of your past self because you would give your right arm to be allowed to play outside and come in for milk and cookies and a little siesta after lunch.

moral: what you dread today will be what you miss tomorrow. oh you cruel, cruel world.

So, back to my story... after our visit, K and I when to do our weekly grocery shopping. Katie is sitting in the shopping cart (trolley) and squealing up a storm. Talking, cooing, squirming... Appearing to be having a grand old time. She burped and a little tiny fleck of something brown and mushy landed on her dress. She looked down and looked at me and I wiped it off with my thumb and expertly flicked it like a big juicy booger into the packages of ground beef. Looking back, I can see now how that should have been an indication of things to come... A harbinger of ugly events, for as we were turning into the cereal aisle, Katie let fly a spewing of her gastrointestinal contents like she was auditioning to be the next Linda Blair.

Time stood still. Images passed my eyes in slow motion. I watched as the chunks and liquid spilled forth from her mouth, down her dress, her arm, her leg, the cart, and SPLATTERED onto the floor. I think actually that I jumped back away from her a few feet...how sad that that would be my instinctual reaction. Sorry kid! You're on you own with this one... I always wondered if I would rise up in an emergency. fight or flight? Hasta la vista, baby. I'm just glad I wasn't holding her as now I am pretty sure I would have dropped her into the mess of her own making. She will talk about me in therapy someday.

My first thought was, crap! and her diaper bag is in the car! I don't have anything to clean her up with! I didn't know what to do... Then the two brain cells that were actually still on the job hollered into the giant chasm of empty space in my head and said, "hello?! you are standing in the middle of a store - what do you have in the diaper bag that you don't have here?" good point. Luckily we were a stone's throw from the paper goods and I grabbed the first package of paper towels I could find. Then it was like when you spill a glass of milk and it runs off the end of the table onto the carpet. You don't want old rotten milk smell in your carpet, so you the go straight for the carpet but the milk is still dripping from the table edge so you have to clean from the top down but then you are just looking at the milk as it seeps into the fibers and... I was trying to sop up the puddles on the floor, but Ms. Mt Vesuvius wasn't done. So then I tried to catch the puke as it was coming out of her mouth but paper towel is not that absorbent so it was really just now having to roll off my hand then onto the dress, leg, cart, floor.



Some poor, poor young part-time, after school employees came to my aid. Why they didn't bring a mop, I don't know, but they were going to clean the floor with a roll of paper towels too. I could not in good conscience let them touch vomit! I said to them, now, this isn't in your job description. I will clean it up, 'cause sadly, it is in mine.



So they got some cardboard and we managed to scoop up the bulk of the mess onto the cardboard and into the trash. Katie, all the while, looking on, forlorn and chartreuse. The girls kept saying to me, It's okay, you can finish with your shopping. But I realized, that was indeed the million dollar question. Do I carry on with my shopping? Is she going to get sick again? There couldn't be anything left. But Katie and the cart are soaked and smelly. But, on the other hand, I was almost done...

I kept shopping. Acutely aware of everything I was touching. With my vomit hands. Remember the cold germ commercial where the kid sneezes fluorescent germs then they transfer to the door nob then to the next kid, then to the next? I could SEE the vomit molecule trail I was leaving behind.

When, of course, Katie started throwing up again in the frozen food section... I could have died. How do I explain this to the girls when they come to clean up AGAIN? I had no choice but a quick and hasty mop up job and slink out of the store.

I tell this story today because I went back to the grocery for the first time since 'the incident' this morning. I was half-expecting to find a posted notice with a grainy surveillance camera photo of me and la barfarama mama asking "Have you seen this person? Reward for info leading to capture."

Fortunately our trip was uneventful. But I did however closely inspect the cart. You never know what is going to be dried on them...

The Mom Chronicles. Chapter 3

I've long ago resigned myself to the fact that I will never go to the bathroom alone. And in some ways I think it is entirely fair. I sit and watch Katie as she makes her 'grunts and grimaces' face, why shouldn't she be allowed to look at mine?

