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At his latest check up:
3.5 months
Weight: 7180 grams / 15 pounds and 13.26 ounces
Length: 65 cm / 25.6 inches
Cuteness factor: 110
Max got his first vaccinations on Tuesday and has been a bit under the weather since. He cried for maybe a minute after the shots. I cried for ten. A feverish and very tired little guy has been keeping me busy since then.
Guess which day is my birthday?
Birthdays of the last few years:
2008 – found out I was pregnant!
2007 – Tribute to my dearest friend who is no longer in Krautland, the traitor
2006 – A BBQ here at the House of flying cats – it was the hail that put out the BBQ that day.
2005 – In the US dealing with Mim’s cancer
2004 – Well, this is when I first started blogging.
Where will we be next year?
I just cut my own hair.
I think I’ve made a big mistake.
I need a flight to San Francisco to fix it.
He is the maestro of hair. He’d be so disappointed in me.
I want to sit in that first chair and have him shake his head and lecture.
At least I used hair cutting scissors this time and not a hole punch like last time.
The End.
Max just demonstrated that he is his father’s son.
He can now undo his diaper.
This is the advertising for the bag of crushed ice I bought. I had no idea that ice was calorie free. I’m so glad they told me. And it’s 100% party. I was looking for a party and now that I have my bag of ice, well, there is no stopping me.
Thanks to Kerry, Max now has 2 Exersaucers. She sent me to this website which had me foaming at the mouth. I immediately jumped on the first saucers I saw and drove an hour each way to pick them up. I had to have two because, you know, good enough is never enough. Let’s not get into the psychological ramifications of that.
I told Alice that I was going back down to pick up the Baby Einstein after I had already picked up the Evenflo and she says to me:
“You know, it’s not going to make him smarter, right?”
Hmm.
Not being able to run down to the local Toys-R-Us makes me panic the same way not being able to shop on Sundays made me panic when I first moved here. I HAVE TO STOCK UP or my world will collapse.
Both were filthy. Like child neglect filthy. And a child had to have sat in them this filthy. Thank got I have a bathtub built for two large people so I can soak Exersaucers. If I had actually seen them before I had driven an hour to pick them up, like at a garage sale, I would have walked away.
I’m really bad at negotiating and I’m REALLY bad at walking away after making a deal. I probably should have, but now, after about five hours of cleaning each one, disinfecting and washing the fabric parts three times, they look like new and I’m not afraid of the Ebola that had to have been on them when I picked them up.
My cell phone has died and my comp is on it’s last internet legs. I hate Sony. I hate Microsoft and my next piece of equipment will have to be a freakin’ Apple as much as I hate it. Sparky is an Apple zealot if you’ve never met him and it will kill me to buy an Apple because it will give him an ounce of pleasure.
In random WTF-ness, my Bank of America ATM card came in the mail today… post marked from New Zealand.
It’s 2:58 am and the house is asleep. Why am I awake? Well, seems that Ollie took the 100% party to heart. He’s wailing away and running through the house as if he’s on crack. This woke me up and so now here I am, not bitter or anything.
Check out the elbow dimples on that kid. His cheeks are in serious danger of being nibbled at some point during his 1000 kisses a day. Am I lucky or what?
It’s been one of those days. Baby has grown over an inch in a week and for some reason, he is just not happy today. Sparky is out with him right now in the carrier getting some much needed air so that I could get some quiet.
Now for a random walk through my brain.
I have had an on-going headache for the last week or so. I finally remembered that I could take Tylenol only to find the lone Tylenol product in the house for adults was in the form of suppositories. Yeah. The headache was that bad.
I overheard Sparky call someone “Love” when he answered the phone yesterday. I waited politely until he got off (the phone) to give him the third degree, Massana style. You know to quietly and calmly ask why he was calling some ho slut bitch “Love” on the phone when I could barely get any fucking sleep and I’m so sick of that facebook Mafia Wars he plays and oh my god, how did he find time to call some other woman Love when I need him around the fucking house. Turns out it wasn’t “Love”, but Olaf. Yeah. I had to eat that one.
