I am currently watching Wyatt attempt to take a nap. In less than two months he'll turn 3, and it's becoming more and more apparent that he is growing up. His naps lately have been an hour to an hour and a half tops, and often it takes him a long time to get there. He doesn't fight them at all, it just seems he sometimes isn't very tired. He'll lay there still, long enough that I think he's asleep, and then suddenly start talking or get up and peek under his bed, pretend to "fix" his bed, or have a conversation with one of his stuffed animals. Then crawl back under his covers and give it another go. Maybe it's time to at least push it back a bit.
We're definitely not giving up naps yet. That's for sure.
Yesterday was the yearly Primary Program, hands down the best sacrament meeting of the year. The kids all say the darndest things and there's always at least one super loud, super off key kid singing his guts out. This year was no exception, and Wyatt, tired of not getting the jokes as we all chuckled throughout the program, decided he needed to be in on the action.
His timing was impeccable.
One little boy stood up to say that the temple was really special to him because he was able to be sealed to his family for eternity. Very heartwarming, yet Wyatt chose this moment to insert his loud, super-fake adult laugh. "Heh, heh, heh, heh!" he said slowly, and looked at us to make sure we'd seen he'd "gotten it" this time.
It was also significant because just two days before the program I'd realized that he would be moving out of nursery into the Sunbeam class (3 - 4 yrs olds) in January. I thought he had another year! That means next year he'll be one of those off-key kids. (Unless he's more like me, and then he'll sing softly so as not to draw any extra attention to himself.)
He's taken to reminding us that he's a big boy. Any time we use a nickname for him, anything other than Wyatt, he'll say, in a happy voice, "No, Mom. I'n not a punkin, I'n a big boy!" Or he'll glance in the mirror, survey himself, and tell us he is getting big "like a fourwheeler." He's been told, by his father, that when he's older he can drive a four wheeler and that's now his measuring stick.
And I'm alright with all this growing up stuff, so long as he continues to tell me on a regular basis that he loves me. That will be my measuring stick.
So I had to call in to the reproductive center on Friday to schedule my mid-cycle ultrasound and go in for a quick make-sure-you're-not-pregnant blood draw so they could give me another supply of Femara. They were supposed to give me the results that day so that I could pick up the medicine and start it Saturday. It's all about timing with this stuff, so when I didn't hear from them Friday I called in to their hotline on Saturday morning, which is what the woman on the phone had told me to do.
Instead of getting a nice, so sorry you're going through this lady, I got a rude, "do you know this hotline is supposed to be for IVF patients only?" nurse. A "next time try and do this during the weekday" nurse. Since she was also the one that had to call in my prescription, I didn't give her the piece of my mind I wanted to, but I did give her a smidgen. Seriously, these kind of people shouldn't be answering these kinds of centers.
Apparently I'd given her more than she wanted because when I went to pick it up at Target, they had no record of it. I called again but was told no one was in the office anymore, but that they could page a doctor for me. I'd hear from them in the next 30 minutes.
Now, normally this wouldn't be a HUGE inconvenience, I was at Target alone. It'd be an inconvenience on my wallet of course, but having to walk around a Target was much better than a Walgreens or something. Except that I'd just sprained my foot, remember?
To get past the boring part, 30 minutes later I'd heard from the on call doctor (after paging him again) (ps, why do doctors still insist on using PAGERS?) and was standing at the pharmacy counter, prepared to once again wince at the price tag. In California it was $198 for 10 tiny pills. Guess how much it was here?
You'll seriously never guess.
$6.20. Like, not even seven whole dollars.
I was shocked! Floored! I made him double check and then I pulled the bottle out and checked myself. Yeah for insurance actually covering this medicine! Even though infertilility is almost never covered, this medicine, if you remember, is usually used for breast cancer in post-menopausal women. So. It's covered.
Here's the second best part. The warning on the bottle says to not use if you are pregnant or plan to become pregnant. The warning on the paperwork says to not use if you're not post-menopausal.
So.........I guess we're just going to trust these doctors then, right?
When you take an extended blogging absence and then return, you feel like you have to come back with this earth shattering, amazing, knock-your-socks-off post. So you don't do it, because you're like, all I have to say is that we went to the park today. Nothing earth shattering about that.
(Also? The camera is STILL in the shop! It's killing me!)
It's ridiculous really, because who are you competing with? Yourself?
Anyway, here I am. I signed up a few months ago for this Night of the Running Dead 5k. A zombie race! And since Caleb is obsessed with all things zombie / World War Z / Apocalypse / survival thing, I signed him up as well. It's my first 5k, and definitely Caleb's first, so I let him pick. Do we register as zombies or humans?
The human registrants get a 2 minute head start. You see where this is going right? It's gonna be awesome!
Caleb said he'd only register as a "survivor", so that's what we did. He takes this zombie stuff seriously.
I'm not a lover of running. Never have been. Put me in a work out class any day, but running? Blah. It does do the job though, doesn't it? So a few months before we moved I did that Couch to 5k program for the 5k we put on for Sammy. Then I got here and sorta went into vacation mode, working out sporadically until all endurance had been lost. Then in the last month I started kicking it up a notch. Adding more distance, time, intervals. Nothing formal, just....doing it.
Then I got myself new running shoes! I love them, I swear the first day I wore them I felt a difference. It was awesome! I was gonna rock the run!
Then this morning I stepped off a curb during my run and came crashing down. I swear I heard bones crunching. I sat there on my hands and knees, not really believing it had happened. I'm not that clumsy, am I? A tiny step down? Then I realized a van had paused, no doubt wondering if they were going to have to come scrape my body off the road. I got up and made the long hobble to my car.
The race is exactly one month from today. And I've got some serious swelling.
I'm thinkin' the universe it trying to tell me we should have registered as zombies. Maybe I'll go as an infected human? It'll be Caleb's worst nightmare come true!
I did not expect to relate very much to Dominique Browning while reading her memoir, Slow Love. It's about a woman, Dominique, who found herself let go from working as the editor in chief of Conde Nast's, House & Garden. I'm a stay at home mom, about as far way from the whirling world of magazine life as possible, and have never been fired. How could I possibly relate?
Turns out I can.
Without her job, Dominique feels purposeless - drifting, her whole sense of self ripped away. She spends her days in her pajamas sleeping, until finally she develops a system to get herself out of the house. One errand a day. One thing to get herself out of bed and showered, even if she only returns home to her pajamas, at least she got out. With this, she slowly starts the process of lifting herself out of, well, herself.
Hello! Anyone ever have a kid before?
That's exactly what I did during those first few months with a newborn. I spaced my Target run, my grocery store run, my Costco run, and every other errand possible, so that I had one place to go to that day, one reason to get out of my pajamas covered in some kind of baby fluids. Mascara! Something to make me feel like a person again instead of, well, a baby food provider.
Dominique also talks about an on-again off-again relationship with Stroller, (false name very indicative of their relationship) someone she probably should never have been with, nor be with. I think that's something that everyone, on varying levels, can identify with. Why do we keep going back to bad relationships? We're drawn more to the emotions than the person themselves, just as Dominique is.
Slow Love isn't about how bad things eventually turn out okay, it's about how bad things can sometimes help us see ourselves. See what makes us happy, what we can get through, and the person we can become. It teaches us that sometimes we're going too fast and missing too much. Stop and smell the roses, right? Just do so in some great pajamas.