They say that every kid has their own 'poop face' and Katie's... man, what can I say about it? It's not pretty, but you have no doubt as to what she is doing.

I've even found myself mimicking some of her gesticulations hoping my output would be as grand as some of hers. Of course, I chew my food so it will never be exactly the same.

This discovery of toddler behavior and subsequent acceptance occurs alongside the blossoming of toddler curiosity. I realize and accept that Katie wants to get into EVERYTHING, ALL THE TIME. She has a distinct, though I imagine not unique talent of scanning the room and zeroing in on the ONE thing she is not supposed to touch. If there are 6 plastic bottles on the table, she will go for the one glass. We have four remotes, if the stereo is what is on, the stereo remote is the one with the most interesting buttons. (if the tv is on, the tv remote is the only thing in the room worth playing with).

So, anyway, I have a bathroom monitor with me at all times. Like I said, comes with the territory. But the other day I discovered the true dangers in co-toileting.

As I stood upon finishing my business, in the split second between hiking up my pants and swiveling to flush I hear "Plop!" and there is Katie, who in the short time it took me to pee has removed everything off the bathroom shelves we have from hairbrushes to Q-tips ('ear buds' here), but here is Katie, little head peering over the rim to see just what does happen to a tube of toothpaste when it is submerged in the basin.

Ugh. So yes it was only pee, but a tube of toothpaste is not something you flush down and replace. No, I had to retrieve it. And we dont even have any salad tongs here.

Then, what do you do with the tube? The cap was on, but do you take the chance that there was seepage?

I'm making up a job description for motherhood. It now includes the following questions: Are you willing to touch another person's vomit? Are you willing to touch another person's poop? Are you willing to plunge your hand into a bucket of your own urine? Are you willing to do this for free?



Look what else Katie is into these days...





yup. its a tampon applicator. Fresh from the box, I swear -the possibility of a used one is more vile a thought than I can muster- but nonetheless... a disturbing image.

The gut-wrenching, dagger-through-the-heart agony that is a mother's love

I didn't know it would be this intense to love your child. When Katie was first born, I can remember telling Manus that had I known how much my heart would actually hurt from loving her so much - I felt real pain - that I don't think I would have had any children. Now, looking back on it, perhaps that was a little of the post-partum talking...

I hear myself telling Katie, "I love you so much I just want to eat you up!" But the thing is, I really do. Like, hugging her and kissing her isn't enough. I want to nibble on her toes, pinch her cheeks (all four of them), squeeze her so tight that her little eyes bug out of her head. I want to breathe her in, I want to ingest her... Just loving her doesn't quench my need for her.
Just yesterday I said to Manus over lunch,

"Do you think it's like creepy and maybe a little inappropriate that I want to kiss Katie all the time?"
"No."
"But, I mean, I kiss her on the lips."
"That's okay. She is your child."
"But with tongue?"

Stunned silence. I like to get Manus all riled up. I kid. I laugh. I usually laugh alone.

But seriously, don't call the fuzz, I don't use tongue.

And, just to keep things fair, I don't even use tongue with Manus.

The other side to loving someone so much is the freaking worry that comes with it. And wildly inappropriate and drastically grandiose worrying is my strong suit.

Being a nurse is not a good career choice for a hypochondriac. I just learned the names of the illnesses that I have.

Now we have a little hypochondria by proxy in this house. Last week Katie went through a phase where she was not sleeping, really clingy and needy and she didn't want to eat.

I convinced myself that she was becoming autistic from the MMR vaccine (which, p.s., gave her the measles last month) and that she was in acute renal failure. Now I know what you are thinking, that I am crazy and I don't even make sense cause real clingy is the opposite of autism, but as my father likes to say, Please don't confuse me with the facts.

