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.