Ahead of My Time

D's NICU was in a hospital fairly close to our former home. To drive there, we drove down Burbank Blvd. and turned right onto Sepulveda, past the two-story Target, and then on to the hospital.

When D. left the NICU, we brought him home and thought things would get better. And they did, and they are -- but I was a long way from healed. I'm still a long way from healed. And a couple weeks after D's NICU stay, I needed to go to Target, so I set out from home, down Burbank, right on Sepulveda, and suddenly -- I turned around, drove the other way, and found a different Target.

People told me it would pass.

I had another baby, and then I had one more. And I thought I might pump a little milk for this one, so that the housekeeper (who starts TOMORROW, yo!) could feed Baby A. sometimes, so that I can work, or go out for lunch, or rest. And I asked around about a pump, specifically an Avent Isis manual pump. And everyone I know offered me an electric Medela Pump-in-Style. And I started hyperventilating.

When D. was in the NICU, I had to use that electric pump to establish a milk supply. It was a whole week before I nursed him. That pump, to me, symbolizes the start of a terrible, terrible time in my life, and there is NO WAY I am EVER going to use it again.

Everyone thinks I'm nuts. Well, everyone except the New York Times. They get it.

Now, granted, my kid didn't spend 100 days in the NICU, but our time there was horrific, in part because we had a full-term kid who was SICK and no one knew why. I told everyone back in the day that I had PTSD, and they all laughed. And when I declined the electric pump, they laughed again. In fact, one person actually told me she had an Avent Isis, but she wouldn't let me use it because it couldn't be sterilized. WTF? Is it me, or are people just plain WEIRD?

Anyway. I feel vindicated. But I wish I didn't have to.

Breathe in, breathe out

Oy. So, I had to take a break from everything because I had a baby and camp ended and school didn't start and there were FIVE CHILDREN in the house and it was crazy and the housekeeper is only scheduled to start NEXT MONDAY. But then three kids started school on Thursday and D. went back today, and I thought I could catch my breath and take a week to just enjoy baby A.

I know, it's funny, right?

So, D's bus came at 6:17 am, and off he went. And Mr. WG took the other kids to school at 7:15, and baby A and I sat down on the couch to watch some Monk on DVD.

Mr. WG called my cell phone, which was in my office, so I let it ring while I changed a diaper. Then I called him back from the house phone, and he told me he was going by D's school to check on him.

He called the house phone a few minutes later. The school, of course, is chaos. I remember it from last year. So he asked for D's teacher, Mrs. L., and was told, "Oh, she's no longer here." Wait, haven't I seen this flick before? Mr. WG was able to locate D, ascertain that he was fine, and sneak away quietly.

Call waiting beeped, and I ignored it. (I keep canceling call waiting, and yet, IT ALWAYS BEEPS.)

I told Mr. WG that I would speak with the principal of the school, and we hung up.

My cell phone rang. I found it and answered. It's the day school. S. threw up, and she says she threw up at home.

Liar, I nearly shout, but contain myself. "Did anyone SEE her throw up?" I asked. And then I actually said, "I mean, I love S., but I KNOW S. Does she have a fever?"

No, and no. Well then, send her on back. She's not coming home.

I called D's school and left a message for the principal. Opinions, please. Am I nuts to think that when you switch the teacher for the special education class, you could maybe trouble yourself to INFORM THE PARENTS?

UGH. Positive attitude. Serenity now. Breathe in, breathe out.

Things That Have Been Said to Me Recently

By my father, on the way to the airport: "I really think you should have your tubes tied. It's just that if you've already had two with... anomalies... your chances skyrocket for something worse."

By my midwife, a few days before Baby A. was born, as she waited for a contraction to see if she could feel my cervix, and I lay half nekkid on my bed: "A little awkward, yeah."

By Z., later that day, upon hearing that her father had touched the baby's head: "What, you stuck your hand down Mommy's throat?"

By the little girl who sat behind me at the Wiggles concert on Sunday, as I was wearing a bandanna as a hair covering: "Are you a pirate?"

Regularly scheduled posting is set to resume later this month, when the children return to school.