What Was I Going to Say?
Instead of a high-powered rifle that shoots out these bullet points, I'm working more with a potato gun. Or a straw and a few spitballs. Here's the rundown:
- I can't remember a freaking thing these days. So far, since Monday, I've forgotten to call in for a conference call, I missed a doctor's appointment, and I actually forgot how to spell the word "forgotten." Which is ironic on two levels - one because it's the word I misspelled in sixth grade to lose a spelling bee, and two because it's the word "forgotten."
- And this forgetfulness has lead to some disastrous health consequences, like last night when I forgot to "confirm" my dinner bolus and ended up eating a higher carb dinner. Which gave me a really crummy reading of "Oh, HI!" on my meter (meaning I was over 600 mg/dl), which made me cry because I felt like such a failure, which was both true and frustrating because being that high absolutely blows. It also took me four hours to come back into range.
- Highs like these (okay, not that high, but like in the 300 range) have been plaguing me, which is depressing. Not helping the postpartum feelings I've been playing host to. It's time for me to email Gary Schiener and take him up on his offer of help.
- On paper, it seems like I'm falling apart, health-wise, but thankfully that's not the case. I just need some serious re-tooling.
- I am starting to lose it a little bit, mentally, I think. Mommyhood has me by the nose. I'm swaying back and forth in the grocery store even when I'm not holding the baby, and I'm finding myself singing songs to BSparl that don't make any sense, mostly about food or the way she smells.
- Case in point (sung in a tuneless sort of way): "Baby girl, you smell like pickles. That's not true. You smell like Aveeno baby shampoo and I want to kiss your ears. You are my banana friend. Hey, why don't we get some coffee?"
- If I had a tiny triangle, I would gently hit it with a fork at the end of that song. * Ting *
- Aren't there reality shows on TLC that can help me make sense of my life? "How Not To Act" or "Life Boss" or "Ace of Scheduling?" "Say Yes to the Nap?"
- I tried on a few bathing suits before Chris and I went to Block Island last weekend. I've never laughed so hard in my life. Once I wiped away the tears from laughing, I bought a one-piece that looks decent and makes my stomach feel less like it's smuggling potatoes. I have no plans to wear it outside of the safety of my closet, but it does fit. That's a plus?
- Yesterday, BSparl blew through so many receiving blankets (known in the Sparling household as "the burp cloths" or "spit up thingies") that a whole load of laundry was born.
- Birds are spying on me as I type this. It's disconcerting.
- I found a site last night on the Cheeseburger network that made me laugh really hard. But it's not safe for work. And it's not safe for humanity. But while I was waiting for my blood sugar to come down so I could finally use the breast pump and then go to freaking bed, I looked through the site. And laughed. Despite being a mom, I haven't matured much. (Link to site is here. Click at your own risk, amigos.)
- And now I must find a way to feed and bathe myself, the kidlet, throw a bag together with all of our collective "must haves" (diapers, wipes, Baby Bjorn, meter, glucose tabs, a bottle, that changing pad thing, license, keys, and some kind of monetary unit with which to buy an iced coffee OMG), and then scuttle off to look at a few houses for sale.
- (By the way, I'm going to look at these houses today because we forgot to go the other day. See the first potato gun bullet point for that explanation.)