I have a new destructive habit. Not new, but since pregnancy. I cannot get enough Wint-O-Green lifesavers or ice. I’m chewing my tooth enamel off, but I just can’t stop. I found a crack dealer Wint-O-Green supplier here in Germany and when I ordered FIVE bags of the Wint-O, they sent me an extra bag free like a good crack dealer should. They are going to make so much money off of me.
I have, in the meantime, shot my wad at the local McDonald’s asking for extra ice. They won’t do it anymore, citing, I kid you not, hygienic reasons. It’s not hygienic to give me extra ice in my cola light. As pissed as I am about it, I’m mostly sad because they had the good chewing ice, little pellets of coldness that had a good cold to softness ratio that only an ice chewer can appreciate.
Note to self: Don’t make triple decadence brownies, say they’re for Sparky and then leave them on the counter. Less than 24 hours later they’re gone and Sparky doesn’t like chocolate. Who ate THE ENTIRE PAN ’cause it sure as hell wasn’t me?
Enter Kung Pao Cat aka Ollie. He’s about to become Chinese food. We, Sparky and I, are now completely trained to wake up at 4 am by the sound of paws on the dresser pull. Cling clang and one of us is up to “protect the sleeping baby” and feeding said Sichuan entree. I have tried spraying the little fucker with water, but he seems to enjoy that, even so much as walking up to me, mid spray and licking from the bottle. After his meal, he comes back to the bedroom, sits on my head and washes his unmentionables. I wish I could blame the brownies on KPC, but sadly, I cannot.
We have tried locking him out of the bedroom, locking him in the laundry room or Max’s room, but his wails are just as piercing as Max’s and it doesn’t work for long. He opens doors or he throws himself so hard against the walls that he changes his molecular composition and phases through them. I swear that cat has opposable thumbs.
Speaking of cats: Scrunchy, after three weeks of collar wearing which translates into three weeks of not being able to lick any part of himself which translates into one smelly cat, has finally lost the collar. It was sadly amusing to watch him walk into door jambs and walls because he wasn’t used to the width of the collar.
I am a mean, mean lady.
He spent 5 hours doing his laundry the moment the collar was tossed. Then he spent the next 19 hours sitting morosely on the Boppy as he had discovered that not only did we take his testicles long ago, but now his penis was gone too. No more slurp, slurp in the middle of the night.
My dad and brother have finally bought their plane tickets. As of October 1st, they’ll be here in Krautland. I can’t wait. They are going to be muling some serious shit this time. I’m talking Splenda AND Crystal Light. Perhaps an exersaucer as I cannot find one here in this damn country. Sure, I can find walkers galore, but not an exersaucer to save my life. I’m sure if it had some sort of homeopathic property I could find it in every corner apotheke.
Hey Graco, just say that your Baby Einstein exersaucer has that Bachblueten crap in it, add a little water and bam, a whole new market.
Jeff, I have finally figured out, is pretty serious about his current girlfriend whom I have never met. I asked for her e-mail address and he gave it to me, just like that.
I was floored.
He never allows me contact his girlfriends unless it is court-ordered and supervised. I don’t know why, I’m always very nice and cordial. It might have to do with my simple observation that his previous girlfriend was over 21 and still drinking pink wine, but I was very nice about it.
It might have been the time I asked one of his girlfriends if her mother knew she was out that late (she was a bit on the young side). Or it could have been the no purple nail polish rule – he should not date women who wore purple nail polish. I wanted to make the no Aquanet rule too, but that might have been taking it too far.
Anyway, she seems way cool and Jeff is very happy. So I’m happy for him. He totally deserves to be as happy as all us other married people. Ha.
And that, my friends brings my free time to an end. Max is gently calling me.
“Mother. Oh Mother, please pick me up as soon as you’ve finished with whatever important task you are about. I can wait patiently for you here in the nest that I’m too big for but refuse to sleep anywhere else except next to your boobies.”