I had to put a temporary ban on Google when Katie was first born because I was freaking myself out with all the crap I was looking up - baby acne, the bump behind her ear (oh wait, there is one on the other side too..), the color of her poop. The frequency of her poop. The consistency - Holy shit, the first time I fed her bananas I was sure she had a large intestine full of worms!! I saved the diaper to show my mother for a second opinion. You guessed it, not worms.

The worst thing that ever happened to me was Katie turning one. Cause now she is supposed to give up the bottle and the formula. But then how will I know she is getting her nutrients? I depend on enfamil for her vitamins and minerals and ADH or ADHD something. I have read guidelines on how much of what toddlers should eat, there are diets and cookbooks.
I am in a panic about whether or not she got all her servings of fruit, veg, protein, dairy, omega 3s, antioxidants, probiotics! And how could she? I was drinking a juice box of apple juice (shouldn't give it to the kids cause its full of sugar and where's the fiber?) and it boasted that it was "1 of my daily 5" servings of fruit. Five servings? I am not hungry enough. And Katie sure isn't either. She will shove a whole banana in her mouth though... wonder how many servings that is.

I couldn't tell you the last green thing she ate. She must be her mother's child. No veggies, only sweets. One day she got caught red-handed, literally with her hand in the cookie jar.

I do not know how she got into the chocolates as fast as she did. I left the room just to throw away a dirty diaper and walked back in to this scene.
All I could do was laugh.

Then of course, after obtaining the incriminating proof, I spent an hour on Google search trying to find out if she was going to die from eating chocolate at such a young age.

Talk about shoveling food in! I told you before that girl doesn't chew. It goes out the same way it goes in. And most meals she does do a little gag as too much food slips to the back. Before each meal I do a mental run-through the infant Heimlich maneuver and what is the quickest route to get her out of the high chair and what is the ratio of breaths to compressions in child CPR?
Then I really do myself in cause I'm watching shows like "101 more things removed from the human body". Hand to God I did not make up that title. Shake your head and say, "Crazy Irish TV" all you want, but sorry, it was an American program. Anyway, part of the show was dedicated to all the things that kids ate. Double A batteries, for heaven's sake! And so many coins... oy vey! All that has to happen is one coin getting stuck horizontally... Stop it. stop it.

Since Katie was born I say a prayer each and every night that Katie stay healthy and safe and not be dead in the morning. And this is not so much because I am religious as much as soooo superstitious. I've started this thing now and it's worked so far so there is no way I can stop it now. I'm just glad I didn't make a deal with God that first night that I would give up chocolate or beer or something in exchange for her safety. I'd really be kicking myself if I'd bound myself that way...

Manus seems to be dealing with my neuroses and superstitious rituals pretty well. Secretly, I think he is a little glad I have someone else to focus my angst toward. I am no longer telling him on a daily basis that I think he has leukemia or esophageal varices. I am, however, keeping a close eye on those moles...

I think I keep my crazy fairly well tucked away out of plain sight. I don't think I am going to make Katie afraid of her own shadow or scared to cross the street (not that she will be allowed out of the house. ever.) I know she will get some bumps and bruises along the way and I'm okay with that (I do, in a panic, beg that there not to be any permanent disfigurement the instant I hear her cry out in pain) but, I let her explore the stairs and things that are hot and/or sharp. I let her eat food right off the floor all the time. I don't think she will ever know that every morning that I don't wake up hearing her babbling from the crib that I am convinced that she is dead.

Now, don't go calling me morbid or sick or disturbed or tell me that I have to go see a shrink about my fears and anxiety. I let you into my little world of wacko, don't make me regret it.

And besides, in other words of wisdom from my father;

"If you admit it, it's not wrong."

The Mom Chronicles. Chapter 2

My retelling of the Laura visit has been temporarily halted. I am awaiting a signed release agreement from two parties; Laura Rice and Jessica Shamer. Without their consent I will be unable to continue with the trip details. Contact your local congressmen or pressure your aforementioned family members to allow the truth to be told.

