Search Results for: secret agent josephine

Cardiac Hill

by whoorl

The time has come. Time to bust out my A-game. No more excuses, no more whining. No more leisurely walks to the beach while chatting up SAJ or my mom via cell phone. Time to take on Cardiac Hill.

Cardiac Hill is a stretch of gradual incline behind my neighborhood leading from the beach to the houses up in the hills. Cardiac Hill is not for sissies, yo. Especially if you are pushing a 23-pounder in a stroller, which at mile marker .435 begins to feel like pushing a mahogany credenza up Mount Kilimanjaro.

But it’s time, peeps. And how do I know? Well, just ask these bermuda shorts. They relayed the message loud and clear yesterday while getting my Fash-On at Old Navy.

**side note** – Old Navy. Um, not a place I usually frequent for attire, but BY GOD PEOPLE, the new “longer” cotton tanks?! GENIUS, I say. GENIUS! And of course, these and these for Wito. Oh, who am I kidding? I LOVE Old Navy! I’m a mother! Coming soon – holiday sweatshirts and a FUPA!

My sister called a couple of days ago telling me I must purchase their new Bermuda shorts. So cute with wedges, so cute with flats, etc. And unlike most of you, I am a huge fan of Bermuda shorts. I think they can be very chic with the right accessories and of course, the right body type (i.e. – mine, PRE-pregnancy). I tossed Wito in the car and made my way. When I arrived, the shorts were directly in my line of sight, all colorful and just begging to be tried on. I grabbed a couple of pairs in several sizes and made my way to the dressing room.

I enjoy employing the try-one-size-larger-to-help-build-the-ego method when trying on clothes. Then, I can pat myself on the back when they are hanging off my hips. I chose the TOSLTHBTE pair of shorts and pulled them up my calves, knees, thighs, hmph. Hmph. They just were not wanting to button. Or zip. That’s funny…they must have been improperly labeled. After all, these shorts were the size I wore in college when a typical dinner consisted of a large pizza and 6 pints of Killian’s Red. So, I called to the headset person and had them bring me another pair. Same thing. What the fuck, Old Navy? I know you’re el cheapo, but let’s try to get some size uniformity here! So I left sans Bermuda shorts, but with thoughts of sending Old Navy Corporate Headquarters a letter addressing their sizing issues. “Like, get on the same page with the American size chart. DUH. Love, Whoorl.”

And then my sister called. And informed me that her normal size fit just fine. Just fine! And then I swallowed the extremely bitter pill. I have 5 (maybe 6. Fine, 7.) pregnancy pounds still lurking on my body and by GOD, they have to come off. Right away. I have upwards of 10 pairs of fabulous jeans and none of them fit. NONE. What’s a girl to do?

I’ll tell you. For starters, I drove back to Old Navy and bought two pairs of the too-small shorts. They WILL fit in the near future thanks to my new friend and nemesis, Cardiac Hill.

Oh yes, that’s right. Cardiac Hill.

If you happen to be in my neighborhood and see a green Bugaboo careening down the sidewalk, Holla! I’ll be the comatose lady a quarter-mile up the hill.

Whoorlito – 6 month update

by whoorl

Is it just me or does “Wito” sound extremely leader-of-the-baby-mafia-ish. I can hear it now, “DUDE, don’t let Wito find out what you did…he’ll cut your balls off”. That or he’ll eat you.

First things first. Let me just say that ultrasounds are horrible. Not so much the ultrasound itself, but having to restrain a scared and hysterical 6-month old baby while the ultrasound is being performed on him. And the fact that it’s MY BABY. UGH, you guys! It was the worst. The WORST. First off, no worries on why the ultrasound was being performed- Wito has a little cyst on the back of his head and his doctor wants to play it safe.