I know that’s what he means by his hysterical screams. Moms know these sorts of things. I believe its the brain damage from lack of sleep or the ear damage from the screaming or a combination of both, like the powerful cleaning combination ammonia and bleach.
And the coloured girls go:
Doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo…
Phew.
We sent my dear sister home a few days ago and here I am writing again. When she was here, all I wanted to do was play with her. So to catch up, we’ll do a bullet post.
- Max is officially three months old. And he’s perfect. Sleeping 5-6 hours a night. I’m using the No-Cry Sleep Solution to establish his sleeping patterns. So far, so good. I’m at that point of having to decide to put him in his own room or keep him in ours. I have no idea. I’m not ready to have him sleep away from me yet, but I’d like to have a bit of space if you know what I mean.
- Scrunchy had two bladder surgeries and ultimately had his penis amputated. Oh yeah, that’s what I said. He’s doing just fine now, thanks to Dr. Minck and her father, Dr. Minck. Scrunchy has FLUTD and after more than a month of everyday visits (including weekends), ultrasounds, shots and surgeries, we almost lost him. Dr. Minck did not give up even when his penis got blocked in the night and his kidneys had been horribly compromised. She saved him. Now, his kidney functions are normal and he can pee again without pain. As soon as he can take off the collar, he’ll be a much happier camper… and pee-er.
- I got into a confrontation with a douche bag at the grocery store and it was fabulous which lead Miranda to coin the term “Confrontation High”. It was one of those times where the universe came together and I knew exactly what to say and how. However, I suppose it’s not hard to come out the winner when the guy you’re fighting with drives a yellow Cincocento and listens to German rap and parks in the handicap space in front of a village supermarket so he can stand there looking cool listening to said German rap at obnoxiously loud levels. More on this later.
- In about an hour, we leave for the Consulate to make Max an official citizen. Had a little trouble with the whole “Prove you’ve lived in America” thing because I’ve been here so long – 6 years as of July 4th – but eventually found an odd tax folder. Why do I keep every damn card I’ve ever received, but destroy financial info after seven years?
- My 37th birthday is coming up and for some reason, it’s really fucking with my head. Tatiana told me 37 was a toughie. It was around the time that I realized I’ll be 37 that my high school reunion info showed up in my in box. 20 years. Shit.
- I’ve lost more weight. That brings me a good 10 kilos below my pre-pregnancy weight. I was so excited that I ripped my closet apart trying on clothes. I tried on my favorite jeans only to have them barely fit and fit in such a way that I made the term Muffin Top jump up and leave the room in hysterics. It was only after about 20 minutes of utter despair and three more pairs of jeans did I realize that that first pair were not my favorite pair, but a pair I bought erroneously – ultra low-rise – in a size smaller than I have ever worn as an adult. My favorite pair? Well, they are a tad too big. Do you hear that? That is me not complaining.
Can I just take this moment to ask the fashion industry a couple of questions? One, why ultra low rise? Really. Who can really wear ultra low rise? Second question – Why ultra low rise in a size larger than a 12. Don’t do that, fashion industry. It’s not nice, it’s not pretty and I don’t care how we women of larger sizes want to feel skinny, ultra lowrise with the courstesy-zipper-of-no-point only makes us look fatter and feel inadequate. I’m not saying we all need to wear mom, jeans, but come on. Low-rise is low enough to show a little coin slot. Ultra low-rise and its more of a gynaecological exam every time we bend over.
- Sparky is hearby forbidden from watching 30 Rock after Max has gone to sleep. For all future moms out there, 30 Rock should only be consumed when baby is awake and riotous laughter will not wake said child.
- My hair is so long I can do the polygamy hairdo. It is so long that my ears stick out. I’ve successfully hidden my pokey-outy ears for years and now my cover has been blown. I need to cut it. So it comes down to this: If I cut it myself, will it look worse than if cut by anyone I’ve seen here in Germany? Maybe one my sister wives can cut it for me.
Okay, that’s enough. I’ve got to rouse the troops and head to FFM.