I would however like to take this opportunity to share another precious parenting moment from yesterday. But first, did I mention that it is raining today? Oh yeah, it is. Shocking for Ireland, I know, but as I have now become an absolute expert on precipitation, I can say definitively that IT IS RAINING. AGAIN.

Yesterday Katie and I had a date with Nana and her very good friend Kay O'Connell. Katie rose from her nap at two, our date was at three. A quick lunch before we head out the door. I gave Katie a variety of finger foods as I needed to run a cool iron over the dress she was to wear. Nana bought Katie this dress. It is Parisian, from Paris, and it is BEAUTIFUL. She'd worn it a time or two previously and it was wrinkled beyond even my lax acceptable level. At one point I'd run up the stairs for something and Manus, having just gone downstairs with Katie, shouted up to me to bring down the camera. Me, thinking Katie was doing something incredible and picture-worthy but unfortunately dressed in a boring white tee, yelled back, "why?"
"I want to get a picture of you ironing, 'cause no one will ever believe it. You could put it on your blog!" I politely responded that he could just F-off and there is no way I will now EVER iron anything of his (like I would have anyway, but now there is a quality excuse of my indignance.*) and, why would I ever implicate myself on my lack of homemaking skills on my own blog?! THAT would just be silly.

Par for the course, I have strayed from topic.

Katie has finished her meal and I, my ironing, so I grab a few bites of delicious homemade leftover extra garlic-y garlic toast carbonara. (made carbonara sauce for pasta, ran out of pasta so loaded the remaining sauce onto the few pieces of leftover garlic bread- omg... talk about buttery deliciousness!) Katie looked longingly at me as I ate so, reasoning that the PEAS in the sauce are healthy, I gave her a few spoonfuls. She loved it too.

We got dressed and loaded into the car. Had to go out to Desart to pick up Nana as her car was in the shop. I think I've described the drive out to Desart before, but if not, quick description: It is an old country road, planned long before the advent of the automobile and though maybe repaved once since, not widened since horse and carriage. No. Not once. I tell people you know you are getting close to the house by how narrow the road gets. When you, a lone car can only barely drive through the thicket with only a few stray branches scratching your paint, turn left cause you are there. (and this functions as a two-way road). Well, THAT is the "good" road and that one was closed off, so we had to go the back way. Apparently back in the old days people didn't believe in "straight". The tale goes that the Irish planned out their roads so the wind was always at their backs. Well, they planned this one during a hurricane.

Back out on the main road and on our way to Kay's. We take the "ring road" that goes around the town to avoid traffic. Ring roads, as with most Irish roads, use the roundabout system. We were going a complete 180 degrees around the city so needless to say, we rounded 'bout lots.
Do you see what I'm getting at here? We were twisting and turning this way and that. On the last leg of the ring road Katie starts to make faces I'd never seen before. I said, look! She's winking. Look! She is holding her breath. Look! She is rubbing her face. Look! She is turning red. Look! She is barfing her brains out. I was driving, so only turning my head for seconds at a time, but time stood still as molten lava spewed from Mt. Kathryn. I pulled off the road immediately but it was too late. Without going into unnecessary detail, I will just recount what Katie had for lunch; slice of turkey, cheese stick, banana, grapes, and recall, garlic toast carbonara complete with peas.

And apparently, Katie doesn't do a lot of chewing when she eats. The contents retained their original shape and texture. Aside from the banana mush which bound everything else together. I will never look at Campbell's chunky soups the same way again.

Nana holds on to Katie on the side of the road while I look for something to contain the mess. First off, do I have a change of clothes for her? Noooo. Rookie mistake, but I was thinking, we are just going for tea and Katie's already done her morning constitutional. Okay, how about a towel or shirt or anything to clear off the big chunks? Nooo. Okay, wipes. Got wipes. Got... 3 wipes. shit. I took out the car seat completely so as to tip it over in the grass and then realize that the bulk of the 'matter' has slid down INTO the seat (where the waist strap come out from the side). I wipe -er, smear- as much as I can off of Katie and the seat and then off Nana and myself and we hold our breath with the windows down for the rest of the trip.