Anyway, given the way he reacted when the dermatologist was looking at the bump, I knew we were in for a rough time with the actual ultrasound. I don’t want to ramble on about something so seemingly insignificant compared to what other babies have to endure, but let me just say it took 3 staff members to hold him down. I’m not kidding. Four people (including me). And it didn’t help that they were having trouble getting a good shot of the bump, which translated into 20 minutes of hell. He was so unbelievably scared and upset that he vomited all over the exam table and sobbed uncontrollably after the procedure was finished. All of this coming from a child who merely winces when he receives his immunizations.

I stayed in the procedure room for a couple of minutes afterwards to try to calm him down. Luckily, I had his favorite book “Brown Bear, Brown Bear” in the diaper bag. As he sat in my lap crying with that precious lower lip shaking, the second I turned to his favorite page (the green frog), he leaned back into my shoulder, looked up at me with his wet eyes and smiled.

Oh my God. Oh my GOD. Talk about RIPPING your heart out. Then stomping, shredding and setting the rest of it on fire. I got home and called my parents, trying to be oh-so-stoic, but they knew I had officially entered fragile mode.

I guess I always thought the first six months would be the hardest when it came to the worrying. You know, being a new parent and not knowing the ropes. Is my baby sick? Hurt? Tired? Why is he crying so much? And in some ways, it is the hardest. The sleep deprivation, the newness of it all, etc. But it truly doesn’t compare in intensity to the depth of feeling when your child begins to take on a true personality of their own. Gone are the worries about how many wet diapers and naps your baby has per day, and in it’s place are questions like “Will this amazing little person be lucky enough to live a full and blessed life?” And I can only imagine the feeling continues to intensify as every day, month and year passes.

Oh my God, I could go on forever. But I won’t since Wito might kick my ass.

So, Wito Wito Wito. Wito’s big, y’all. He’s in the 93rd percentile for weight and is off the chart for height. Literally. There is no place on the height chart for Wito – he’s one long motherfucker (see, he will kick your ass!). He has more energy than a coked up college mascot- the jumping, sweet jebus, the jumping. He could jump in the damn jumperoo until his head detaches from his body. And when I pull him out (with much resistance), he jumps up and down in my arms only to stop when he decides to perform a back bend because obviously, seeing the world upside down is hella more interesting than right side up.

He’s also a major flirt, evident this morning as we were leaving the dermatologist’s office and he winked at the lovely UPS lady. I personally can’t confirm the wink as I was holding him and couldn’t see, but she was quite adamant that he WINKED. AT HER. SHE WOULDN’T LIE ABOUT SUCH A THING. I considered telling her the wink might have been his attempt at shielding his eye from her intense staring, but alas no. I decided to keep that little nugget to myself.

We’ve been spending lots of time on walks with SAJ and Baby Bug because he is truly happiest when we’re outdoors. Or maybe it’s because he wants to eat Baby Bug for lunch…I’ll have to get back to you on that one.

I’m Back.

by whoorl

Finally. Stinkin’ shit on a stick, people. I hope you like, unless of course, you are using Internet Explorer 6 and my sidebars are at the bottom of the page (UPDATE – fixed, YAY!). And if that’s the case, I think it’s time we had a heart-to-heart. How can I say this…deep breath… I’m SICK of seeing how IE6 treats you…he is such a jerk and look at you! You’re beautiful, smart and witty! Just give Firefox a chance. He’s charming, waaaayyyy better looking and most importantly, he will treat you the way you deserve to be treated. But if you JUST can’t live without IE6, at least get him stylin’ with a little IE7 . I only say this because I care.

So, wow. New host (three’s a charm, right?), new platform, new everything. I finally gave Boobable Hype* the boot and made the move over to WordPress. And let me just say, WordPress, I love you from the bottom of my heart. I want to french kiss you on a bicycle made for two. While wearing berets. Maybe I’ll even let you go to 2nd base, but I must warn you, the bodacious tatas have shrunk back to the original ho-hum pre-pregnancy size. But I can do the cherry-stem-knot-tongue thing! That’s right, baby.

