Teething and Hooha's and Baseball and Such...

Yes, friends...today is a variety post. One that will be filled with small snippets from the lives of me and Hubby and the girls...because really? Nothing BIG is going on. So, there it is. Let us begin.

Little...is teething. Or least that's the word that's been used to account for the random stretches of vicious crankiness and sleepless nights that have been ongoing in our household for the last 11-1/2 months. At 4 months old, when this whole craptastic mess began, I took Little into see her doctor...fearing that something must be wrong with my sweet little girl for her to be acting this way...and was told that her gums were swollen and ripe (eww!) and it appeared that the horror we were experiencing was all attributable to good old, run of the mill teething. Excellent. No drugs for that. So, holding tight to the pediatrician's reassurance that she would soon be getting a tooth, and all of us a little relief, we bravely soldiered on through the sleepless cranky routine, waiting for the day that the freakin frackin first tooth would appear and save us all. And then it did...approximately 8 months later. Yes, 8 months, friends. Dear God. And in the last 3-1/2 months, since the first tooth popped through, we've seen the arrival of 4 more front teeth and all 4 of her first molars...and have nary had more than 3 nights in a row of sleeping through the night. In 11-1/2 months. And really? It's killing us. Slowly. But I have hope. Since the discovery of the final molar's first point this week...I have new found hope that we are nearing the end of this phase of torture they like to call teething. Three more molar points, a few bottom teeth, and 4 eye teeth and we're done with this part of the gig...and my heart will leap with joy upon their arrival! So, you know, we should be sleeping great in about another year or so. That's reassuring.


And now...our next topic...Hoohas. As the mother of 2 young girls, it is inevitable that I will have to deal with some Hooha issues at one point or another, so it is unfortunate, for all involved, that I suck to it so much. Really, at the mere mention of the function and/or technical names of any one of the many girly bits we are all brought onto this planet with, I blush like a 12 year-old. I fumble. I stumble. And I embarrass myself during each and every conversation about these things. It must be really fun to watch.

Without going into too much detail, Big has has something similar to a diaper rash for a bit now and it just isn't going away. I've tried this and I've tried that and finally, when she started crying about it, I decided it was time to call her doctor. The first time I called, about a month ago, I got a nurse who made a comment about how little girl Hooha's are different than our Hoohas in that our girly bits are so much looser than theirs (and yes, she used the technical names). And all I could think was "Did she just comment on the condition of my girly bits?? Together with her girly bits??" because, dear Lord! I'd rather prefer that my girly bits not be generalized, thankyouverymuch! And now? I'll never be able to look her in the face again...especially now that I know what I know about her most private of areas. It just isn't right.

And try upon try, hope upon hope, none of this nurse's *sage* advice has made this issue go away...and Big was in tears again last night...so I sucked it up, and called her Dr. again this morning. This time? I have to bring her in. Joy. When I informed Ms. Big that we would be heading to see her Dr. this afternoon so that he could help make her owie not so owie anymore, I was met with an exasperated response. "WHAT?!" she said, "He can't look at my butt!! My butt is dirty Mom!!" and it was at that point that I was reassured that this is going to be one big, fumbly, embarrassing cluster *&^%. I can only imagine what she'll say in his presence...and I can can only wish that I'll be able to handle it without dying. Should be fun.


And our final topic...baseball...sort of. Tonight...if I live through Big's appointment this afternoon...is date night. Oh thank GOD!!! Yes, it is with great anticipation that I've been waiting for the arrival of this day. Hubby and I are going to Miller Park tonight to watch the Brewer's play baseball...alone...at dinner time...and we won't be home until loooooooong after bedtime. Can I get a Hallelujah?! Grandma, being the brave soul that she is, has agreed to come over and not only feed the girls dinner...but also...put them to bed...both of them. And I suppose that unless you've been present for bedtime at our home before, you're wondering what the big deal is. And then I would have to explain to you how, for some reason, as the clock strikes 7, our wonderful, beautiful, precious, girls hit the wall at 60 miles per hour, and turn into...well...tired, mischievous little heathens...and I can say that because I gave birth to both of them. So tonight, I'm going to sit in my plastic-y stadium chair, and have a drink, and watch some baseball with Hubby...and I will enjoy every. last. minute. of. it. All hail Grandma!

The End.