When we got home I stripped off Katie, clothes to the laundry and Katie to the bath. I removed the car seat from the car, sat it on the kitchen floor and removed the cloth cover, threw it in the washer and tried to jimmy out the remnants from within the seat with everything from a washcloth to the end of a spoon. Manus comes downstairs at this point and says, "Ugh! This place smells like puke! Gross!" Thanks for offering the helping hand, Captain Obvious.

I didn't want to risk shrinking the car seat cover, so instead of tossing it into the dryer when it was done washing, I hung it out on the clothesline. Remember when I mentioned before that it's been raining all day? yep. that's right.

I regale you with this story today, not only because it just happened yesterday, but because today, June...26th (?) is a day that will go down in Katie history.

Katie took her first few steps today.

Applaud if you like, Manus and I certainly did.

Katie, and the dress, both on better days....

*indignance. (n.d.). Webster's Revised Unabridged Dictionary. Retrieved June 26, 2008, from Dictionary.com website: http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/indignance

Blogger Slammed After Promises Fall Short. story at Eleven.

Okay, I know that I promised a big return to blogging today.

But. Its. Not. Going. To. Happen.

I will offer a couple of pretty good excuses though.

Manus' aunt Mary Babe Walsh died on Saturday morning. It was an expected death, she died peacefully in the local hospice and her illness was very brief in contrast to her long and healthy life (87 years old). I had met Mary on a few occasions and perhaps my family will note that they too met her at the shindig that was held in Bollard's during their visit in the summer of '06. Mary was a beautiful soul and for a such a small and frail looking woman had a warm and hearty hug for myself and Katie whenever we saw her.

It would be wrong to allow the impression that I cannot blog due to mourning or my sitting shiva or anything. However, we had a funeral mass and burial today and I sacrificed my blogging time to be in attendance there.

Furthermore, I believe it would be in bad taste to announce a death in the family, hit the return key a few times, start a new paragraph and then launch into the fart jokes and stanzas of the now internationally renowned "Button Mushroom" song that have dominated the last two weeks of my life. I do promise after an appropriate time has passed however, tales will be recounted and the shock and horror will cause you to run from the computer monitor, hands to your head in disgust, shouting "My Eyes! My Eyes!"

I am also so overwhelmed by they list of chores that need to be done now that I am back from vacation, among them getting some diapers as Katie currently has on the last clean one. If this one gets wet, I'll be forced to go MacGyver on a maxi pad and some paper clips.

Laundry, grocery shopping, vacuum, sweep the kitchen, make dinner, put away clothes, tidy all the crap that has accumulated on every horizontal surface over the last two weeks... it is very overwhelming. I think Ill take a quick nap just so I am fresh to get it all done.

Here's to Mary Babe and George Carlin. May they rest in peace.

Since Last We Spoke

Also known as the weekend roundup. Howdy.

Since last we spoke, my cousin Anne had her third baby. Her first boy and his name is Max Robert Croyle. So congratulations to the Croyle family and welcome Max!

"Go Ma-ax, It's your birthday, go Ma-ax it's your birthday!" (and it was too!)

We went out with Paul and Ann, the people from whom we are renting our house on Friday night to listen to a man named Phil Donnelly play his guitar and sing. You may recognize the name as he played with Donovan back in the day. It was a very good show. He had a fun sense of humor and I liked the music. You know, he played with Donovan... The show was held in a small back room of Cleere's pub, a place well known for its musical acts and impromptu 'sessions' with local musicians. Somehow though, word must not have gotten out that a man who played with Donovan was going to be there as the audience was only about a baker's dozen. I mean, he played with Donovan, man! Did I mention he played....?
He's the one on the left. And another difference here in Ireland; Paul wanted to buy him a whiskey when the show was over and he said, "ah, man.. I'm actually a recovering alcoholic... I'll just have a glass of Guinness." That is hysterical. And, ps, this picture is just one I found on the web to show you the one, the only, the man who played with Donovan. I don't have any clue who the two on the right are...