This was quite a project for someone with limited coding skills, especially someone afflicted with PPPP (Pixel Padding Perfection Problem). I could have gone live with this thing weeks ago, but the obsession over 2 pixels here, 5 pixels there was consuming my soul. Do you people realize that your site is translated TOTALLY differently on different browsers? It can look perfect on Firefox, but then terrible on Internet Explorer? And so you fix it in IE7, only to see it look like shit in IE6?! Over and over, as you pull what’s left of your post-pregnancy hair out? Dude, I bow down to coders.

People, this is what has been keeping me awake a night. Pixels. FUCKING PIXELS AND PADDING. Not the fact that my son is 6 MONTHS OLD and is like, a burly man. Nope, pixels and padding. And this book.

But I had a revelation a couple of nights ago! You guys probably don’t give a flying turd about my pixels and padding, right? OH MY GOD, PLEASE SAY YOU DON’T. You all care about things like this!

dd1.jpg

I must say, he is quite the handsome devil (cute shirt from the lovely SAJ).

So, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I can’t make everything perfect all the time. Oh, those silly little life lessons.

So, did you miss me? Lots? Wait, did you even know I was gone?

*name changed to protect the confusing and not-so-helpful

A Plea for Internet Help

by whoorl

Dear Internets,

Am I crazy?

Love,
Whoorl

Ya’ll, I really want to tell you about our 1,500-mile road trip from last week, but my GOCD (Germ Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) is going to take precedence today.

As you know, I have been dealing with The Sickness, passed so gingerly along over the holidays by my father, Bishop Stu Tu. And as much as I would like to kick him so gingerly in the ass, he sold me my mother’s Lexus for an astoundingly low price during said holiday visit. So, you’re off the hook, DAD.

I had to purchase a vehicle because one of the perks of being a pharmaceutical rep is a company car, and we all know I am no longer employed as a pharmaceutical rep. Hence, no car. And while we’re on the subject, let’s discuss the other things I lost by quitting my job; you know, to give me one more brief panic attack.

1. A six-figure salary
2. Free 2006 Jeep Grand Cherokee
3. Free car insurance
4. Free gas
5. Health insurance
6. Freedom to plan my day as I please
7. Limited face-to-face contact with my boss (4 times/year)
8. Company Amex to buy treats and such
9. Free health advice from physicians, which really complements my GOCD

Wait, I think I’m having a heart attack.

Ok, I’m good. No wait.

Ok, yeah. Breathing.

But HEY, let’s not dwell on those things! Let’s talk about what I gain!

1. Wito! Wito! Wito!
2. Pajamas all day long if I please
3. No more corporate bullshit meetings
4. Long daily walks to the beach
5. No more physician ass-kissing
6. Hanging out with SAJ at the park
7. The time to focus on little things I enjoy (cooking! photography! blogging!)
8. A purpose
9. Did I mention Wito! Wito! Wito!?

Feeling better now.

Anyhoo, I have been more than mildly obsessed with The Sickness taking a hold of little Wito. To the point of not touching him since last Friday morning.

Seriously.

I haven’t touched, nor been within 5 feet of him for the past 5 days. D has done literally everything- feeding, cleaning, and playing- this entire time. Which is truly a great thing for two reasons- 1) wow, what a great dad he is and 2) he now knows exactly what I’m talking about when I’m dropping dead from exhaustion at the end of the day. I can’t tell you what vindication I felt when he peeked his head into the bedroom a couple of nights ago and said, “This is REALLY hard. I’m exhausted by 7:00!”

Cue clouds parting, angels singing and the beautiful sunlight filling the room.

YES! He gets it!

The tremendous help from D had to end when he returned to work yesterday. Luckily, I had the nanny to help around the house while I met with my boss to give him my notice. That was until she called me mid-meeting to tell me she was hurling all over my house. Oh, and apparently, diarrheaing (surely, not a word) explosively as well. OMG. Luckily, it was a menstrual situation – um yes, ladies, she vomits and experiences not fun GI issues every month when her period starts. Certainly not fun, but at least not some scary rotavirus that would have thrown me over the edge.

