Thanks (Again)

I am a person who enjoys writing thank-you notes- specifically hand-written thank-you notes.

I didn't used to; when I was a child I resented the hell out of my mother making my brother and I write them.  None of the other kids had to write them.  But then I became an adult, and the habit was set, and I found that I was no longer doing it out of obligation; I was doing it because it made me feel good to do it.

Therefore it should come as no surprise to you, Gentle Readers, that after my baby shower I very promptly sent out appropriate little thank-you cards to each giver (even tho' strictly speaking, etiquette dictates you need only send them to the people you weren't able to thank in person).  What I'm realizing, now that I'm almost nine months into this whole raising-a-human thing, is that some of those gifts deserve a second round of thank-you notes.

Not, "Oh you were so thoughtful and generous," oh no.  More like, "Holy shit you knew exactly what I would be needing, even if I didn't!"

Hooded towels made from adult towels, so they actually fit past the newborn stage.  Tiny little rubber duckies that perfectly fit a baby's hand and can be used to distract/bribe during changing sessions.  Board books that are well-written enough not to make me want to kill myself, but also short enough to get through at bedtime before infant-meltdown.

You know, the little things.

What I Am (Not)

What I Am Not

black
brown
christian
atheist
gay
straight
male
transexual
childless
parent to multiple children
a single parent
a grandparent
vegetarian
a veteran
in law enforcement
a lawyer 
a musician
an engineer
underage
an elder


What I Am

A person who cares deeply about a bunch of her friends who also happen to fall into one or more of the above categories.

(just something to keep in mind as we converse)

Jabber Jaw

I've been  having slowly worsening jaw pain over the past few months (feels like my jaw is off-track, more than anything), so I decided to go see my dentist about it.

She did an x-ray and says there's nothing wrong mechanically wrong, which makes her think it's tied to the muscles (especially since pressing on said muscles brings some relief).

And then she recommended a night guard.

A $500 piece of plastic that is not covered by insurance.

To which I said, "And what exactly is the difference between this and what I can get at the drug store for twenty bucks?"

She proceeded to give me an answer (which ended with, "I'd rather have my patients do nothing than use a drug-store mouth guard"), to which I replied, "Yeah I'ma have to think about this," because, Gentle Reader, I am 99.9% positive this has nothing to do with my clenching my jaw at night.  All day long, certainly, but not at night, because morning is the only time I don't have pain, and can actually close my jaw all the way.  Which I did tell her, but apparently she... didn't listen?  Or maybe didn't believe me?  For real, what is it with medical professionals dismissing my observations on my body and instead just going for their stock answer?

So I'm feeling frustrated, and have prescribed myself my own treatment to try out.

1) Consciously relaxing my jaw throughout the day
2) Avoiding leaning my jaw on my hand, which I've been in the habit of doing while pumping
3) Making an effort to chew on the painful side (my theory here is that, because I've been chewing on the right side for like a year due to tooth-pain, I've screwed up my alignment)
4) Bringing meditation back into my life in an attempt to help me deal with stress better so that I'm not clenching so much in the first place

If this doesn't work, then I'll try a mouthguard.

But still probably not the $500 one.

Seen On a Walk

I try to take a walk every afternoon.  I generally see at least one interesting or amusing or lovely thing.  Today I got to see all of the above:

Given all the Pokemon GO action going on in the world, I halfway expected this to attack.

This cat literally did not even look up as I approached.  He was unconcerned AF.

A particularly nice collection of vivid colors

Who knows what tomorrow will bring?

Mindful Parenting

I met up with JT to do a little bit of climbing today, which was fine.  I miss being strong and supple, but the only one keeping me from that is myself, so let's move right along to the better part of the afternoon, which was the two of us sitting in one of my favorite pubs, having a drink (and nachos) and talking about our lives.

In specific we were talking about Mindful Parenting: ie, the need to actually think about what you're doing with your child, to ensure that you're modeling not just the behavior you want them to emulate (difficult enough in and of itself) but also the sorts of behavior that you want them to find acceptable towards them. 

See, JT is the father of a seven-year-old daughter, and recently he's had to change the way he handles photos.  As in, if she says, "I don't want my photo taken," he won't take her photo.  If she says, "I don't like that photo: delete it," he deletes it.  If she says, "Don't post that photo," he doesn't post it.

"In other words," I said, "You're treating her with the respect due an autonomous human."

"Well yeah," he said.  "Because I don't want her thinking, 'Well it's okay for someone to disrespect my wishes if they love me,'  If someone wants her to take nude photos and she doesn't want to, I want her to be used to people respecting and abiding by her decisions regarding herself.  And I want her to be not-okay with anyone who doesn't."

Here's to the next generation, folks: may this shit come so naturally to them that they don't have to think about it.

Map

I made a map for the game I'm drafting for my friends.  Since maps are not exactly my forte, I'm actually pretty proud.

Must... repair... scanner...

Mother-Son Time

I was in a bit of a pointless black rage this afternoon, so rather than stay at home and take it out on my spouse, I bundled my son up into his car seat and took him to the bookstore.

I remember when going to the bookstore was a treat.

I remember when the bookstore was my haven.

I remember when the bookstore was my home.

Today it was just a Place to Be Out of the House, and that saddened me.

However.

My son, whom I'd fully expected to fall asleep on the drive over, did no such thing, and instead eyed me with curiosity as I let out a long-suffering sigh, clicked his carrier into the stroller, and pushed it into my former wonderland.

I don't have much time for reading these days, and I've neither the funds nor the acquisitive nature to buy a lot of books, anyway.  The Library is the place for me: and if it turns out I really love a book- enough to make other people read it, then I buy it.  Except even the Library hasn't seen much of me, due to the aforementioned not-much-time-for-reading.  Sure, I've been devouring the Georgette Heyer novels SCurry loaned me, but those (thankfully) do not require a lot of concentration.

All this to say, I was wandering around the bookstore, feeling sorry for myself and all the books I wasn't going to read and wasn't going to buy- but my son was in a perfectly lovely, wide-awake mood, and did his best to cheer me and the rest of the world up with his gurgling and cooing.

Eventually I came across some dice for sale, and since I was in need of new ones I let Neeps 'choose' which set I should buy, by flailing in their general direction.  He flailed repeatedly at the same set, so I figured he was pretty sure about his selection*.  Since they were properly secured in their little plastic case, I let him hold them on the way up to the register, and he promptly turned them into a rattle, keeping rhythm with some secret song only the newly-born are attuned to.  I watched his pure, unadulterated joy with this little thing, and I found the tightness in my chest beginning to loosen.

When the world seems overwhelming with the size of its darkness, we must turn to the smallest things for joy, I suppose.



*"scarab royal blue with gold", for the curious