Anyway, Saturday we slept in a bit. ahem. Then went for a walk out to the county hospital to visit Manus' aunt Mary. She looked quite good but OMG! the hospital!! Definite culture shock. Won't get into it now, but maybe its not such a bad thing that I cant work there...

Sunday we went to Dublin as we have to exchange our rental car every 30 days. This time we got a Ford Mondeo. It is so strange to have Fords and Toyotas and Hondas, but never a model I've ever heard of in the States. These are also known as Ford Contour or Mercury Mystique. Those I've heard of. Anyway, this old baby has been rode hard and put away wet, but she'll do for the next month.

Again, stock footage. Ours is black. And not as shiny.

We did some walking around in Dublin and I got my sushi!! Oh, it was soooo good. I can't wait til we have to go back! I love walking down Grafton (thanks O) street as there are always street performers or "buskers" and these two were really good. Well, I guess not that good considering the classical quartet was playing in the same spot last year when we visited...



And speaking of things that were in the same spot as last year..... So were we!!










If anyone wants to friggin help me format these g-d pictures so they can just sit next to each other, by all means do so. I am two photos away from seeing if this computer can fly.



We met Manus' cousin Mary and her daughter Maha for dinner Sunday night. We were to spend more time with them Monday morning (with the camera) before returning to Kilkenny, but alas, the bad old bug is back.
Both Manus and Katie had rough nights Sunday. I have been spared for some reason. I have been trying to But see, Ireland needs me as a nurse after all.

We made it home to Kilkenny yesterday afternoon and everyone is feeling a bit better today.

I've taken the cue from Ireland and am trying to find even more ways to go green! so I said "lets kick this energy conservation up a notch" BAM! and eliminate the clothes washer altogether.
Just hang your clothes up right before a damn rain storm and don't take them down til they're dry. These should be done next Tuesday.

And finally, it seems Katie's love affair with vegetables is over. She has become such a picky eater in the last few weeks. She has even taken to reaching into her mouth with her fingers to fish out any veggies that I sneak in and sticking her tongue out to block when I try to spoon feed her some greens. So I've taken to mashing up veggies and hiding them in things she will eat like porridge and eggs and pudding. She has even gotten to smart for that...

Okay, so maybe zucchini in apricot yogurt wasn't the most stealth move... But then -

...She shows me her gang sign and threatens to stab me with her Dora spoon if I ever try something like that again.

So I thought, hmm... there's a lesson to be learned here...

I guess she knows who's the boss now, huh?!

Betty Crocker Homemaker of the Year

Today's post has to be a brief one I'm afraid, as today I am cleaning the house. I know! I'm as shocked as you are, now climb back up into your chair. I'm just taking a breather now while the floors are wet. You know you are supposed to mop those things?And with water? I'm on a roll, though. Next thing you know I'll be making a casserole and knitting baby booties.

One of the women in playgroup today asked me if I'd knit Katie's pink Old Navy hoodie. Now, I dunno, maybe that was meant to be a compliment, but I think in the States that is an insult, isn't it? "Oh, how cute... did'ja make that yourself?, you know it's got that real homemade look to it." Now, mom - don't get into a tizzy like thin lizzy, I don't mean like the stuff you sew. Like those scrub tops? I always got compliments on them and then when I'd say my mom made them, they would be like, "no way!" and I'd be all, "Way". But that's just it; the compliment was in the person thinking that it was store bought. That a real machine had made it. (hmm, and why is that a compliment, again?)

I'd like to bring you back now to an earlier post on Sniglets. I was thinking about them today and how no one seems to care about them. But they are so necessary. Take for example,

Carperpetuation (kar-pur-pet-you-ay-shun) n. The act, when vacuuming, of running over a string or a piece of lint at least a dozen times, reaching over and picking it up, examining it, then putting it back down to give the vacuum one more chance.

You know everyone has done it, and there has never been a word for it. How can we ignore that injustice?