This led to the dilemma. How am I going to take care of this child without getting him sick? I know you all are out there yelling at the screen to get over myself and just DEAL with the germs. I hear you, but HEY, I’m a new mom! Cut me some slack!

So, I went to Rite Aid. And bought surgical masks. And wore them around the house like a crazy person. And managed to scare the shit out of my son when we awoke from his peaceful slumber to see this looking down at him.

mask.jpg

Please don’t even get me started on the foggy-glasses syndrome. It seems the hot, germy breath rising from my mask fogs my glasses. This causes an array of additional problems, namely tripping over objects and running into walls.

Hmmm. Where was I going with this? Oh yeah, am I crazy?

Bad News Bears

by whoorl

Have I ever told you how much I love my home? Well, I do. I love it, love it, love it. It is the most perfect, darling, updated beach bungalow in the world. You can even ask SAJ…she’ll concur, I’m sure.

My landlord just informed us that he is going to sell it.

Like right now.

The bastard.

I just received a letter with the information about the realtor who will be showing it, and according to him, he “has instructed her to use the utmost courtesy in giving advanced notice of showings and working around your baby’s napping schedule”.

Napping schedule? NAPPING SCHEDULE? What 5-week old has a fucking napping schedule? Um, Mr. Landlord, my baby’s schedule consists of two things. Eating and Sleeping at Random Times Throughout The Day. And unless you want your realtor to become close and personal friends with my nipple or her ass to be royally chewed when she wakes my baby, we better figure something else out ASAP.

I can’t believe this is happening right now. I don’t want to move.

Whoorlito Update – Will You Give the Gal Some Fluids Already?

by whoorl

I’m back from my 38-week appointment which somehow morphed from an average 45-minute trip to a 4-hour jaunt to Maternal Diagnostics at my hospital.

Phew!

My physician noticed my uterine measurements were a little behind schedule for my due date (aha! – that might explain all of the “your belly is too small to be due that quickly!” comments). That coupled with a slight decrease in Whoorlito’s movements yesterday was all it took for me to be on my merry way over the the hospital. Honestly, I really wasn’t nervous at all- even my practictioner told me the testing was probably overkill, but better to be safe than sorry…

D and I checked into the center where they strapped all the fetal monitors across my belly, and Whoorlito was a champ. Heartrate was perfect, movements were all over the place, and they said everything looked great. They assured me that I had a very healthy baby and that I could go after they gave me a quick ultrasound measuring my amniotic fluid.

Yeah, it seems I don’t have a plethora of that. When they told me I had an Amniotic Fluid Index of 5.86, I said GREAT…wait, what does that mean? They informed me that anything 5.0 or below warranted an immediate trip to Labor and Delivery for an induction.

Excuse me? I was 0.86 somethings away from having a baby TODAY?!? Holy shit on a stick.

Anyway, I am now under orders to literally not do anything until Monday morning when I will be re-tested. That and drink 5,789 gallons of fluid a day. No errands, no leaving the house, etc. Basically, nothing that could make me sweat or lose fluids in the slightest. UM, I live in a town where the average July high temperature is 70 degrees, yet we have seen temperatures in the 90’s for over a week. UM, I don’t have air-conditioning. Walking from the bedroom to the bathroom makes me sweat. Thinking too hard about a subject makes me sweat. Hell, talking on the phone makes me sweat.

This is going to be tougher than I thought.

Plus, SAJ and I had plans to go shopping and zip around town in her super duper stealthy-mobile today! Damn!

If you need me, I will be tucked away in the bedroom with the window unit for the next three days. Party.

WAIT! How about some great news? Whoorlito is 6 pounds, 10 ounces and is the cutest thing I have ever seen. I watched him smile while trying to stuff his entire fist into his mouth repeatedly. That’s my boy.