I needed that word today because as I was vacuuming (I know!!) the kitchen I came upon a cheerio that just wouldn't get sucked up. And I actually stepped on it to crush it so that I could then hoover up the crumbs. I couldn't believe it for a moment that I'd actually done that instead of picking the damn thing up, but no... And you know what, it worked like a charm so, when I came across those other two cheerios....

I'll have to keep Manus away from this site today, tell him I didnt have time to post or something cause then he'll know all my dirty cleaning secrets (hehe, dirty clean). Like I just couldn't have him stumbling onto my 'mouthwash-down-the-sink' technique for making the whole room smell minty clean.

You mean I was supposed to move the kitchen chairs, not just mop around each of the legs?

Ha! I kid (wink, wink) You know, even after all this time, Manus doesn't always know when I'm joking (see sarchasm on Sniglets page) and that's bad, you know, cause I truly and seriously love him and love my life and, sure I kid and tease Ireland, but it knows that I'm only yanking its chain. I am happy. (maybe the meds have kicked in).

But that leads me to my closing thoughts. Again, I refer back to a prior post when, in the way of "if a tree falls", I ask you; If I make a joke and I'm the only one who laughs, is it still funny?

'Cause Manus says no but I'm looking for a consensus.

The Mom Chronicles

As American Mother's Day is just around the corner, I thought I would write a poem about what it means to be a mother.

You know a mom loves you

Writes your name in the sand

She doesn't even mind

when you pee on her hand.

The Mom Chronicles Volume One

"The Urine Sample"

So, Katie needed to submit a urine sample for a follow-up infection screening. Try as I might, she wouldn't just pee in a cup. She had given of her life-water in a doctor's office in Miami before our move, so when the paediatrician (nope, not misspelled here) here asked for a sample to be delivered to his office, I thought "no problem". A specimen cup changed hands and I was sent to the local chemist for a urine collection bag or 'kinder urinauffangbeutel' (again, no misspelling). Yesterday morning, rise and shine. Katie gets a bath so as to be as sterile as possible and as I opened the package containing the bag I find much to my chagrin that there are no instructions enclosed. Okay, I can do this, I am a registered nurse after all. I peel back the adhesive strips and tape my poor baby's nu-nu to a ziplock and wait for magic. And wait. I have to put a diaper over this contraption because Katie thinks she should try and pull the bag off (ouch!). Next thing you know... I see 'the face': A look of concentration, pursed lips, her face a dark shade of red and... well, needless to say, specimen contamination. Take off the bag, clean up the mess and back to the chemist for not one, but lets go with 2 more collection bags (just in case). I'll try again in the morning.



So, up again this morning. Bag on, diaper on. Downstairs for breakfast. A little shudder from Katie tells me that the lemonade stand has opened for business. (dont tell me you never heard "milk, milk, lemonade, round the corner fudge is made!"?). Well, somehow the urine went up OVER the adhesive strips (rendering them wet and useless) and out onto the diaper. Mere drips of urine only in the bag. So, we sit on the floor, diaper off and my hand making a peace sign so as to hold the bag in place with my two fingers on her inner thighs while I plead with Katie to find it in herself to stop squirming, stop trying to crawl away with the palm of my hand cupping the -absolute cutest- buttocks and show me a little PG rated "golden shower". We sit there for a good 15 minutes. I try tickling her, pressing on her belly, I even was making waterfall sounds with my mouth.



Well, I guess pushing on the belly did something, because next thing you know...that's right... The FACE.



It was all I could do to move my hand and watch in horror as my sweet, innocent, beautiful baby girl POOPED ON THE KITCHEN FLOOR.



As I was cleaning the floor I thought to myself.... I am a mother. In ALL its glory.



In the end, the THIRD bag was applied and I sat holding her, pouring water and apple juice down her throat and finally got the goods.

So help me if we need another test.



And now for your daily dose. (worry not... no pictures we taken today)

"I love you, grandma!!"